Villainess Marked For Her Alpha-Chapter 70: The Onesie’s Secret
Hellen scrubbed the kitchen counters with steady focus, hot soapy water foaming thick under her hands as she wiped omelette smears and fry grease into oblivion—red jacket sleeves rolled neat to elbows, blonde ponytail swaying rhythmic with each swipe.
She was very much willing to do house duty if Emily became her wife.
Emily had bolted upstairs minutes ago, bare feet pattering faint and hurried on the hardwood stairs, bathroom door clicking shut firm behind her for a long, steaming bath.
Her raven curls still damp-clumped from tears, gray shorts and black shirt shed careless somewhere in her wake, leaving the air heavy with her fading vanilla trace.
Trash bags filled fast under Hellen’s steady hands—congealed omelette plates wrapped tight in paper towels turned oily-black and sodden, coffee mugs rinsed quick under hot tap before bagged, fry crumbs swept clean into the dustpan with a few efficient flicks.
As she knotted the final plastic tie with a quick, practiced twist, Hellen’s eyes snagged sharp on the other bags slumped forgotten by the back door—two lumpy black plastic heaps sagging against the wall, vaguely familiar bulges pressing at the sides like guilty secrets.
Curiosity tugged hard; she crouched fluid on her haunches, knees popping faint, and ripped the top one open with a sharp rrrip—plastic tearing loud in the quiet kitchen.
Plushies spilled chaotic across the tile—Pikachu, Eevee, Bulbasaur, and others. But what attracted her attention was—Snivy glaring diva-sharp from the pile’s heart, green fabric scales scuffed soft at the edges from shelf-time and hugs. It was Emily’s favourite—which was seen clearly by the plushie’s look.
The hoodies balled tight beside in a tangled rainbow mess, Pokémon prints faded gentle from washing and wear—Beedrill’s yellows softened, Charizard’s orange parts muted.
Bottom-most lay twisted guilty—the Pikachu onesie, yellow plush fabric darkened telltale wet between the padded legs—a slick-glistening patch of Emily’s juices soaked deep into the seams.
The musky-sweet omega arousal blooming sharp under the synthetic fur, betraying her stubborn ’alpha’ lie louder than any furious slap or tear-choked denial downstairs.
Hellen chuckled low and throaty, the rumble filling the quiet kitchen like distant summer thunder rolling close—thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the damp crotch.
She had lied to Emily—of course, it was due to her manipulation, Emily couldn’t know anything. The raven-haired woman trusted her too much. Even when she used the word ’betrayed,’ she wasn’t serious.
Honey-citrus alpha scent flared instinctive from her skin as she leaned in close, inhaling deep and unhurried unravel of Emily’s secret—sweet, ripe, undeniable.
Hellen had bitten into the onesie and scented all the plushies before she had handed them to Olle, who then handed them to Emily.
The bite was right where the onesie hugged Emily’s nape. The rest of the job was done by the plushies—her subtle smell, which must have caused Emily to dream about her. It was an ancient technique to mark an omega by their alpha—a technique that stimulated an omega’s thoughts.
"Fool," she murmured fond and knowing to the empty room, ghost-smirk widening slow across her full lips.
A satisfaction purring deep in her chest like a well-fed cat at the ironclad confirmation of what she’d scented all along.
"Was I comparing myself to a cat? No, I am a lion."
She knotted the bag double-tight with efficient yanks, plastic rustling crisp, then hauled both heavy lumps outside under one arm with easy muscle—midday sun beating hot and relentless on her shoulders, blonde ponytail sticking slight to her neck as gravel crunched sharp under her sneakers.
Bin lid slammed final with a metallic clang, echoing back from the fence.
Emily was hers—to bite deep into that pale throat till omega scent bloomed permanent, mark collarbone with teeth and tongue till no alpha dared look twice, breed full and deep till her belly swelled ripe with their pups, pamper soft through every heat and craving.
"She must have dreamt me of fucking her." Hellen’s face turned red at the thought. How good Emily must have looked when she was fucked by her? Moaning her name? Begging for mercy to her? Have her cock inside her mouth? Would her mouth look completely filled? How tight would be her pussy when she was filled?
A lot of questions swirled inside Hellen’s head.
Hellen would wed her proper, bind her legal and feral—let her design dresses, run Helly Paws wild, make everyday dresses, make luxury items, use Herlos in whichever way she wanted—chase her dreams freely. But the rest of thing? It was hers to command. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶
Her jeans strained tight at the crotch, thick alpha cock throbbing insistent against denim—onesie slickness searing memory, the unique scent fuelling visions of Emily swollen, moaning, hers.
Hellen shut the back door with a firm click, gravel dust still clinging to her sneakers as she strode back to the kitchen.
Bacon sizzled crisp on the stove, grease popping lazy sparks; she flipped rashers with tongs, cracked fresh eggs into the pan sunny-side golden, tossed hash brown wedges to crisp onion-flecked edges, and buttered thick toast slices till they gleamed.
Simple, hearty breakfast—fuel to mend the morning’s fractures.
She layered a special sandwich next for Emily—soft wholegrain bread cradling smoked turkey, crisp lettuce crunch, ripe tomato slices beaded red, sharp cheddar melting faint under the broiler’s kiss, slathered mayo-mustard kick—cut diagonal neat, crusts trimmed like pampering a queen.
Her queen—Hellen’s thoughts drifted possessive as she worked.
Then, Hellen sliced fresh fruits with clean, practiced chops—strawberries halved ruby-red, bananas coin-thin and golden, crisp apple wedges dusted cinnamon, blueberries tumbling purple jewels into the glass bowl. She tossed them gentle with a honey drizzle and yogurt swirl, fruit salad gleaming vibrant under kitchen light—sweet-tart balance for Emily’s soft spots.
Hot chocolate simmered next her mind—rich dark cocoa powder whisked thick into steaming milk, vanilla extract blooming warm, mini marshmallows floating melt-soft on top, cinnamon stick stirrer perched jaunty. Mug steamed inviting, scent curling cozy through the air thick with bacon and her own restrained musk.
At that very moment, the doorbell rang.
◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆
NOTE: If you want, you can suggest a name and I will make them a character in this book.
Thank you for the Power Stones, Golden Tickets and gifts!
Bigbooty_Fish
WahTako
Lelama8922
PrincessLacie
