It's official now—I like women. I still can't fully believe it, but the truth is staring me right in the face. I am a woman, right? And I like women... which is also correct, isn't it?
The alphas around me—Hellen with her warm honey-citrus scent that pulls me in, Ivory's chili heat that makes my skin tingle, Reyes' cedar-steel strength that grounds me even when I'm shaky.
They're all women, and my body reacts so strongly—my core gets slick, nipples tighten up, heat builds low in my belly just from their scents brushing me or their touches lingering.
Am I a lesbian all of a sudden? Bisexual maybe? The labels make my head spin and feel confused.
But the biology in this ABO world feels like it should be straight—alphas knot omegas no matter what bodies they have, male or female; it is pure instinct wired deep inside, pheromones taking over everything, ignoring old gender lines.
