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Finally finding a way to leave Wally’s, only to get jumped by some random alpha-hole in a super fancy suit? Because I was dumb enough to think, for one minute, that he might be my knight in shining armor?
That sounds like something that would happen to me.
I still have no grasp on the specifics of what just occurred or who any of the voices around me belong to, but one seems pretty darn insistent. “Tristan, you’re going to have to calm down. Your distress will only make her condition worse. Please, try to sit.”
Whoever Tristan is, he doesn’t listen. I hear footsteps pacing close by.
The voice drops into a mutter, hovering right at my side. “Or we could continue to ignore the doctor,” it says. “Outstanding.”
A doctor?
I’ve never been to a doctor. Maybe I’m dreaming I’m on General Hospital again. That used to be one of my favorite shows to sneak at three a.m.
A dream would explain why everything feels foggy and surreal. It could also account for all the strange sensations racing around inside of me. The pain carved into my neck is particularly annoying, but it’s nothing compared to the feelings ricocheting around my abdomen like pinballs.
Fear. Dread. Pain. Regret.
Fear again. Agony. More dread.
Holy shit. What is happening to me? And why can’t I seem to get control of my body long enough to open my eyes?
When I try my hardest, all I get is a twitch.
“She’s moving.”
An answering sigh speaks of great patience. “Yes, Senator. I told you, she’s very much alive. The twitching likely means she’s about to come back to full consciousness. You should prepare yourself. She’ll likely be panicked and in pain.”
Well, he’s got the pain part right; I’ll give him that.
It’s hard to decide what’s worse; the open wound pulsing on my throat or all of the horrible emotions seething in my stomach.
Actually, scratch that.
I know what the worst thing is. And it’s absolutely mortifying.
Because whyyyyyyyy in the world would I be horny right now? Like—what?! Where is this wrenching ache in my pussy coming from?
Silly little slut—I bet you’re nice and slick, too.
I cringe away from the lash of my memories, trying not to let them touch me.
It’s hard when that cruel voice has a point, though.
Because unless I’m some desperate, insane nympho, there is literally no reason for my pussy to be desperately sucking at nothing right now.
Did she not get the memo here? We’re in a strange place, surrounded by strange alpha men, basically naked. Unconscious? Half-conscious? And, now, in mysterious pain.
Like, come on, ma’am.
Read the room.
But, nope. I guess I really am an insane, desperate nympho because she’s melting like a popsicle on a summer sidewalk—all sticky and wet and, if the air in here is any indication, sweet, too.
Unless that’s the mystery doctor?
Doubt it; he seems to have a spicy scent layered with a thick slab of absolutely not, which means he’s bonded.
Thank the Lord.
