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twenty-five
My Omega and I are so not friends anymore.
If we ever were. It’s difficult to say; and I can barely remember where I am or how I got here, at the moment.
The cold-fish alpha dragged me to one of the flat black doors in the flat black hallway. He practically kicked the thing down, pounding at it with the toe of his shiny, fancy shoe since he couldn’t use his hands. Those were busy keeping me from slumping into a puddle of my own slick.
Eventually, the tattooed one threw his door open, glaring until he saw me there. They sniped at each other for a minute. Most of that went over my head, except for the mention of a knot.
Which had my silent Omega shoving desperately at me. If I weren’t so dizzy and overheated, I might try screaming at her.
Because seriously?! A heat-spike? In front of the one alpha in the whole house who’s literally vowed not to touch me?!
The inked alpha whisks me away from him easily, slamming his door behind us. Some foggy, stilted part of my brain recognizes that his room is different from all the others.
The walls are covered in drawings, here. I wish I had the ability to parse exactly why, but I can barely keep my feet under me.
There’s a hollow, aching pain carved up into my core. It pulses and pounds, dribbling warm, slippery tingles down my thighs. I press my palm into my lower belly, clenching my fingers against the rubber fabric of the cursed red bodysuit.
Now is the time to talk. I know that. I need to say words to tell the alpha that I need him to help me. That it’s okay for him to do whatever he wants as long as he gives me his knot.
Maybe I’m just delirious, but at this point, it would be a relief. I haven’t been a virgin in years, but the handful of beta busboys and bartenders at the club didn’t have the ability to knot me. I remember being relieved by that. I can’t quite remember why, now.
I can’t tell if any of my thoughts make sense. They float through the haze in my head, not quite sticking long enough for me to really consider them. Every time I try, needy squeezes pull my pussy tight.
Deep breathing only fills my lungs with the smoky mix of amber and frankincense. A teasing note of jasmine tickles my nose and pricks my nipples. I whine again, close to tears.
Why isn’t he touching me? Does he not want me, just like the blond one? Do they all know that there’s something wrong with me?—
“Hey, kitten.” The inked alpha stands in front of me, stripping off my hoodie and running his bruised, tattooed hands along my arms. “You’re shaking. Shh. It’s okay.”
No, it’s not.
I’m not okay. This hurts—outside, inside. On the surface and somewhere down deeper.
I can’t believe how much I care what these alphas think of me, how much they want me. After just one day?! If they don’t want me now, what’s going to happen once they find out where I came from?
And this alpha thinks I’m okay?!
None. Of. This. Is. Okay.
My hands don’t feel attached to my body as they fly up, clawing at his broad chest muscles, shoving him hard.
The edges of the room blur, colorful papers swirling with dark walls. A strange sob clogs my throat. But my body doesn’t stop. I do it again. And again.
Just as quickly as the insanity set in, it drains out of me. My fingers slip against his bare skin, losing any strength they had. My heaving lungs stutter on his scent, sending another burst of slick down my legs.
I’m afraid to look up at him. Afraid to see how angry he is, how much I’ve fucked up any chance I had at him… liking me. Wanting me. If he still does, it will be all twisted with rage, probably. He’ll want to make it hurt, now.
The hand settled on my hip flexes while the other floats up, cupping my jaw in that demanding, no-bullshit way he has. Lifting my face so I’m forced to see the aftermath of my outburst.
But he doesn’t look mad at all.
He looks proud.
A bright, burning light flares in those ghostly opal eyes as they trace my face. When our gazes lock, the instant connection I felt with him yesterday comes flooding back. My gasps turn to whimpers.
