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I can't take that rejection.
"Much," I lie, willing myself to take a step away, to put some distance between us, but my feet won't budge.
"Alright. Well, if you need anything." He presses his lips together and nods once. He waits another second, like he wants to say more, but when nothing comes out, he turns and follows Iggy's trail down the hallway.
It's just biology, I remind myself, watching him walk away. I don't know them, not really. That's the most I've ever talked to Cass. And Iggy.
And ever since I first met Red, who saw me without my make-up or feathered mask, I've not spoken to him, either.
I wish he were working tonight. One hit of Iggy and Cass isn't enough, but the recent memory of their scents will help in the coming hours. Red's scent is more industrial, like car engine oil and leather. His lips are pouty, and since he's usually scowling or smiling, but in a lazy, disinterested way, I'm always drawn to them. Staring at the shape of them. Wondering how he tastes when his scent is so masculine.
They're all beautiful in their own way. Cass has this whole Norse-god Viking thing going for him, with his long blond hair and close-cropped blond beard. He's more classically handsome, the most easygoing of the three. His hair is sometimes in a man-bun, sometimes braided in pieces and tied back, not organized or orderly, but messy, in a hapless disarray, and I can't help but picture him shirtless, chopping wood somewhere in the wilderness or some other hormone-inducing thirst trap, in low-slung jeans and a plaid shirt tied around his waist.
Iggy, covered in tattoos, hair shaved on the sides, short and pushed away at the top, is always seemingly annoyed or angry, and he seems the most emotional. His facial expressions do nothing to mask his mood, and I should know, I've watched him like a stalker from across the room for a collection of hours now. I suspect he wouldn't be gentle with me, taking me to heights of pleasure I've never known. He wouldn't treat me like I was breakable, but he'd make sure I was safe, too. There's a raw magnetism to Iggy, something out of my depth, but I want to be brave enough to wade closer, to see if that intensity could be shared with me, too.
Red… Red's the kind of guy you fall in love with. He's cool, walking around with big dick energy and swagger. He walks into the club, and everyone leans in his direction. He's a man of the people, and everybody wants a piece.
Red hasn't scented me, and he doesn't want me. Cass might send a friendly smile in my direction, and Iggy might run from me when I enter a room. But of the three, Red seems the most indifferent.
I wish I recharged his leather jacket with his scent before now. I thought I might be brave enough to. It's sitting in my locker in the breakroom, along with Iggy's gloves. I just need something from Cass, and I can get through my heat. It will be painful. But I don't have a choice.
Another cramp hits me, and I wince beneath my mask.
The busyness of the club is winding down, and I'm only delaying the inevitable. I duck down the hall, planning to grab my things, but at the last minute, on a whim, I pause outside the office door. Pressing my ear to the wood, I listen in. After Iggy's freak out earlier, I'd expected to hear him at least making a racket of some kind. Arguing with Cass, or whatever it is they do.
There's nothing. Tentatively, I knock. If they answer, I'll make up some excuse. No sound comes.
With a quick glance up and down the hallway, finding I'm alone, I slip inside the office and quickly shut the door behind me.
Adrenaline has my heart racing. I wouldn't have minded getting caught before. I still had time to explain everything, to figure out what I was going to do. I'd have thought it was a blessing. Now? If they caught me in here now, I'd have to explain I was their scent-match, while on the precipice of my heat. There's no way they'd believe me. I wouldn't believe me.
And the only solace I have over the coming few days is that I can bury my face in their scents to help get me through it. Quickly, I run over to the desk where they often carelessly toss their things. I don't see anything useful, so I circle back. There, draped over the back of the leather couch, is a hoodie. The same one I saw Cass wearing earlier tonight. I snag it, burying my face in the material.
Clean cotton. Summer breeze. My legs go weak, my pussy floods with slick. Resisting the urge to slip it on, I roll it up in a ball so I don't get caught with it, pause to listen by the door, and when I don't hear anything, I sneak out.
Into the breakroom, I shove the hoodie into my locker. I take off my mask, then slip into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, I use make-up wipes and start scrubbing the black off my eyes. It doesn't come off completely, but enough that I look like me again.
A cramp hits me, and I nearly hit the floor, my knees buckling. It's never been this bad before. I'd have already been at a clinic, letting my inhibitions run wild, if this were the old Imogen. How ironic that she was buttoned-up and perfect but got what she needed. Meanwhile, here I am, trying to carve out my identity and figure out who I am, and I'm suppressing my most basic instincts.
I feel hollow inside. In pain with need, to be stretched, filled. I cry out, but I'm alone, and my voice just echoes in the empty room.
I need to get home. I don't know what to do. Another cramp hits, so I slip into the bathroom stall, sitting on the closed seat. I just need to get off. I can't go home like this, I can't walk through South Loop in heat. Even if I wasn't wearing scent-blockers, that's too dangerous. I've not lost myself to delirium yet, I'm still aware of my surroundings. This was so stupid, waiting this long.
I just need to get off. One orgasm, and I can get myself home.
The problem is, the club is closing. I can hear voices growing in the break room beside me. I keep the stall door locked, tucking my legs into my chest. Closing my eyes, I rock back and forth. I can do this. I can get through this. I'll just let everyone leave. The place will clear out in no time, then I can get off, then get home. Simple.
I'm burning up and overwhelmed with desire for my mates. I need their scent. They're clothes. I need them.
It consumes me, until the thoughts loop, like a record, my baser omega taking control. Need scent. Need knot. Need seed.
I war internally but stay silent, apart from a few desperate whimpers. The club quiets, and eventually, it's empty. Blessedly quiet and dark and closed for the night.
I wait as long as I can manage, which isn't more than a few minutes, before sneaking out of the bathroom. Still wearing nothing but the black lace bra and panties, even though I'm hot, burning with a fever, I rush over to the locker on shaking legs and pull out Cass's hoodie. I slip it on, bringing the material at the neck up to my nose, taking a deep inhale.
It helps calm me, and with trembling hands, I reach out and grab Red's jacket and Iggy's gloves.
This feels so inappropriate. I've already crossed so many lines. But I need to get off. I can barely see straight with the need for it, and I could just get it done right here. Or…
