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"Cass," she whines, her lyrical voice penetrating through the fog, threatening to bury us both. "Cass, please, I need you," she begs, turning in my arms and attempting to climb into my lap.
Fuck. I look around, praying the answer to this predicament lies nearby.
She’s in heat. And I’m beyond attracted to her, haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. My alpha bounds in his cage in my mind, telling me to strip her down and mount her.
Her begging isn’t helping.
I clear my throat. "We need to get you to a clinic."
"No!" she snaps, pushing her way back out of my arms, scrambling and quaking in fear. "No, no heat clinic," she begs, terrified at the suggestion.
I hold my hand up placatingly. "I know a safe clinic. You don’t need to be afraid." My alpha screams inside of me, telling me to shut the fuck up, but I’ve got a lot of practice working beside omegas who sometimes fall into heat unexpectedly, including that one time an omega in heat threw herself at me and my brothers. It’s in our nature, instinctual, to help ease their pain—biologically, to pump them full of seed. It was hard turning Emily away, but as soon as her scent was gone, I was so fucking thankful, because I honestly did not want her.
But she wasn't Imogen.
Never has the urge been so strong, to just give in. To take her. Rut, knot, seed. It bounds beneath my skin, my muscles contracting, begging me to hold her closer, tighter.
"No," she says firmly. "No heat clinic. I can't…" Her pupils are still dilated, but her voice doesn’t waver, apart from the slight whimper in her inflection.
I try to think of another solution that doesn’t involve me breaking every promise my pack and I have ever made together, but my resolve is breaking the more she shivers. Back in my lap, she buries her nose in my chest and takes a deep inhale, squirming her surprisingly powerful body over mine.
"Please, Cass, I can’t think straight. I need you, please touch me. I need it so bad," she whimpers, every syllable vibrating down my spine, straight to my cock.
This is a bad idea. I need to say no.
"I'm sorry, Cass. I'm so sorry. I know you don't want this," she cries, her small frame shaking in my arms, pulling away.
And that settles it, because no way in hell am I letting her think I don't want her. "I’m gonna make you feel better, just so we can talk, okay?"
Her chin wobbles, and she throws her body back over mine, straddling me. She's so fast, she nearly knocks me back, and without preamble, grinds her hips in my lap, rubbing herself over my belt buckle. My phone beeps in my pocket, but I'm so distracted by Imogen, I ignore what's probably Red checking in and instead, wrap my hands around her hips, encouraging her desperate writhing.
My cock is so fucking hard and each time she rolls her hips and slams down onto me, I nearly pop off. I feel like a fucking teenager, my hands shake, we're both needy for release, but I tamper my alpha instincts down, urging me to fuck her, knot her here and now.
What I need to do is get her off so she can think straight for a second and we can have a conversation. I just saw her an hour ago and, with the mask, I didn't notice how far off she was, but she was definitely standing upright and coherent, so she can't be too lost to her heat yet. All night I thought she looked like she was getting sick. I'm such an idiot.
My hands grip her hips, forcing her to slow, and with one hand, I wrap around her waist to hold her still in my lap while I slip the other between her legs. She's soaked. Fucking dripping. Thank fuck I can't scent her, because I can't imagine it's anything other than sweet perfection, and then we'd both really be fucked because I'd have her on all fours in seconds. Who cares if her scent ends up being floral. If it's Imogen, it's likely sublime.
I don't even bother taking off her underwear. Shoving the material to the side, I slip my fingers between her folds, meeting no resistance, just her wet, hot cunt, sucking me in.
"Oh god, yes Cass, that feels so good." Her knees squeeze tighter around my lap, and I make quick work, fucking her with my fingers. I've never been with an omega before, but the way her pussy clamps down on my fingers has me seeing fucking stars, and I'm not even the one getting off.
She lifts her hips slightly, canting toward the heel of my palm, so I give her what she wants, letting her press her clit against the pressure while I fuck her tight channel, adding a second finger. Faster, I pump and when her movements become shaky and less controlled, I slip them out and pinch her clit, rubbing faster and harder. Her teeth bite down on my shoulder, fingertips clawing at my back while she cries out her release.
When I slow, her breathing and body become heavy on top of me. Her head rests in the crook of my neck and she takes deep inhales, lungs-full, like she can't get enough oxygen. I let myself imagine, for a moment, that she's really mine. I wish I could smell her, taste her.
But she wears scent-blockers, and she's an omega who works for me, my employee. The harsh reminder has me pulling back. I can't ignore her silent protests entirely, especially since my alpha agrees with the way she clings to me, but, with effort, I right her underwear and push her further back on my lap.
Her cheeks flame against her golden skin. She has a just-fucked look about her, mascara running beneath her eyes, sweaty, matted blonde hair pressed against her scalp. Her lips are wide and thick, pouty, atop a pointed, square jawline. She's stunning.
"We don't have much time," she says with surprising coherence, reminding me again what we're doing. What's at stake.
"I can take you to a clinic," I remind her, though the words taste like bitter, acrid ash.
She bites her lip and turns away, shaking her head no. "No clinic. If… if you can't…"
Reaching out, I grip her chin and turn her head back to face me. Unshed tears fill her eyes, and I feel that shit in my soul. "Imogen…"
"Can you just bring me to Ophelia's apartment? C-Block?"
