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I came back for one alpha. The wrong one found me first.
Three months ago, I walked out of Knot Club with one alpha’s scent in my hair and a plan: next heat, I come back for him.
I should have known the club doesn’t care what I planned.
The stranger hits me like a second heat wave — wrong scent, wrong alpha — and my body walks away from my careful plan without asking. He puts me on my knees on the open floor, in front of the gallery. In front of the alpha I came for.
And I like it. I like being watched. I like being taken by the wrong one. I like who I am in front of a room full of people, and I’m going to have to live with that.
Worse: the alpha who took me can’t stop acting like he’s responsible for me. Who the hell keeps caretaking an omega he met twenty minutes ago on a sex club floor?