His hands are moving. One on the back of my neck, gripping, and one sliding down to my lower back, pressing me against him so I can feel all of him, the heat and the hardness and the size of him through his clothes. I’m grinding against him before I realize I’m doing it, my hips moving on their own, chasing friction and pressure and relief that isn’t coming because what I need isn’t friction, it’s him inside me, and my body knows that even if my brain is still trying to catch up.
He walks me backward toward the wall, toward one of the platforms at the edge of the floor. My feet move where he guides them, and I realize I’ve lost my coordination. The back of my knees hit the platform and I sit. His hand on my shoulder pushes me down further until I’m lying back on the leather. He’s over me, his weight between my legs. My thoughts stop all at once, like someone flipped a switch. The music and the scents are stillthere, and somewhere on this floor, the alpha I thought I wanted is watching as the one my body chose pins me down in front of everyone. My last clear thought before I’m lost in it is: this is going to be so much worse than I planned.
His hands find the button on my pants. I arch up into him, and the wave takes me.
Perry
Idon’t remember him getting my jeans off.
I remember his hands fumbling with my button, and then suddenly there’s air on my skin, the wet sound of my thighs peeling apart, and the cold leather under my bare ass. My jeans are just gone—either on the floor or bunched around one ankle, who knows. I honestly don’t give a shit. Not when this alpha is standing between my legs, staring at me like I’m the only thing in the room.
He puts his hand on my chest and shoves me flat. My spine hits the leather, and I’m staring up at him, then past him at the dark ceiling. From here, I can see the gallery—the railing, the blurry shapes of people, that weird blue light making them look like ghosts. They can see me. I’m just laid out here, legs open, cock hard against my stomach, slick everywhere, and everyone up there has a front row seat.
His hands slide up my thighs and I jerk, like he just zapped me. Every nerve is on high alert and his palms are so hot it’s like they’re burning me. He pushes my knees wider and steps in, and now I can feel his pants against my bare skin. He’s still dressed.I’m not. That feels unfair, but honestly, it’s just one more thing I can’t do shit about. That list is getting pretty long.
He leans over me, one hand braced by my head, the other sliding between my legs. I’m so wet it’s honestly embarrassing, and when his fingers push in, I make a sound I’m never going to forget. It’s loud. It bounces off the concrete. Somewhere nearby, someone actually stops what they’re doing—I can tell because the background noise changes. People are listening to me lose it, and I can’t even pretend to be quiet.
Two fingers, then three. He’s not gentle about it, but he doesn’t have to be. I’m so slick and open his fingers just slide right in, and the stretch is a relief, but it’s not enough. Three fingers isn’t even close. My hips keep rolling up, chasing more, and my cock is leaking all over my stomach, untouched, twitching every time he curls his fingers.
“Please.” I actually say it out loud. I hear myself, and the part of me that’s still Perry—the guy who walked in here forty-five minutes ago with a plan and a whiskey and the right alpha’s scent—wants to crawl under the floor and die. I’m begging a stranger to fuck me on the floor of a sex club, and I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life.
He pulls his fingers out and I almost scream. The emptiness hurts, my body clenching around nothing, slick dripping onto the platform. I hear his belt, then his zipper, and then his cock is right there, hot and blunt, pressing against me. My body just opens for him before he even pushes in. I’m so far gone that resisting isn’t even on the table.
He pushes in and I arch off the platform hardHe pushes in and I arch off the platform so hard he has to shove me back down by the chest. The sound I make is basically a scream, and it rips out of me before I can stop it. He’s big. I knew he was, I could feel it through his pants, but having him inside me is a whole different thing. I’m full—so full I swear I can feel him in my stomach. Thestretch, the pressure, the way my body just gives in and takes it. It’s exactly what I wanted, even if I wasn’t ready for it. his hand is flat on my chest and I can feel my own heart slamming into his palm. His eyes find mine through the mask and for a second we’re just there, connected, his cock buried in me and neither of us breathing. My body clenches around him involuntarily and his fingers curl against my chest and I see his composure crack for half a second before he puts it back together.
“There you are.” Quiet. Almost to himself, li“There you are.” He says it quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself, like he’s been searching for something and just found it. It shouldn’t make sense—he doesn’t even know me. But my body reacts anyway, clenching so hard he actually gasps.I was holding onto.
He doesn’t wait. He pulls back and slams in again, fast and hard, but every move is on purpose. Even through the haze, I can tell he’s not lost in it. His breathing is rough, his grip is tight, but his rhythm is steady. He’s paying attention. When he angles his hips and hits that spot that makes my vision go white, he does it again. And again. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and my cock is jerking against my stomach, leaking so much my skin is shiny.
I grab the edge of the platform with one hand, just trying to hold onto something. My other hand is on his arm, feeling the muscles flex. His skin is burning hot and I’m digging my fingers in hard enough to leave marks, but he doesn’t even react. The wet sound of him fucking me is loud—way louder than I want. Slick, messy, and everyone can hear it. The gallery can see everything. My legs are around his waist, my back arching off the platform with every thrust. I look exactly like what I am: an omega in heat getting wrecked on the open floor because I couldn’t keep it together long enough to make it to a private room.
I can feel people watching me. From the gallery, from the floor—everyone’s got a front row seat to me falling apart. Three months ago, I was on this same floor, tucked away with some alpha who kept things quiet and private. Now I’m spread out, cock hard and leaking, thighs soaked, every sound I make echoing across the room. I should be embarrassed. I should be dying of shame. And I am, kind of, but it’s mixed up with something else, and I can’t even tell the difference anymore.
He shifts his grip, both hands on my hips now, pulling me onto him with every thrust. The new angle makes me yell—like, actually yell, my voice cracking—and he speeds up. He’s reading me like he’s done this a million times, picking up on every sound and every clench, adjusting without missing a beat. It’s almost scary how precise he is, except there’s nothing controlled about how hard he’s breathing or the way his grip bruises or how his cock twitches inside me when I squeeze down.
I come without anyone even touching my cock. Just his cock inside me, hitting that spot, his scent everywhere, and I lose it. My cock pulses against my stomach, my body clamps down on him so hard he groans—low and rough, and I feel it more than hear it. I’m shaking, muscles locking up and letting go, and somewhere in there I say something—maybe “fuck,” maybe “don’t stop,” maybe just “alpha.” It just falls out of me. But it doesn’t take the edge off. Not even close. I come, and my body’s already screaming for more, for his knot, for anything he’ll give me.
He keeps fucking me through it, not slowing down at all. His hand grabs my jaw and turns my face to him. “Look at me,” he says, and I do, because I can’t not. His eyes behind the mask are a mess, even though his hands are steady and his rhythm hasn’t slipped. He’s not as in control as he wants me to think. That does something to me—something hot and a little scary.
I look past his shoulder—ceiling, gallery, blue light. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone standing at the edge of the platform, just outside the light. I know who it is instantly, the way you know your own hands. If I focus, I can pick up the cedar scent, buried under all the smoke, iron, slick, and sex in the air. Just a hint of warm, sweet cedar.
He’s watching.
The alpha I came here for is standing ten feet away, watching me get fucked by someone else right out in the open. Watching me come without even being touched. Watching me shake and moan and wrap my legs around a stranger because my body won’t let me do anything else. I can’t see his face because of the mask, so I have no idea if he’s pissed, hurt, turned on, or what. I can’t even think about it long enough to figure out how I feel, because the next wave is already building and my body is dragging the black mask alpha in deeper, clenching, begging for more.
My cock is getting hard again. Already. I just came, but the scent, the fullness, and the fact that I’m being watched by the alpha I wanted while the one I didn’t choose is fucking me—it’s all feeding into itself, and apparently my body thinks this is the hottest thing ever. Slick is pooling under my ass on the leather. The black mask alpha changes his pace, going deeper, slower, like he knows I’m looking at someone else and he’s letting me feel it. Like he knows exactly who I’m watching.
The alpha above me shifts, grabs my hips, and pulls out. I make some desperate, animal sound, pissed off at the loss even though he’s still right there, not going anywhere. His hands are already flipping me over.
“Turn over.” His voice is rough, almost breaking. “I need—” He doesn’t finish, doesn’t have to. His hands say it for him, flipping me onto my stomach. My face hits the cushion and it reeks of me—slick, sweat, heat. I hear him yank something off, and then hishand is on the back of my neck, pushing me down, and he slides back in from behind. The angle is different, deeper, and I bite on my own arm to keep from screaming.
His chest presses against my back. He’s burning up. His heartbeat slams against my spine with nothing between us, and I can feel the sweat on his skin, and it’s so much more than it was thirty seconds ago when he was just fucking me. This is something else. This is him wanting to feel me too. His weight pins me to the platform, and I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I don’t want to; I want to be pinned, I want to be held down so hard that I can’t do anything but take it, because making decisions is what got me into this, and my body is so much better at this than my brain ever was.
My cock is trapped against the platform, still hard, oversensitive from coming, and every thrust grinds me into the slick surface. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. I can hear myself making sounds, muffled, continuous, the kind of sounds that would humiliate me if I could hear them from outside my own body. His mouth is close to my ear, and I can hear him breathing, harsh and ragged. Underneath that, there's a low sound in his chest that’s almost a growl. It’s the first time he’s sounded anything less than in control, and it does something to me, knowing I’m affecting him too, knowing this isn’t just my body coming apart.
His hand slides up from my hip to the back of my neck, and his grip tightens, and my whole body goes liquid under his palm. Some omega reflex that I’ve never felt this strongly, the pressure on my nape turning off every muscle I have. I go limp against the platform, and he fucks me harder. I can feel tears burning behind my eyes, and I press my face down because I am not going to cry on this floor. I’m not going to give the gallery that. I’m not going to give the cedar alpha that.
His knot starts to swell.