"Tell me."
"Please." It comes out like it's being torn from him.
"Please what." I push my fingers deeper, curl them, press against the spot that made him scream last time, and hold. Just hold. Steady pressure, no movement. His legs are shaking and his hips are trying to fuck down onto my hand and I won't let him.
"Please fuck me. Please, I need your knot, I need—" He breaks off, turns his head to the side like he can't look at me and say these things at the same time. "I need you inside me. I can't, I need it,please—"
"Good." I pull my fingers out and line up. "That's so good. See how easy that was?"
I push into him and the sound he makes reverberates through my whole body. He's slicker this time, more open from the firstwave, and I slide in deep in one long stroke and bottom out. His back arches off the couch and his mouth drops open in a silent shout.
His legs wrap around my waist and my hands brace on either side of his head. I can see his eyes through the mask, dark and blown, and I start to move. Slow. Deliberate. The first wave was frantic, both of us running on instinct. This time I want him to feel every inch. I want to watch his face while he does.
"You took my knot so well the first time." I roll my hips and he whimpers. "You cried and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I want to see it again."
His hands come up to my chest, fingers spreading across my skin, and I feel his nails bite in when I thrust deeper. His body is gripping me so tight it's almost painful, pulling me in, and the wet filthy sounds of us together fill the alcove. His cock is trapped between our stomachs, rubbing against my abs on every stroke, and it's leaking, the hot smear of precome slick between us.
I slow down. Pull almost all the way out. Hold there with just the head inside him, his body clenching around me, trying to pull me back.
"Tell me again."
"You're a fucking—" He grits his teeth. His hips strain toward me. "Please."
I push back in slow. So slow. And his resistance crumbles, the sharp tongue giving way to raw need, and the sounds coming out of him are wrecked and honest andmine. I pick up the pace. Harder now, each thrust pushing him up the couch, and his hands slide to my back and his nails rake down my skin and the pain lights me up.
"I've wanted this for so long." It slips out. I don't mean to say it. My hips don't stop but I hear the words leave my mouth and I know they're wrong, they're too much, they mean somethingI can't explain away as in-the-moment rut talk. His eyes flicker, something registering behind the heat-glaze, but then I shift the angle and hit deep and whatever thought he was forming dissolves in a moan.
My hand finds his hip. The scar. My thumb traces the raised line of it and I've touched this scar before, not like this, never like this, but I've seen it, I know where it is, and my thumb moves over it with a familiarity that doesn't belong to a stranger. He's too far gone to notice. I hope he's too far gone to notice.
The knot starts to build. I feel it swelling, thickening, and this time I don't rush it. I rock into him steady and let him feel it growing, let the stretch build gradually, and he's gasping with every thrust, his eyes wide and locked on mine.
"Take it." I push the knot in slowly this time, watching his face, watching his mouth fall open and his brow crease and the tears start leaking from the corners of his eyes. "That's it. You're so good. Fuck, you're so good at this."
The knot locks and we both come and his whole body seizes around me, his cock pulsing between us, and he's crying again, quieter this time, tears running into his hair, and I press my forehead to his and breathe his air and think:I am going to ruin both of our lives and I don't know how to stop.
Wren
Iwake up slowly and everything hurts.
Not sharp pain. A deep, full-body ache, like I ran a marathon in my sleep. My thighs are sore. My hips are sore. There's a tenderness between my legs that pulses with my heartbeat and I'm aware of it the way you're aware of a bruise you keep pressing on just to feel it throb.
The heat is gone. Or mostly gone. There's a residual warmth banked low in my gut, but the screaming need that's been running me for the past however many hours has faded to something manageable. Quiet. My brain feels like someone wiped it clean and rebooted it. Thoughts are coming back in pieces. Where I am. What happened. What I let happen.
I'm in a private room. Small, dim, just a bed and a side table and a door. The club must move people here after. After everything. The leather couch in the alcove is a memory I hold in my muscles more than my mind. I'm under a blanket that smells like laundry detergent and underneath it I'm wearing my shirt and nothing else. Somebody dressed me. Partially. Somebody carried me here.
The alpha.
He's in the room. I can feel him before I see him. A presence near the wall, a warm weight of scent in the air. I keep my eyes closed and breathe and his scent fills my lungs. For one long stupid second I just let it. It feels good. It feels like safety and sex and the particular ache of being known, which makes no sense because he's a stranger, and I lie there breathing him in and something in my chest turns over slow and warm.
Then my brain finishes rebooting.
The scent is different now. Without heat amplification it's not this huge overwhelming wave that shuts my thoughts down. It's specific. Detailed. I can pick out the layers I couldn't parse before when I was too far gone to analyze anything. There's the alpha musk, standard. Underneath that something warm, almost like cedar but not quite. And under that, threading through all of it like a note in a chord I've been hearing for years without identifying.
My stomach drops.
I know this scent. I know it the way I know the smell of Tate's apartment on a Sunday afternoon. I know it because it's been on Tate's couch, on Tate's hoodie that I borrowed once and then gave back too fast, in Tate's kitchen on mornings when I came over early and someone had already been there making coffee. I know it because two years ago at Tate's birthday party someone stood too close to me and I caught a wave of it and my whole body lit up and I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face and told myself it was a pre-heat symptom.
I open my eyes.