Chapter 10
Lucien
I slam the door, heart pounding, as I barricade it with my shoulder and turn the key. My hands are shaking. So are my legs and my lungs.
A split second after the deadbolt slides through the strike plate, there’s a heavy thud at the door. It’s Branson. He’s at the door. He slams into it again, a dull impact that makes the timber visibly reverberate.
I step away from the door, jaw open, cock strangely intrigued by the latest turn of events.
I’ve never, ever seen anything like what just happened to Branson in the kitchen, except in the movies.
He changed right in front of my eyes. He grew bigger, if that’s even possible.
His stance widened. Muscles tensed and swelled impossibly.
His voice lowered. Lower than lowered. It dropped so low, I didn’t hear it—I felt it in my balls and spine.
His eyes went black and when he looked up, they were different. Irises clearly lit up from within. Warm amber light burning through tiny striations.
It was the most terrifying thing I’ve seen in real life. It was also the sexiest.
That man, the wild man, the alpha, pounds at my door.
“Good boy,” he says, the other part of him, the good man, pained and suffering. “Don’t let me in yet.”
He slams into the door and growls again. I hear two distinct thuds, his hands maybe, and then something else.
Wait.
Is that his cock thrusting against the door?
I clamp my hand to my mouth and freeze.
Oh shit.
I know what this is. I know what’s happened.
Branson’s in a rut.
Just my luck. My first heat. The middle of goddamn nowhere. An immense, powerful alpha with an immense, powerful dick—and I’ve somehow gone and put him into a rut.
Oh, my poor asshole.
The strange thing is, even as I think all that, I feel oddly proud. Oddly pleased. Complimented beyond words that little ole me has had this effect on an alpha like Branson.
It’s clearly the heat talking, but what can one do?
No, seriously, it’s a genuine question. What can one do?
I can’t think of anything, and being locked in this room, nest or no nest, with Branson banging on the door, is making me feel antsy.
I decide to avoid the issue by brushing my teeth and taking a nice cold shower.
My legs tremble the entire time I’m in the cubicle, and by the time I’ve rinsed all the suds off, I can hardly stay upright.
The leaden ache that’s plagued me for hours gnaws deeper now.
Sharper. Hollowing me out so much that it’s impossible to experience it and be quiet at the same time.
I dry myself and wobble back to my nest, warbling pitifully. I lie down, naked, and try to make myself comfortable. I feel like I did last night, but ten times worse—I can’t find a comfortable position no matter what I do. The only thing that helps even a little is rocking my hips like a whore.
Time passes agonizingly slowly. Now and again, the pain is so severe that I cry out and Branson throws himself against the door, bellowing my name. Each time it happens, the sound affects me worse than it did before.
At last, there’s a lull. A brief moment of respite. The ache in my core eases, and for a second, I don’t even feel hot. I close my eyes and sigh in relief.
The next second, everything changes. An avalanche of pure, scorching heat crashes into me, hitting me from the back and the front, shooting up my spine and frying my brain. The pain is instant and everywhere. Deep and stabbing, splitting me in two.
I scream when it happens, and on the other side of the door, Branson roars.
It’s like everyone says: you’ll know when you know.
I didn’t know before. Now I do.
Whatever just happened in my body was different. Not a surge or a turn. Not an anomaly or the unknown. It was a wave. A distinctive wave. A wave with a trough and a clear crest.
A heat wave.
I clamber to my feet, stumbling to the door. The air around me is thick and hazy, tugging at my ankles, making it hard for me to walk. I hardly feel it. There’s only one thing on my mind.
My alpha.
I have to get to him.
I unlock the door, quivering from head to toe when I see him.
He’s Branson, but not the Branson I know.
He’s not Jensen’s brother, and he’s not the man who coaxed me into drinking electrolytes this morning.
This Branson is an animal. He’s wild. His hair is a mess, and he’s wearing a tight white tank top that looks two sizes too small.
Ink and muscle ripple when he moves and a low sound reverberates from his chest. I don’t know this man, but I do.
This is Branson from a different time and place. This is Branson who belongs outdoors.
He moves toward me with purpose.
My body screams for him and my mind cowers in fright.
He’s so much bigger than me. So much stronger.
He could hurt me. Really hurt me. Easily.
He wouldn’t even have to try hard to do it.
He could break me. Snap me like a twig if he wanted.
And he isn’t himself right now. I can tell by the flames in his eyes.
Lust has taken him over and made him dangerous.
I take a breath to quiet my mind and hear the words he said to me earlier: all you have to do is ask.
All you have to do is ask.
“Branson.” My voice shakes and cracks. “Please, be gentle with me. I’m scared. I-I haven’t done this with an alpha before.”
He stops moving and his shoulders drop. A dopey, lopsided smile tugs the corner of one side of his mouth up. His brows smooth and his expression softens as he nods.
“Gentle,” he says woodenly. “Be. Gentle.”
He unbuckles his belt, big hands pulling and tugging at leather and buckles, eyes blazing.
He takes hold of his tank near his neck and rips it down the middle with one hand, tearing it in two without any sign of exertion.
He swipes the remnants of the garment off his shoulders and onto the floor without taking his eyes off me.
A hot spurt of slick runs down my leg.
I watch transfixed as he lowers his jeans. He pushes them down along with his underwear, straightening as he steps out of them.
He’s a vision.
Dusty-blond hair and gold eyes. Vivid color splashed all over his chest and arms. His legs are long and muscular, but not bulky.
And his dick… Oh God, his dick. It’s big enough that it should inspire fear, but it doesn’t.
Not at all. All it inspires exists low in my body.
Between my legs. Desire. Want. Arousal. Lust. Pure lust.
I try to pry my eyes off it in the name of politeness, but I can’t.
It’s straight and thick with a bulbous head and a profusion of veins crisscrossing the shaft.
Goodness, that thing is gorgeous. Mouthwateringly, ass-clenchingly attractive.
It looks exactly, precisely, like what I need in my life. In my ass. In my mouth. In my guts.
I force my gaze upward with difficulty. Past his navel. Past the grid of muscle on his torso, over the plane of his sternum, meandering between the swell of his pecs. I pause at his neck, watching his Adam’s apple as it bobs in his throat.
When I’ve had my fill of that, I continue my ascent, eyes traveling over the thick mat of his beard.
Over his lips.
Up the bridge of his nose.
Finally, my eyes lock on his. His pupils are blown out, his mouth lax and still pulled into the lazy grin from before.
He doesn’t blink.
I’m stark naked. An omega in heat. A body built to entice him, designed to drive him crazy. A body made to render him mindless. And yet, and yet, he isn’t looking at my body. He’s looking at my face. Into my eyes.
His head tilts to the side, and he raises a hand unsteadily, pointer outstretched in my direction.
“Beautiful omega,” he slurs.
It’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard, but I can honestly say I’ve never felt more complimented. I bask in his praise like an idiot, turning my face this way and that so he can appreciate me from different angles.
His jaw drops a little more with each second that passes.
I love it.
I become aware of it distantly at first—heat is rising again. It enters me through the soles of my feet and travels upward fast. It gathers force at my knees and crests violently when it hits my groin. I double over, crying out and reaching for him.
He helps me to the bed, grip strong and sure.
“Lucien.” His voice travels through time. Through the woods and the trees, striking from the sky directly above me and up from the earth below me. It slices through me, splits me in half. “Present for your alpha.”
The tame parts of me that were holding me up give way. Ankles, knees, hips. I collapse onto the mattress in a slow, sinuous movement, landing on my hands and knees without any conscious decision from me. My legs part and my back arches.