Chapter 11 #2
But it’s still not warm. Doesn’t pulse with an alpha’s heartbeat. Won’t knot me properly and fill me and make the aching need finally stop.
I’m so focused on chasing relief, on staying quiet, that I don’t hear the footsteps in the hallway until they’re right outside my door.
“Sierra?” Jalen again, soft through the door. “I’m leaving the ice cream outside.”
I freeze, the toy buried inside me, the knot stretched past my entrance, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“Th-thank you,” I manage, and my voice is wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. There’s no way he doesn’t know exactly what I’m doing in here.
A pause that feels like an eternity. I can hear him breathing on the other side of the door. Can smell toasted marshmallow stronger now, mixed with something darker, more primal. Rut.
“You’re welcome,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “Let us know if you need anything else.”
His footsteps retreat, faster this time.
I wait until I can’t hear him anymore before I let out a breath. My face is burning. Partly from heat, partly from humiliation. I just talked to an alpha while literally fucking myself with a toy, and he definitely knew, and I want to sink into my nest and never emerge.
But the toy is still inside me, the knot stretched past my entrance, and my body is still demanding relief.
I start moving again, slower now, trying to be absolutely silent. The wet sounds are unavoidable. I’m producing so much slick that it’s coating my thighs, soaking into the sheets. But I bite down on my pillow to muffle any sounds, working the toy in and out until the pressure starts to build.
The knot catches on every thrust, stretching me, filling me, hitting spots that make my vision go white.
I imagine it’s real. Imagine it’s Dax behind me, that burned caramel scent surrounding me as he works his knot into my body. Or Malik, controlled and precise, knowing exactly how to make me fall apart. Or Jalen with that gentle strength, or Cole with his playful energy turned focused.
My orgasm builds fast, cresting like the storm waves outside. I come with my face buried in a pillow, body clenching around silicone, imagining it’s an alpha’s knot locking inside me.
It helps.
For about another thirty seconds.
Then the heat comes roaring back.
I clean up as best I can, wiping down the toy with a tissue before setting it on a towel at the edge of the nest before stumbling to the bathroom. Another cold shower, this time just to rinse off, to reset.
The tile is cool against my overheated skin. I let the water run over me and try not to think about how this is only day one. How the heat is only going to get worse. How my toys are already proving inadequate, and I have days of this ahead of me.
When I finally make it back to the nest, wrapped in a towel, the ice cream is waiting outside my door exactly as promised. I grab it quickly and retreat, locking the door behind me.
The pint is a little soft from sitting out, but still cold and sweet and exactly what my overheated body needs. I dig in with perhaps more enthusiasm than is dignified, but there’s no one here to judge me.
The marshmallows are perfectly toasted, sweet and chewy, and definitely not making me think about Jalen’s scent. Definitely not.
I’m halfway through the pint when my eyes land on the toy again. It’s just lying there, purple silicone gleaming in the low light, knot clearly visible at the base.
My face heats for an entirely different reason.
That knot has gotten me through so many heats. Has felt good, felt right, felt like enough.
But looking at it now, all I can think about is how it’s not real. How a real alpha’s knot would be warmer, would pulse, would lock inside me and stay locked while they filled me.
How Dax’s knot would probably be bigger. How Malik’s would be perfectly sized. How Jalen’s would stretch me just right. How Cole’s would—
“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, shoving another spoonful of ice cream in my mouth. “Stop thinking about their knots.”
But the image is there now, burned into my brain. Four alphas, four knots, all of them better than silicone could ever be.
The confusing part is how the thought makes me flush. Embarrassment? Yes. But also… heat. I shouldn’t be thinking about Jalen’s knot, or any of their knots. This is just the heat talking, just biology making me stupid.
But my omega is extremely interested in this line of thinking. She’s already planning exactly how we could take all four, one after another, letting them knot us in sequence until we’re so full and satisfied we can’t move.
“That’s not helpful,” I tell her.
She responds by sending another pulse of slick between my thighs and a flash of fantasy so vivid I have to close my eyes: Cole’s hands on my hips, his knot stretching me wide, his teeth at my throat while the others watch and wait their turn.
I eat more ice cream aggressively, trying to freeze out the heat.
It doesn’t work.
Another growl from somewhere in the house, followed by raised voices. I can’t make out words, but the tone is clear. Alphas trying to maintain control while their ruts push them toward instincts they’re fighting.
My body responds immediately. More slick, more heat, nipples going tight and sensitive.
This is bad. This is so bad.
Because my heat is intensifying, their ruts are clearly getting stronger.
I set down the ice cream and curl up in my nest, pulling pillows around me like armor.
The toy is still visible at the edge of my vision. Mocking me with its inadequacy.
I’m going to need it again soon. Maybe in an hour. Maybe less. The heat is building faster now, each wave stronger than the last.
And somewhere beyond my door, there are four alphas who could make all of this so much better.
I hear footsteps in the hallway. Catch a hint of cinnamon-glazed pecans. Cole. My body reacts with a fresh wave of need that has me biting back a whimper.
This is going to be an endless week.
And based on the way my body just responded to a scent and a distant growl, I’m not entirely sure I’m going to survive it with my dignity intact.
My omega helpfully suggests we could survive it much better if we just went out there and offered ourselves to those nice alphas who smell so good and are clearly suffering.
“Traitor,” I mutter into my pillow.
But I can still hear them. Still smell them.
Still want them.
And my purple silicone friend is already proving woefully inadequate for the job ahead.
I’m so screwed.