ALEX #7
He wraps the condom in a tissue and slips it into his pocket.
Then he turns and walks out without a word.
I remain bent over the table for a while, feeling in some ways even worse than before the wave began.
Something in me is slowly giving in, loosening, and inside I’m preparing myself for a change in my life.
The only problem is that I still have one more thing to deal with, one more secret, what happened with Oswald waiting for an explanation.
But I decide to leave it for when my heat is over, so my mind can work more clearly.
◆◆◆
Another wave comes during the night, but I don’t call the stalker (yes, I still think of him that way), I get through it with only the dildo, stretching the knot on it.
Another one hits at dawn, but again I fight back the urge to call him, feeling a sadness inside me about this whole situation, how messed up and sick it is.
This time it’s worse though, since it’s the second day of heat.
My body demands more, the energy of an alpha, and the dildo can’t give me that.
I fall asleep at dawn feeling only partially satisfied, but at 9:00 another brutal wave wakes me, so strong I sob through the contraction.
Only then do I text him.
"Please, come."
I look at the clock; it’s 9:03, and I’m curious how fast he will show up.
He arrives at 9:23.
Wow, he has to live nearby.
I watch through the window, but I don’t see him use the main entrance, so he probably jumped the fence in the back near the apartment complex.
I’m not in the mood to ask him how close he had to be to get here so quickly, but the thought slips through my mind that maybe he’s been renting an apartment on that neighboring estate, and if that’s true, it explains a lot.
It makes sense, he could come to campus every day, he could be here whenever I need him…
When he enters and closes the door behind him, I’m standing about ten feet in front of him in the middle of the living room.
Silence.
His dark mask turned toward me, motionless.
I lift my hand and make a slow, inviting gesture, then I walk upstairs.
I don’t want to stay fully dressed during heat, so I let the robe fall to the floor.
The man follows me in, and now he’s looking at me, or at least I assume he is, which feels strange in a way because why doesn’t he want to show me his face at this point?
But I don’t dwell on it, now isn’t the time.
I climb onto the bed and take the presenting pose, the one omegas use in heat, my ass high in the air, my hole on full display, open, waiting for him.
He stands there for a moment, and I hear his heartbeat speed up.
He’s wearing a black sweater this time, and military-style pants, the balaclava on his head and the mask over it, and he must be burning under all of that.
"Okay, so I’m good to go, ready whenever you are…" I murmur.
As I lie there with my ass raised, a sudden, bleak realization hits me. I have to somehow face the internal goodbye to Bay. The world is forcing it on me. Could his ghost help me? And yet I know I am not ready for that, so why shouldn’t I let myself slip into role-play right now?
Someone might say this is self-torture, tormenting myself with the impossibility of our situation, but I simply cannot live with the thought of giving myself to someone else. It has to be him. It has to be Bay.
With a sharp movement, I roll onto my back.
Now I am staring up at the stalker standing right beside the bed, his hand resting on his crotch. He was clearly getting ready to start, but I changed my mind.
"Lie down on me," I whisper, breathless. "Just like you are. Just lie on me."
There is a moment of silence. The dark mask turns toward me. I reach out and switch off the bedside lamp. The only light now comes from the hallway, leaving the room submerged in shadows.
"Please, lie on me," I repeat. "Just lie down on my body with your weight."
Standing there in the half-light, he looks even more mysterious, like a figure born from dusk itself.
Indeed, just a ghost. Slowly, he places one knee on the bed.
I feel the mattress dip under his weight.
Damn, he must weigh a ton and then some.
Next to him, I am nothing but a feather.
Massive muscles carry their own gravity.
His hands come down on either side of my shoulders, and for a moment he hovers over me on all fours, staring down through the mask.
Then he lowers himself, slowly, until his chest presses into mine, pushing the air from my lungs just a little.
The sensation is good. The weight, the mild breathlessness, the solid hardness of his body pinning me down.
I want more. I need more. His head settles near my right ear.
I tilt my face, and my lips brush against the rough fabric of his balaclava.
"Say you’re him," I whisper. "It doesn’t matter if you are or not. Just say, ‘It’s me, Bay. I came back to you.’"
For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, right by my ear, I hear a very quiet, rasping whisper.
"It’s me. Bay. I came back to you."
I lift my hand and slowly run it along his back. Beneath the thick sweater, I feel powerful cords and knots of hard muscle. My body responds instantly. I hook my calves around his back.
"Make love to me," I whisper into his ear. "Make love to me the way he would."
He lifts himself slightly and shifts onto one elbow. I hear the soft crinkle of condom wrappers. I tilt my head back, unwilling to break the mood, the illusion.
One wrapper hits the floor, then another. He braces himself on both elbows again. I slide my hand higher, over his shoulders, to the back of his head, and I feel a slight bulge beneath the ski mask at the base of his skull. He has his hair tied back.
Well, what more proof do I need that it's him?
The thought ignites something hotter in my veins, oh yes, we are playing a dangerously intimate game here.
"Make love to me, Bay," I murmur. "Do it. I’m ready. Take care of me. I’m deep in heat…"
I feel the massive head of his cock pressing against my entrance, his hand sliding down my side, teasing my skin as he supports himself on one elbow.
His fingers slip under my ass, tilting my hips toward him before lifting them slightly.
I feel his thick head nudge against my ring of muscle, pushing in lightly, then retreating, before gliding into me with those slow, pulsing thrusts, filling me impossibly full, tight and perfect.
A helpless moan spills from my throat. "Fuck me, fuck me like you’re him," I whisper, pleading, begging.
Then a firmer, more decisive thrust of his hips, I feel the work of his muscles beneath his sweater, the flex of his ass, the tension in his abs as he moves in smooth, gentle, rocking motions.
"Uhh, uhhh, uhhh," slips from me with every deep slide, every smooth thrust.
His face turns toward mine, pressing against the side of my cheek as if his lips want to kiss me, so I turn my head and feel the shape of his mouth through the mask, pressing against it for a moment.
I’m in heat, so of course my orgasms don’t take much, a handful of thrusts and my cock spurts, probably staining his black tactical sweater.
But he doesn’t stop, because that’s the intensity of heat, and he knows it. I need more, deeper, longer, but I won’t let him rush.
My hands pull him tightly against me, locking his movements, slowing him down, forcing him to move inside me in slow, lazy, sensual drives, pulling almost all the way out, then sinking back in. It feels like he goes deeper every time…
The pace is divine, intoxicating. I’m hot and naked, pressed under a fully clothed man, and that heat, that weight, only heightens everything. My hole clenches tightly around his cock, milking him, rippling, pulling him inside.
"Tell me you love me," I whisper, "say it like he would."
There’s not even a hesitation before he answers, his breath warm against my ear:
"I love you, Alex. I love you so much."
"And I love you, Bay," I murmur back, "I miss you… I want a miracle so badly…"
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he just rocks inside me, each movement spreading little bursts of pleasure along the entire length of my fuck tunnel.
The feeling grows with every passing minute, shifting into that heat-induced state, constant climax, arousal, erotic frenzy.
I tremble and moan, my fingers clawing at his sweater, begging him to repeat those words. And he does, whispering declarations of love that belong only between me and Bay.
Now, I can listen to them guilt-free, drown in them, live in this delusion… Yeah, I know it’s not healthy, but I can’t let it go yet. I need to indulge, deeper, harder, "I need you, Bay… so much," I whisper, "fuck me, don’t stop, don’t stop."
"I won’t, baby, I won’t," he murmurs back, and we rock together until I collapse, sated, and fall into a deep slumber.
◆◆◆
When I wake up, he is no longer in my bed. No surprise here. Sighing heavily, I look around. What I see doesn't make me happy: the bed is bare and minimal with not even a pillow.
Dragging my feet, drained of energy, I go down the stairs, and my gaze falls on the bedroom door.
I have to do something about that damn bed, the one where I killed Oswald.
Gosh, it sounds so brutal.
I had killed a man, a young guy caught in the trap of rut, and maybe he could have been saved if the stalker had shown up a few seconds earlier, if I hadn’t reinforced the fucking door, or if that storm hadn’t started and knocked over the flowerpots, or if I had invited Jared in instead of telling him to come later.
So many things could have gone differently.
I look at the business card. A carpenter with his own workshop, I also need to deal with the door issue anyway.
So I make the call. I ask for help with the door and emphasize that I want a beta or omega to come. The carpenter immediately tells me he’s a beta. I ask if they offer old furniture removal on the side and if they can take the old piece away. For an extra fee the guy agrees.