ALEX #8
Two hours later two betas show up. They’re completely unaffected by the intense scent of heat, they fix the lock on the door and take the bed.
It’s hard to explain, but I simply don’t want to sleep in a bed where I killed someone. And maybe it sounds strange, but that room will always have a different kind of aura for me because of it.
I survive the next two heat waves by training myself intensely in how to handle them in the most optimal way, and only in the evening around nine do I finally give in and call the stalker again.
He doesn’t seem surprised that the door is fixed.
When we move to the bed, I lie on my back again. And then he does something unexpected, he grips my shoulder and easily rolls me onto my stomach.
"Hey!"
I growl, because I want it on my back, but he ignores it.
Does he want a change? Or was the roleplay from before too much for him, too close to the past?
So instead of taking him on my back, I feel the weight of his body from behind, and it’s so pleasant, so overwhelming that the frustration disappears instantly.
Maybe I shouldn’t push for the roleplay.
Or maybe I should.
"Tell me you want me, like he would…" I mumble as I start pushing my hips up in a pulsing rhythm, small movements encouraging him to penetrate me.
His head is now to the right of mine, and I hear him whisper.
"I want you… Tell me you’re only mine."
I freeze for a second, since this is a pretty peculiar request. If he really has moved on himself, that would seem kind of insolent in the eyes of others, since he has no rights to me anymore, but that’s not how I see it. I want to hear it; it’s catnip for my soul.
"I’m yours… only yours!"
A moment later, I feel him press into me, his full weight covering me, and my gosh, how I love that feeling of being almost flattened into the bed, pierced by his thick dick.
In no time, he drives into me, pushing deep from the very first thrust, and I spill breath after breath of moans, whimpers, and sighs as he sets the pace.
This time, the sex is far wilder, more intense, he slams into me like he’s starved for my body, like he’s gone into rut, which isn’t impossible, even though I didn’t call him for every wave.
He feels coiled, ready, drilling into me with fierce passion, and my hole pulses in steady rhythms, as my cock sprays cum across the sheets.
At one point, I feel his hand slide under my torso, so I lift myself higher, and higher, assuming an L-shape position, he sits behind me, my legs between his bent thighs, and he thrusts between my ass cheeks.
I can work with him, driving down with my hips, my head falling back against his chest. His gloved hands squeeze my nipples, wringing shameless cries of pleasure from me.
Then, after his knot expands, we stay like this. Me bent back, my head resting on his shoulder, immersed in a fleeting closeness. And still, I feel so broken and lost inside.
◆◆◆
Finally the third day comes and with relief I feel my waves begin to weaken.
I get through the whole day wrestling with myself, but I keep treating it as a kind of training for future heats, a way to learn my body and my needs so I can handle things if one day the stalker isn’t next to me and I have no one in my life.
I know that knowledge is valuable, so I try to take as much from this experience as I can.
Only in the evening do I allow myself to invite him again.
This time I decide to add more variety. When the stalker walks in, I am already completely naked, sitting on the kitchen counter, staring at him with raw intensity.
The only thing I am wearing is a chain with my tab.
He approaches at an unhurried pace, like a predator closing in on its prey. He tilts his head slightly, then places his hands on either side of my thighs, not touching me yet.
The kitchenette is wrapped in dim light. I’ve turned off the overhead strip, leaving the space warm and intimate.
"You know," I say, "I used to fuck him like this all the time.
Bay. After we finished decorating the tiny house, we went at it like rabbits.
We had to christen every surface. The counter, the cabinets, the floor.
" I take a breath. "I want you to fuck me like that.
First here, then on the table, then on the ground. "
For a moment, I look straight at his face, at the place where I know his eyes are watching me through the thin mesh. Silence settles between us.
My heart starts racing, and I hear his heartbeat speeding up too.
"Don’t say anything more," I whisper, barely audible, like I’m trying to cast a spell.
"Except that you are him. I need to hear it again." The words tear out of me, pain slicing straight through my chest. "Say you’re Bay. You shouldn’t be. It would be too much. Unhealthy. But I guess I’m a masochist, and I just need to hear it. "
"I am," the stalker whispers, and then he grabs my ass and pulls me to the edge of the counter.
His masked face slides to my ear, then lower, to my neck glands. The fabric over his mouth presses against them, and a soft moan slips out of me. His fingers lift and begin a slow, rhythmic trace along my spine, over every vertebra, outlining my shoulder blades before drifting lower.
With one sharp motion, the stalker lifts me into the air as if I weigh nothing at all, then lays me down on the table, raises my legs, and rests them against his chest.
A moment later, I’m skewered onto his cock like a chicken on a spit!
With some amazement, I notice the stalker showed up already hard, and, almost comically, with a condom on.
Wow. It’s nearly unbelievable, but it only confirms my suspicion that he’s in rut.
So… I’ve unintentionally made this heat harder for him too.
Because when he goes home, he doesn’t stop being hard.
That’s rut in an essence, alphas can stay erect for 24 hours…
I feel a little guilty for putting him in this situation, but on the other hand, there’s something extra about it, a shared struggle, a bond in difficulty. That’s why this moment feels oddly more precious to me…
I lift my arms and brace them behind me on the table’s edge, just past my head. My body slides slightly across its surface, my ass making wet, slapping noises
—thwap, thwap, thwap—
as it meets his thrusts.
His rigid rod plunges into my pink, open hole, sliding into my swollen ring, and I hear my slick making squelching sounds…
I look down and see my little cock bobbing over my stomach, sputtering tiny white droplets high into the air, like, a full three feet up.
My eyes lock onto the surface of my belly, which bulges slightly where he drives into me… "Breed me, Bay…" I push out in a raspy voice, like some in a cheap porn.
His gloved hand slides along my ribs, brushing lightly against my nipples, hard and almost painfully tight, like little points of pleasure on my skin, aching to be rolled, tugged…
But he’s not done. Three orgasms and dozens of gasps later, he grips my waist and, without pulling me off his cock, lifts and lowers me to the floor, exactly how I wanted.
I land on the small rug near the coffee table, and the stalker braces himself on his elbows above me. We’re back in the same position as before, our faces close.
I hear his breath: fast, ragged, and soft words I can’t quite make out.
"Say it again," I demand, "that you love me, that you’re him… I need it."
"I love you… And it’s me."
And just as he says it, I feel him come, and his knot swells inside me!
He lets out a muffled sound, but I grip his sweater brutally, holding him against me with all my strength, preventing him from pulling back.
"Fuck me with your knot," I demand, "don’t stop, don’t stop!"
The feeling of that massive knot moving inside me, pressing against my prostate with every thrust, is liberating.
The tip of his cock massages the entrance to my womb, and the sensation is pure ecstasy.
I scream, I don’t even recognize my own wild cries, lost in pleasure, thrashing my body, deep in abandon, my hips jerking up and sideways, driving myself deeper onto his knot.
My spine arches, my nails claw at his sweater, tearing at the fabric, and then the pleasure becomes too much, and I feel myself slip away.
When I wake up, I am in my bed, covered with a quilt, and he is gone.
I sit up in surprise and look around. He took the time to carry me to the bed and tuck me in, but I do not want to think about it now.
About the whole roleplay, the fragments of the past, the illusion of us being back together.
It makes me miserable. I sink back onto the mattress and press my cheek into the pillowcase.
All I want is for my life to be something else entirely, and for Bay to come back into it.
◆◆◆
On the fourth day I wake with only mild waves, and I know the heat is coming to an end.
What awaits me now is recovery, lonely and depressing.
I wonder if this is the right moment to call Lake Nolan, but I also know I can’t wait any longer, because the fact that heat has clouded my mind for a while doesn’t change what has actually happened just before that.
I have killed a man in an absolutely impossible way.
And that demands investigation, I have to uncover that mystery since it is part of my identity.
I can’t just move on from it like nothing is happening, it’s too big. Now that the fog of heat is clearing from my mind my mood worsens with every minute, and it isn’t only because of the hormone crash tied to heat recovery. I have to understand who I am.
It is ten at night, which means there is a good chance Lake is getting ready for bed, or maybe he is having sex with his husband, since he is tightly bonded to his True Mate and they can go at it every three hours, so who knows. But after a few rings Lake picks up.
"Alex? Are you okay?" I hear his warm tenor.
"Not really," I mumble.
"Did something happen?" worry creeps into his voice.
"I have a very strange question, and I really need you to give me an absolutely honest answer."