Chapter 10 Jonah
I wake to fire.
Every nerve ending is alive, oversensitive and screaming. The sheets feel like sandpaper against my fevered skin. My pajamas are soaked through with sweat, clinging to me like a second skin that I need off, need gone, need—
No.
I stumble to the bathroom, cranking the shower to cold. The water feels like ice but it barely makes a dent in the heat consuming me from the inside out. I lean against the tile, trying to breathe through it, trying to pray through it.
A wave of need crashes over me so hard my knees buckle. Slick runs down my thighs, my body preparing for something it's never had but desperately wants. The ache inside me is different from my usual heats—deeper, hungrier, specifically shaped for what only an alpha can give.
My alpha.
Alex is on the other side of the house but I can still smell him even through the walls. It’s a pure alpha musk that makes my omega instincts keen. My body knows he's there, knows he could make this better, could fill this emptiness that's eating me alive.
I hate him.
I cling to that thought as I shut off the shower. I dry myself with shaking hands. I hate his arrogance, his dismissiveness, the way he ignores me whenever he can. I hate how talked to me about my coming heat, like he knew exactly what my body needed better than I did.
But God help me, I want him.
Another wave hits, stronger than before. I barely make it to the bed before my legs give out. The cotton sheets are torture against my hypersensitive skin. Everything is too much and not enough. I need pressure, need weight, need something to fill this gnawing emptiness.
I try to handle it myself, hand sliding down my body, but it's not enough. My fingers aren't thick enough, don't reach deep enough. I need—
A knot.
The thought makes me whimper. I've never had one, barely even imagined wanting one until now. But my body knows, some primitive part of me recognizing what it's been designed for.
An hour. I last an hour before the need overrides everything, despite my desperate touches that bring no relief.
When I finally break, I don't even remember deciding to leave my room. One moment I'm clinging to the last shreds of control, the next I'm standing outside Alex's door in nothing but sleep shorts, my whole body trembling.
I can hear him inside, restless movement like he's pacing. He knows. Of course he knows. He can probably smell my heat through the walls.
I knock. It’s barely a sound, just my knuckles against wood.
The door opens immediately.
Alex stands there in low-slung pajama pants and nothing else, his chest bare and gleaming in the low light. His pupils are blown wide, nostrils flaring as my scent hits him full force.
"I wondered how long you'd last," he says, voice rough like he's been fighting his own control.
"Shut up," I manage through gritted teeth. Another wave is building, and I grip the doorframe to stay upright.
"Jonah—" He reaches for me, and something snaps. I have had enough of this man. He’s supposed to be my alpha. He’s supposed to be the man I revere and follow. I’m supposed to submit to his every order and every whim, trusting him to make the right decisions for both of us.
Instead, I got this. Yes, he is gorgeous and he smells delicious but he is supposed to lead me. And he can’t or won’t. Both probably.
Forget that. If he can’t take responsibility for both of us, then I will have to. I’m done feeling sorry for myself. He’s going to behave whether he likes it or not.
I push him back into the room, harder than I meant to, harder than I knew I could. He doesn’t move. He’s still an alpha and double my size. I can’t physically move him but his eyes widen in surprise.
"Stop treating me like I’m naive," I snarl, following him in and kicking the door shut. "Stop acting like you know what I need better than I do."
"I was just—"
"I know what you were doing." I advance on him, something predatory that I've never felt before rising in my chest. "Poor little virgin omega doesn’t know anything."
I push him again hard. I’m not strong enough to do him any damage or to even make much of an impact against his muscular chest. I don’t care. I shove him again. This time he lets me move him. His back hits the wall. "That's not—"
I press against him, full body contact that makes us both gasp. He's hard, cock pressing against my stomach through thin fabric, and the evidence of his desire makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced.
"Is this what you expected?" I ask, rolling my hips against him.
His hands come up to grip my waist, and I catch his wrists, pinning them to the wall. He could break free easily—he's stronger than me—but he doesn't. His breath catches, eyes going dark with something that looks like awe.
"Jonah," he breathes.
"No." I lean in, lips brushing his ear. "You don't get to tell me what to do. Not this time."
"You don't know what you're doing," he says, but his voice is breathless, affected.
"It’s not that complicated," I pull back to look at him, letting him see the heat in my eyes, the determination.
Something flares in his expression: challenge accepted. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
"I think you’re going to do as I tell you and you’re going to like it."
He's pressed against the wall, and I'm right up against him, my body burning everywhere we touch.
"Make me," he says, and there's something bratty in his tone that makes heat pool in my belly.
I kiss him.
It's nothing like our wedding kiss—that was all him taking control. This is me claiming, demanding, taking what I need. I bite his bottom lip, swallow his gasp, lick into his mouth like I'm trying to devour him.
He moans, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
When I pull back, we're both panting. "Bed," I demand.
"Bossy little omega," he says, but he's moving, backing toward the massive bed that dominates his room.
"You love it," I shoot back, and the truth of it is written all over his face.
When the back of his knees hit the bed, I push him down. He falls back on his elbows, looking up at me with a mixture of lust and surprise that makes me feel drunk with power.
"Take them off," I order, nodding at his pants.
"Make me," he says again, but he’s grinning.
I’m going to wipe that grin off his face, make him sorry he ever messed with me.
I'm on him in a second, straddling his hips, grinding down against his erection. He groans, head falling back, and I take the opportunity to attack his throat, sucking a mark into the skin that will be visible for days.
"Fuck," he gasps, hips bucking up. "Jonah—"
"Off," I demand again, tugging at his waistband.
This time he complies, lifting his hips so I can pull the pants down and off. His cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking. The sight makes my mouth water, makes the ache inside me intensify.
"Your turn," he says, reaching for my shorts.
I catch his hands again. "Did I say you could touch?"
His eyes go wide. "You can't be serious."
"Do you want to find out?"
We stare at each other for a long moment, the air between us electric. Then, slowly, he relaxes back against the bed, hands fisting in the sheets instead of reaching for me.
"Good alpha," I purr, and his cock twitches visibly.
I take my time removing my shorts, watching his face as I reveal myself to him. His gaze is hungry, consuming, taking in every inch of newly exposed skin. When he sees how wet I am, how ready, he makes a sound like he's been punched.
"Please," he says, and I've never heard him beg before. It's intoxicating.
"Please what?"
"Let me touch you. Let me taste you. Let me—"
I silence him with another kiss, finally letting our bodies fully connect. Skin to skin, nothing between us, and it's like coming home and being set on fire at the same time. Every point of contact sparks with electricity.
"God, you feel—" He cuts himself off with a groan as I rock against him, my slick making everything smooth and easy.
"Tell me," I demand, even as another wave of heat crashes over me, making me desperate. "Tell me how I feel."
"Perfect," he gasps. "Hot and wet and perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Maybe I was," I say, and then I'm sinking down onto him, taking him inside me in one smooth motion that has both of us crying out.
The stretch burns in the best way, filling that aching emptiness that's been driving me mad. He's bigger than my fingers, bigger than anything I've ever had, and for a moment I can't move, can't breathe, can only feel.
"Jonah," Alex says, voice wrecked. "Fuck, you're so tight."
I start to move, slow at first, learning the rhythm, the angle. His hands come up to my hips and this time I let him, need the anchor as I ride him. Each movement sends sparks through me, each slide of him inside me better than the last.
"That's it," he encourages, but there's something desperate in his voice, like he's barely holding on. "Take what you need."
"Shut up," I gasp, picking up the pace.
"Make me," he challenges again, and I lean down to shut him up with my mouth.
The kiss is all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate. His hands tighten on my hips, trying to control the rhythm, but I won't let him. This is mine, my heat, my choice. I'm the one in control.
Except then he hits something inside me that makes me see stars, and suddenly I'm not in control of anything. My body takes over, chasing that feeling, that perfect angle that has me gasping his name.
"There," he says, smug now. "Right there."
He plants his feet on the bed, thrusting up to meet me, hitting that spot over and over until I'm shaking, until I'm begging, until I'm—
"Please," I gasp, not even sure what I'm asking for.
"Tell me what you need," he demands, and now who's in control?
"Your knot," I admit, the words torn from me. "Need your knot, need—"
He flips us. Suddenly I'm on my back, legs wrapped around his waist, and he's driving into me with purpose. The change in angle has me crying out, clutching at his shoulders.
"Bossy little omega," he says against my throat. "Thought you were in charge?"
"Shut up and knot me," I snap, but it comes out more desperate than demanding.
I feel it starting, the swell at the base of his cock. My body responds instantly, clenching around him, trying to keep him inside. The stretch is intense, overwhelming, but exactly what I need.
"Relax," he murmurs, surprisingly gentle. "I've got you."
"I hate you," I gasp, even as I pull him closer.
"I know," he says, and then his knot locks inside me and I'm coming so hard I can’t think.
The orgasm seems to go on forever, waves of pleasure that leave me gasping and shaking. I'm dimly aware of Alex following me over, of the heat of his release inside me, of his weight settling over me like a blanket.
When I finally come back to myself, we're locked together, his knot still swollen inside me. He's pressing lazy kisses to my neck, my shoulder, anywhere he can reach.
"Don't," I say weakly.
"Don't what?" He nips at my earlobe. "Don't kiss my omega while we're literally locked together?"
"Don't act like this changes anything."
He pulls back enough to look at me. His hair is wrecked, lips swollen, a purple mark blooming on his throat where I bit him.
"Doesn't it?" he asks.
Before I can answer, another wave of heat crashes over me. My body clenches around his knot, making us both groan.
"Still hate me?" he asks, rolling his hips in a way that makes me see stars.
"Yes," I gasp, but I'm pulling him down for another kiss.
"Good," he says against my mouth. "Hold onto that."
The next two days blur together in a haze of heat and need and desperate coupling. We fuck on every surface in his room—the bed, the floor, against the wall, in the shower when we attempt to clean up.
Sometimes I'm in control, riding him while he begs, making him wait until I'm ready.
Sometimes he takes over, fucking me through the mattress while I curse his name and plead for more.
The push and pull never stops, even when we're locked together, even when we're both too exhausted to do more than rock against each other.
He brings me water, makes me eat when the heat breaks long enough. He's unexpectedly tender in those moments, washing my fevered skin with cool cloths, feeding me bites of fruit when my hands shake too much to manage it myself.
"Why are you being nice to me?" I ask during one of these lulls, suspicious.
"Because you're my omega," he says simply. "And you're in heat."
"I'm not yours," I protest, even though his mark throbs on my neck, even though I know I'll never be able to wash his scent off my skin.
"Aren't you?" He traces the bite mark with one finger, making me shiver. "Could have fooled me when you were screaming my name an hour ago."
"That was the heat."
"Right. Just the heat." His hand slides lower, finding me already getting wet again.
"Exactly," I gasp as his fingers slip inside me.
"Nothing to do with actually wanting me," he agrees, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
I want to argue, but then the heat takes over again and all I can do is pull him down and let my body have what it needs.
By the time the heat finally breaks, truly breaks, we're both exhausted.
I'm covered in bruises and bite marks, evidence of three days of desperate passion written all over my skin.
Alex doesn't look much better—scratches down his back, marks on his throat and chest where I claimed him again and again.
We lie in his destroyed bed, not touching but close enough to feel each other's warmth. The room reeks of sex and pheromones. Reality is starting to creep back in.
"So," Alex says finally.
"So," I echo.
He studies me for a long moment.
"We should... I should go back to my room," I say.
"You can barely walk."
He's not wrong. Every muscle aches, and I'm pretty sure my legs won't hold me if I try to stand.
"I'll manage."
"Jonah." His voice is serious now. "Stay. Sleep. We can figure out what this means tomorrow."
"It doesn't mean anything," I insist.
"Fine. Then it doesn't matter if you stay."
I hate his logic. Hate that he's right. Hate that part of me doesn't want to leave this bed that smells like us.
"Just sleeping," I say.
"Just sleeping," he agrees.
But when I wake up hours later, we're tangled together, his arm around my waist, my back pressed to his chest. I close my eyes and pretend I don't notice how right it feels.