Getting Fucked #2
It's the oddest compliment I've ever received.
Honestly, I should be enraged at him for not instantly insisting that I'm not fat, that I'm perfect and delicate. But there's something about the way he’s praising me exactly as I am that makes my treacherous heart flutter.
“You are working very hard to look like you hate me,” Cass smirks as he pours some scentless bodywash onto a washcloth. “But you forget I can feel you in our bond.”
"I'm not working at anything," I insist, my voice tight. "I'm pissed." The word feels flimsy, a lie that I'm telling myself as much as him.
"But you're also happy. I can feel it. It’s a little flutter right…here." He taps his own chest, right over his heart, and I feel a phantom echo of the emotion he's describing in my own body. “You are warm and happy, omega.”
A fresh wave of hot, irrational anger surges through me. I snarl, digging my nails into his shoulders, trying to hurt him, to make him feel anything other than the bliss moving through our bond.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m feeling!” I bite out.
Cass doesn’t flinch or pull away. Just steadies me with those dark blue eyes. Calm, solid, and infuriating.
“I don’t want a mate,” I go on, the words tumbling sharper now, more desperate. “I never have. I didn’t ask to get snatched. I didn’t want a bond, or a pack, or—” My grip tightens. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
His expression shifts then, not amused anymore. Not smug. Very intent. “I’m not deciding anything, Tansy,” he says quietly. “I’m listening to your heart.”
I scoff, breath shaking. “I hate that you’re inside my head.”
“And you’re inside mine,” he counters as softly. “You can see exactly what I feel, too.”
The steam curls around us, thick and close. My hands are still fisted in his shoulders, my body tense like it’s braced for a fight that isn’t coming.
“I believe you don’t want an alpha,” he finally says.
“I believe you.” He lifts the cloth, slow and deliberate, then he presses it to my breastbone.
“And I also believe you are freaking out right now because you don’t know how to be taken care of.
I can feel it in every inch of your body.
It’s like you're waiting for me to hit you.”
Something in me shatters.
Before I can find my footing again, Cass’s gaze sharpens. “Who hurt you?” he asks quietly. Then, firmer. “Who taught you that alphas are vicious?”
His question catches me off guard, and I go still for a second, not sure what to say to that.
I swallow hard. “Who hasn’t?” I manage, bitter and flat all at once.
The change in Cass is immediate.
His shoulders tense beneath my hands, muscles going rigid.
Then a wave of cold, sharp fury cuts through our bond, a primal need for revenge so potent it makes my own blood run hot.
My chest fills with a sudden rush of warmth. It’s a wonderful, dangerous heat at the thought of this alpha wanting to avenge me.
But before it can envelop me completely, I cling to my rage, using it like a shield against the unfamiliar feeling.
“Stop it!” I smack Cass’s chest hard, the sound wet and pathetic against his skin. "Stop fucking with my head!" I yell, my voice cracking. “You're tricking me. You're tricking my body into wanting you, into believing that you're safe. But I won’t fall for it!”
Slowly, Cass moves. He reaches up and cradles the back of my head, warm and steady, his fingers tangling gently in my wet hair. His other hand pressing against my breastbone, the pressure gentle but firm.
"I haven't tricked you, omega," he says quietly. “Not even a little.”
My breath stutters.
“Your body knows you’re safe with me,” he continues. “That’s why you’re yelling. That’s why you’re fighting instead of shutting down or freezing up.” He searches my face. “You can be loud, because you know I won’t hurt you. None of us will.”
“No.” I suck in a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to cry. “That’s not it.” Tears burn the back of my eyes.
“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Have you ever yelled at an alpha before? Have you ever felt safe enough to challenge one?”
His question makes me go still.
My thoughts scatter, then stop.
No. I haven’t.
Even as a child, I wouldn’t have dared to raise my voice at one of my fathers. Not at anyone who could decide whether I ate, slept, or stayed.
And Cass has that power now, too.
He’s my mate. My pack alpha. He has the power to control anything and everything I do. Why am I not scared of him?
My chest tightens around the realization.
Cass watches the fight drain out of me all at once.
“Exactly,” he murmurs. “You’re yelling at me because your body knows you can.
” His thumb brushes my temple, grounding me.
“You can say or do whatever you want around me, Tansy. You can be angry, irrational, or even abusive.” His eyes narrow, looking at me with fierce honesty.
“Fated mates know that their alphas won’t hurt them. ”
Fated? More like bullshit.
Fated mates is textbook alpha manipulation. It’s been used for centuries to dress up control as inevitability.
Cass’s kind uses fate as a leash to control their omegas, dressed up as love.
But I don’t say that.
I’m too tired.
My limbs feel heavy, my muscles loose and sore, my skin too sensitive for the constant press of steam and water. It also doesn't help that my head is fogged up with post-heat hormones and the constant, humming presence of our bond.
I don't have the energy to fight anymore.
Defeated, I sag forward before I even realize I’m doing it, my forehead resting on Cass’s chest. I feel a brief flicker of panic at the loss of control, at the way my strength just leaves me. But I don’t have it in me to hold onto my anger right now.
Cass drops the washcloth and curls his arm around my back, the other still holding the back of my head, solid and warm, pulling me closer without squeezing.
“You’ll see,” he says quietly, voice low and sure near my ear. “You belong here with us, Tansy.”
I don’t lift my head. I just listen.
“Warren and Grason will never hurt you,” he continues softly. “They’re good alphas who would rather die than hurt those they love.”
Something in my chest tightens at that, sharp and aching.
“And Beck,” Cass adds, a faint warmth threading into his tone, “he will adore you for the rest of your life.”
The hand at the back of my head shifts, fingers threading gently through my damp hair, anchoring me even though my body still feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry.
“Let go, omega,” he murmurs. “Let us love you.”
Our bond hums softly between us, steady and present, and for the first time since my heat ended, I let myself completely relax in his arms.
Then I close my eyes slowly.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to rest.
I don’t tell Cass that I’m still scared. That beneath the warmth and the safety, something cold and sharp is twisting inside my gut. I feel it coil tighter with every steady beat of his heart against my cheek.
There’s no way out of this anymore.
The realization settles heavy and suffocating, pressing down on me until my breath feels thin.
There's no escape. I can’t leave.
I can’t walk out the front door and return to the life I had before, because I’m mated.
Bound.
Owned.
And the worst part is, I didn’t fucking choose this. My body did. My instincts did. My biology reached out and locked onto this alpha and dragged the rest of me along behind it.
The steam keeps rising, blurring the edges of the small bathroom.
The water keeps running, relentless and loud.
And for the first time, the fear I’ve been clutching doesn’t know where to go.
It has nowhere to hide.
So it settles deep in my chest instead, quiet and watchful, waiting to see what this new life is going to demand of me.