Chapter Seventeen
Rhea
S leep doesn't come easy.
Shocking, I know - what with the raging inferno in my pelvis and the emotional trauma blanket of unrelenting horniness draped over my soul.
I toss. I turn. I kick the blanket off. Regret it. Pull it back on. Tangle myself in it like a feral cat settling down in a grocery store window display.
The nest I built is now a war zone - pillow carnage everywhere, the spare blanket bunched up like it’s judging me.
When I finally doze off, it’s not sleep. It’s more like someone hit pause on my ability to function and dumped me into the horny fever dream folder of my subconscious.
Lucian’s voice shows up, of course - brooding bastard that he is, whispering in my head like some sexy sleep paralysis demon.
You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.
Sir. With all due respect; get the hell out of my dreams and take your calm dominance kink with you.
The phantom words he's never even said burrow into my brain like splinters dipped in pheromones anyway. I reach for them in my sleep, but they vanish like my dignity at the gala.
And I wake up aching. Like… absurdly so.
The sheets are twisted between my legs like I tried to mate with them in my sleep. Which I probably did.
Sorry, 1,000-thread count Egyptian cotton. It wasn’t you, it was me.
My mouth is dry. My thighs are very not. Again.
I groan, rolling over like a dying sea creature. The lights are dimmed, thank god, because I’m not emotionally prepared to see my own reflection right now.
That's when I realize that someone’s been in here.
There’s food on a tray: bread, cheese, fruit, a thermos that smells like maybe tea or possibly regret. Honestly, I’d kill for a coffee and a tranquilizer.
There’s also a pile of clothes folded at the foot of the bed like a weirdly thoughtful care package from a polyamorous cult.
I investigate. Slowly.
Pajamas - soft cotton. Not mine. Female. Slightly worn.
Why does this feel weirdly intimate?
Then I spot the lineup.
One flannel shirt. It smells like cedar, sin, and someone who could pin me to a wall without breaking a sweat.
Ash .
Next: a soft black hoodie. It smells like comfort, patience, and a thousand whispered apologies I haven’t even earned yet.
Theo’s. Obviously.
Then - of course - there’s the paint-splattered chaos that is Kai’s T-shirt. It smells like static electricity, mischief, and bad decisions made after midnight.
And then -
One black crew neck. No logos. No softness. It smells like authority. Like steel. Like please ruin my life, Daddy -
And ew . I hate that I think that.
Fucking Lucian.
I sit with them for a long time. Too long. Hugging their scents like a girl who’s one bad decision away from humping a laundry basket.
Eventually, I give in and pull Lucian’s shirt on. It’s way too big. It’s way too warm.
It’s also… perfect.
Does it help? Sort of.
Does it fix the problem? Absolutely not.
The ache is still there. Louder now - almost like my ovaries are staging a coup and they’ve recruited my spine.
I try again. Fingers. Slick. Desperation.
Nada.
My body has decided it doesn’t want DIY solutions anymore. It wants professionals.
Four of them, apparently.
I sigh a little dramatically even for my own awareness and rise from the bed.
Lucian's shirt clings tighter to my body as if it’s been complicit in my downfall this whole time. My thighs are sticking together. My pulse is a drum solo in my ears.
And just like that, I’m at the door again.
Because apparently, I have zero self-preservation instincts -
And also because my entire lower half is now functioning on autopilot.
I press both palms to the cold metal and rest my forehead there like I’m about to confess something shameful to a priest.
It’s cooler than I am, because of course it is. Everything is. Even Lucian is probably cooler, and he's the one currently haunting my every bodily function.
I know he’s there. Not because I can hear him, but because apparently , when your heat is bad enough, you can feel an alpha lurking like it’s some sort of magical hormone-based Spider-Sense.
And of course he’s waiting. After all, nothing says emotional stability quite like whispering horny nonsense through a steel door in the middle of the night in someone else’s shirt while actively leaking slick.
My life is a disaster, but hey - at least I’m hydrated.
“You again?” I murmur.
I mean, really - who else would be lurking like a brooding gargoyle outside my door in the middle of the night?
Silence.
Then: “You’ll find that you're the one at my door, Omega.”
His voice is lower tonight. Rougher. Like he’s one unhinged breath away from saying 'mating press ' out loud.
“You left clothes,” I say, because apparently I’ve lost the ability to lead with anything except petty accusations.
“We all did.”
I exhale, slow and shaky. “You knew I’d wear it.”
“Did you?”
“I slept in it.” Pause. “And…”
Oh god. Do I admit it? Do I just say it?
He already knows, I'm sure. He’s probably out there with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched like the walking sex paradox that he is.
Fuck it.
“I touched myself in it, too.”
A sharp inhale. Barely audible, but oh, I felt it.
That sound just gave me a new religion.
“You wanted me to. Didn’t you, Alpha?”
There’s a pause. I wonder whether his soul just tried to leave his body the same way that mine did last night when he was the one taking charge of this... dialogue.
But then -
“Did you come?”
I hesitate, then shake my head - like he can see through steel.
“No,” I admit. “Not even close .”
“Because you need more.” His voice slips into that deadly velvet tone. “Because no matter how deep you push your fingers, they’ll never compare to an Alpha’s cock.”
I gasp.
Honestly, I should probably be insulted, or at least a little offended.
But… he’s not wrong.
I’ve been trying to fix a furnace with a toothpick over here.
“Tell me what you need, Omega.”
I close my eyes. Press my cheek to the door.
“I need to be filled.”
He moans. Actually moans . Lucian Vale - corporate warlord, power incarnate - just groaned like a man denied victory for the first time in his life.
“I’d fill you,” he says. “Press you down on all fours. Knot you until you forgot your own fucking name .”
“You’re not in here,” I breathe.
“I know.”
“Why?”
Another beat.
I swear I can hear him clenching his jaw.
“Because if I go in there…” His voice drops into the Devil’s bassline. “I don’t come back out until you’re ruined.”
Jesus . I’m going to need a tetanus shot after this, because the bite on that line.
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
“You’re getting bolder,” he murmurs.
“You started it.”
Then, like he’s asking me what flavor smoothie I want -
“Are you slick right now, Omega?”
“ Dripping ,” I confess.
“Alright,” he says, voice tight like he’s one second away from declaring bankruptcy on his self-control. “Then be a good girl for your alpha, and let me listen to you rub your clit.”
I don’t even hesitate .
I follow his order without thought, sliding my hand down between my thighs.
My fingers are slippery, and I circle once - soft, testing.
My body jolts. My clit aches. Every brush of my skin-on-skin feels like pressure with no release.
But at least he’s here. Even if it’s just through the door, it helps .
“That’s it,” Lucian murmurs. “Nice and slow. I want to hear you break for me.”
Rude. I just put myself back together.
“It’s not enough,” I whisper, semi-aware of how desperate I must sound even in my heat-fogged state.
“Use me, then,” he growls. “Use my shirt.”
I comply easy and yank the material off so fast I almost give myself whiplash. I bury my face in it, drag it between my legs, and yep - Lucian very much smells like CEO of Ruining Lives and expensive wood polish.
“That’s it,” he says through the door, his voice jagged now. “Bury your face in it, Omega. Rub yourself against it. Soak it in slick so I can smell you on my skin.”
I drop to my knees in front of the door, clutching the shirt in one hand, the other sliding back down between my thighs.
This time, I press the folded cotton between my legs - soft and warm from my body, heavy with scent.
The pressure is perfect -
And I grind.
“Good fucking girl,” he rasps. “There you go. Ride it. I want that shirt soaked. I want to feel how messy you get just thinking about me.”
My hips roll down, slow and hard against the shirt, dragging slick through the fabric as I fuck it like I’m fucking him.
“You’re lucky that door’s locked,” he growls. “Because if I was in there, Omega -”
The sound of him breathing makes my whole reproductive system do a backflip.“If I was in there, I’d have you bent over the bed, wrists tied, mouth stuffed with that shirt while I wrecked your heat.”
I almost clap.
Bravo. Ten points. Five stars. Oscar-worthy filth.
“You’d scream for it,” he snarls. “Beg for me to knot you so deep your body never forgets it. And when I’d be done filling you, I’d do it again. And again. Until you were crying with how full you were.”
“Lucian -” My voice breaks.
“You wouldn’t walk straight for days.”
Sir, please : you’ve seen these knees. I barely walk straight around you now .
“I need you in here,” I tell him, throat raw.
A sharp inhale.
Then - “ Don’t .”
“Don’t what ?”
“Don’t beg ,” he growls. “If you start, I swear, Omega - locks or not - I’ll get in. I’ll rip that fucking door off the hinges.”
Which sounds… not like a threat?
I push up on trembling arms, dragging his shirt against my body.
The ache inside me is almost too much. I can’t stand it.
“Then do it. ”
BANG.
Something slams against the door.
“Don’t fucking tempt me, Omega.”
“You’re already tempted,” I breathe. “You’ve been standing out there this whole time.”
“I’m trying to control myself.”
“But I don’t want your control,” I tell him. “I want you, Alpha. I need it.”
What I need is probably therapy - but his cock is definitely up there, too.
“Rhea…” He lets out a long breath. “You have no idea what it’s taking for me to stay out here.”
“Tell me,” I plead. “Tell me, Alpha.”
“I fucked my hand all night last night, thinking of you,” he says.
Honestly? Same .
“I'm like a goddamn teenager in rut all over again. Every time I close my eyes, I see you. On the other side of that door, with your fingers buried in your cunt, slick dripping down your thighs, moaning my name like a good fucking Omega. ”
I whimper.
“You want me to touch myself now?” he says - like a challenge. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” My voice breaks. “Fuck, yes. Please, Lucian - please. Touch yourself with me. I need to know you feel it too.”
“This isn’t about me -”
“I want it to be,” I tell him. “I want to hear you fall apart. I want to know you’re touching yourself just like I am now - hand wrapped around your cock, thinking about how wet I am for you.”
I hear the zip of his pants - a noise so full of promise it should come with a warning label - and I swear I can almost sense his hand wrapping around his cock on the other side of the door like I’ve forced him to.
Something flutters low in my gut. Something that makes me feel powerful.
“I’m hard for you,” he growls. “So fucking hard it hurts. I’ve been this way for hours, Omega, and it’s all your fucking fault. My knot’s aching, and I haven’t even been inside you yet.”
I moan, and my dignity officially files for divorce.
“Keep going,” I beg, circling my fingers over my clit. “Touch yourself like I’m using that mouth to shut you up.”
“Fuck,” he bites out. “You’d take it deep, wouldn’t you? That pretty mouth drooling over my cock.”
“I’d let you,” I gasp. “I’d ask you to.”
“Tell me again.”
“I’d let you use me,” I whisper. “Any way. Every way.”
“And I’d throw you on that bed,” he rasps. “Pin you down with nothing but my weight. Just pure alpha instinct and heat. No prep. No patience.”
“ God , yes,” I cry. “I’d let you. I’d be so good for you, Alpha. I wouldn’t fight it.”
“You wouldn’t be able to. You’d be screaming for more before the first thrust even bottomed out.”
“ Tell me, ” I hiss. “Tell me how you’d fuck me. Tell me how you’d own me. ”
“You’d be on your back,” he grits out. “Legs spread, pussy dripping, and I’d stuff you full until you were gasping and clawing for more. You think your fingers are enough? You think your hand can reach where I’d be buried? Fuck no.”
My back arches. My hips grind down harder on my palm.
“You’d ruin me.”
“Damn right I would. I’d fucking wreck you, Omega,” he groans. “I’d fuck you until that soaked cunt memorized every inch of my cock. Until your very scent screamed mine .”
I pant. My thighs tremble.
“You’d take it, wouldn’t you? Every brutal thrust until you were crying, begging to be knotted.”
“ Yes . Fuck, Lucian - yes, I’d take it all. I’d let you mark me, bind me, fill me until I couldn’t hold any more. I want it - I want it -”
“I’d sink my teeth into your throat while I came inside you,” he breathes, and I can hear it, I swear - the sound of his fist moving over his cock from behind the door. “Lock us together. Knot deep and thick, have you swollen with my cum until you sobbed with how full you were.”
I grind harder; needy, messy, wild . I shove his shirt against my aching cunt, desperate for the friction as the image of his knot locking inside me as his teeth pierce into my sensitive scent glands floods my mind.
“And I wouldn’t stop there,” he adds. “I’d keep you tied to me, pushing deeper even after you came. Just to hear you whimper. Just to remind you what you belong to.”
“Lucian -”
“You’re soaked, aren’t you?” he growls. “Riding your own fingers like a good little Omega?”
“ Yes ,” I gasp. “My fingers, a-and your shirt. And I want you to do it, too. I want to know you’re stroking that big alpha cock for me.”
He groan s . “I am .”
“ Faster ,” I beg. “Touch yourself like you’re inside me. Like I’m on my knees, sucking you down my throat.”
“Fuck,” he bites out, his composure fracturing. “You’d take it deep, wouldn’t you? That pretty little mouth drooling over my cock, throat stretching to swallow me.”
“I really do mean it - I'd let you use me any way you wanted, Alpha.”
“Tell me who you belong to. Who that pussy belongs to.”
“You, Lucian. I'm - my pussy - it all belongs to you. ”
“Then prove it, ” he barks out, a powerful alpha command that he knows instinct won't ever allow me to resist. “ Come with me, Omega. Now .”
I cry out, clenching down hard on my fingers as my body breaks again .
Heat flares white-hot through my abdomen, my legs locking up, my cunt soaking my hand as I come screaming his name, and through the wall, I hear him lose it.
A grunt. A groan. A
growl that I swear shakes the air.
“Rhea - fuck - Omega - ”
He comes with me, panting, breath ragged.
I collapse onto the floor, forehead against the steel, Lucian’s shirt drenched and sticky between my thighs.
There’s silence, for a beat, and then - voice hoarse and wrecked -
“You need to watch that pretty little mouth,” he rasps. “Because next time, I’m not just opening that door. I’m claiming what’s mine.”
I swear to god - I come again .