Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
HOLLY
Grayson’s lips are firm yet surprisingly gentle against mine, the contrast sending electric currents racing through my already overheated body. I cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as if he might disappear if I loosen my grip even slightly.
His scent—fresh espresso and cinnamon—fills my lungs with each desperate breath.
How did I live so long without being able to really smell an alpha?
The scars I glimpsed when he pulled up his bandanna feel smooth beneath my fingertips as I trace the line of his jaw, but I barely register them.
All I can focus on is the overwhelming need coursing through me, a hunger unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
“Please,” I gasp against his mouth. “I need—I need—“
I can’t even articulate what I need, but my body knows. It’s screaming for completion, for fulfillment, for the specific kind of relief only an alpha can provide. My hips move of their own accord, seeking pressure, friction, anything to ease the aching emptiness inside me.
Grayson growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me and intensifying the slick heat between my thighs.
His hands—large, calloused, capable—slide down my sides to grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly until I’m straddling his lap, naked lower body pressed against the rough fabric of his cargo pants.
The position brings a new pressure exactly where I need it most. I moan, grinding down against him so hard that I must be leaving a wet stain on his pants. Even through his clothes, I can feel how hard he is, how ready, and it makes me dizzy with want.
“Alpha,” I whimper, the designation falling from my lips without conscious thought. “Please, I need your knot.”
The words hang in the air between us, raw and honest in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be.
For twenty-two years, I’ve denied this part of myself, buried it under suppressants and ancient herbs and the constant, exhausting vigilance required to pass as a beta.
Now, with my defenses stripped away by biology, the truth emerges: I am an omega, and right now I need an alpha’s knot to satisfy the heat burning through me.
Grayson stills beneath me, though his chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath. A rueful laugh escapes him, barely more than an exhale.
“Not going to happen, baby.”
His words seep through my heat-fogged brain like the slow creep of icy water soaking through my shoes in the rain. I blink at him, uncomprehending.
“What? Why?” The question comes out plaintive, childish in a way that would make me cringe if I were still lucid enough to care. “I need it.”
Instead of answering, Grayson shifts me slightly in his lap, one hand sliding up to cup my face. His thumb traces my lower lip, the gentle touch at odds with the rigid tension evident in every line of his body.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.
I try to comply, drawing in a shaky breath that does nothing to cool the fire in my veins. His free hand strokes down my back in long, soothing motions, but the touch only intensifies my need.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” Grayson says, his eyes—a stormy gray that reminds me of mountain skies before a blizzard—fixed intently on mine. “We didn’t establish any boundaries before your heat started. You can’t consent like this.”
I stare at him, momentarily shocked out of my desperate haze. “What are you talking about? I’m consenting right now!” To emphasize my point, I roll my hips against his, feeling a surge of satisfaction when his breath catches.
Grayson groans, his fingers tightening on my waist, but he doesn’t move to take things further. “Holly—“
“Please,” I interrupt, desperation clawing at me. “I’ve never—I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s horrible, and I know you can make it stop.”
Tears spring to my eyes, born of frustration and need and the overwhelming vulnerability of my situation. I’ve spent my entire life in control—of my body, my emotions, my future. Now I’m at the mercy of biology, reduced to begging a virtual stranger for relief.
“Wait.” Grayson’s brow furrows, his expression shifting from controlled desire to something more complex. “What do you mean, you’ve never felt anything like this before?”
I roll my eyes, impatience cutting through my desperation. “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”
His frown deepens. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?” I demand, squirming in his lap, seeking friction he seems determined to deny me.
“You’ve never experienced a heat before? Not even a partial one?”
The question is confusing, and all I can think about is how much I want to bury my face in his neck and drag my teeth along his collarbone until I can taste the amazing scent of him. “I told you, I’ve been on suppressants.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.” I try to kiss him again, to end this frustrating interrogation, but Grayson holds me firmly in place as I groan in frustration. “I don’t know…since before puberty. Ten, maybe?”
“And the suppressants have always worked perfectly? No breakthrough symptoms? No mini-heats?”
I shake my head, increasingly frustrated by his persistence. “I’ve scheduled heat-breaking sessions a few times.”
Grayson’s scarred jaw tightens. “What the hell is heat-breaking?”
When I explain that there are plenty of alphas willing to be on call for omegas with no strings attached, his expression darkens.
“It’s perfectly safe and—“
“Were you actually in heat with these damn heat-breakers?” Grayson interrupts, sound disgusted by alphas he’ll never meet. “Had you stopped taking suppressants and whatever black market bullshit you’ve been using?”
Indignation flares through me, momentarily eclipsing even my desperate need. “My medication isn’t bullshit. It’s a traditional Chinese medicine that’s been used for generations to—“
My words cut off in a startled cry as Grayson’s hand dips between my legs, pressing against my bare core with just enough pressure to send sparks shooting up my spine.
“Answer the question,” he growls, his voice dropping to a register that makes me shiver despite my annoyance.
“No,” I admit, the word catching on a gasp as his fingers move in slow, deliberate circles. “I’ve never stopped taking my medication. Not since I first presented.”
Grayson’s expression shifts, the disgust giving way to something that looks uncomfortably like pity. “So this is your first true heat. And your parents had you on suppressants since you were practically a baby—“
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I interrupt, surging forward to press my body against his. “Please, just—help me. However you’re willing to. I can’t stand this anymore.”
For a moment, I think he’ll refuse again, but then something in his eyes changes—softens, maybe, or resolves. With a fluid movement that takes me by surprise, Grayson flips our positions, laying me back on the bed and covering my body with his.
“I won’t knot you,” he says, his voice firm despite the desire evident in his dilated pupils. “Not like this. But I will help.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, the kiss deeper and more demanding than before.
His weight pins me to the mattress in a way that should feel threatening but instead feels like an anchor in the storm of my heat.
One of his hands slides beneath my shirt, callused fingertips tracing patterns along the curve of my breast that make me arch into his touch.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips, no longer caring how desperate I sound. “Please, please, please.”
Grayson shifts his weight, supporting himself on one forearm while his other hand moves lower, deftly slipping between my thighs. When his fingers find me, already slick and swollen with need, I cry out, the sound muffled against his shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through me. “Let go, little omega.”
His fingers work with confident precision, circling my clit before dipping lower to tease my entrance. Each touch sends waves of pleasure crashing through me, intense but still not enough to satisfy the craving deep inside.
“More,” I gasp, my hips lifting to meet his hand. “I need—inside—“
Grayson complies, sliding one thick finger into me, then another, the stretch sending a fresh surge of slick to drench the sheet. His thumb continues to work my clit as his fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Yes,” I moan, my hands fisting in the sheets. “Like that, just like that.”
He establishes a rhythm that has me climbing rapidly toward release, but just as I approach the edge, the emptiness inside me intensifies, a craving for fullness that his fingers alone can’t satisfy.
“I need your knot,” I plead, knowing he’s already refused but unable to stop myself from asking again. “Please, alpha.”
“You’ve got to stop asking. I swear, you’re killing me here.” Grayson’s rhythm falters for a moment, his eyes darkening with desire and something that might be regret. “I’ve got you, baby. Just hold on…”
He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss, but before I can protest further, they’ve returned. His fingers slide back inside me, but this time, there’s four of them, working in and out in a way that almost feels like as much of a stretch as his cock.
Before I can snap at him that it still isn’t enough, he curls his fingers into a fist and slowly thrusts further inside my seeping cunt, until my opening clenches around the hard bones of his wrist.
The sensation is overwhelming in the best way, even if it’s not quite what my body is screaming for, but close enough that pleasure crashes over me in waves.
I arch off the bed, a cry tearing from my throat as my inner muscles clamp down around his fist, the closest I’ve come so far to what my body wants from a real knot.
“That’s it,” Grayson murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. “Take what you need.”
The orgasm builds and crests, more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced, my body convulsing around the simulated knot as waves of pleasure wash through me.
I’m vaguely aware of calling out Grayson’s name, of my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, of the wetness on my cheeks that might be sweat or tears or both.
Just as the most intense spasms subside, leaving me limp and gasping beneath him, the door slams open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Noah stands in the doorway, his expression thunderous, his scent sharp with anger and something else I’m too wrung out to identify.
Grayson doesn’t startle or rush to withdraw his hand. Instead, he turns his head slowly to meet Noah’s gaze, his body still protectively curved over mine.
“I’m helping,” Grayson says simply, the single word carrying a weight of meaning I’m not equipped to decipher in my current state.
Noah’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scene before him. His eyes lock with mine for a moment, and the intensity in them makes me shiver despite the lingering heat in my veins. “Grayson, we need to talk. Right the fuck now.”
Sensing how my body sinks boneless into the mattress, Grayson slowly pulls away with squelching sound and gush of fluid that would be humiliating if I had any capacity left for shame.
As my eyes drift closed, I’m distantly aware of raised voices and stomping feet followed by the door slamming shut. I don’t have the energy for embarrassment. All I want to do is curl up in the blankets and sleep until one of them comes back to do that all over again in about an hour.