Chapter 18 #2
The sound seems to set her off, and with a growling huff, her teeth close around my neck.
Bright pain jolts me as her fangs break the skin, and I can’t tell if the dripping heat is her drool or my blood. It doesn’t matter as the pain turns to a buzzing tingle, coiling deep in my core and promising the most intense climax yet.
Her moans tighten and pitch higher, vibrating against my neck, until a telltale shudder passes through her, followed by a long, low groan.
Her cunt pulses against my cock. Even through the layers of fabric, it’s all too much.
I scream as I cum harder than I thought possible, cock pulsing with heat and pleasure, over and over, until it seems like it might never end.
Christine finally stills, and the waves of my climax stretch and soften into aftershocks.
Her tongue sweeps over my aching neck, easing the pain. Muscle by muscle, my body relaxes and goes limp, sinking into the mattress.
Christine eases down beside me, arm draping over my chest.
A soft, tingling warmth spreads through every muscle, over every nerve, soothing and settling.
Christine’s fingertips drift over my forehead, brushing my sweaty hair back from my face.
My eyes flutter shut, and I lean into her touch…
Oh no.
Oh, no, no, no.
Even though every muscle protests, I force my body upright, sliding a hand through my damp hair and bracing my elbows against my knees.
Christine pushes up next to me, concern knitting her brow. “Mylo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
I raise a hand, cutting her off as I rub my forehead with the other. Sitting up left my head pounding.
“Don’t,” I say. The last thing I want or need is some noble declaration of dubious authenticity. The idea of being treated as some precious little omega incapable of making my own choices is nauseating. “I’m equally responsible for this… terrible decision.”
Christine is quiet for a long moment. Then she slides around me and stands. “Let me get you some water.”
I don’t reject the gesture because fuck, I’m thirsty. When she hands me a glass, I gulp it down. She reaches out to take it, presumably to refill it, but I shake my head. Even if my throat still burns with thirst, I don’t really want to overdo it and throw up in Christine Evansworth’s trailer.
There’s a throb where my neck meets my shoulder, and I wince as I lift my injured arm to rub it. At least I’m not bleeding. As long as nobody sees the bite mark tonight, it should be nearly invisible tomorrow.
Christine edges nearer, quiet and watchful, a possessive edge in her gaze.
I reach for the closest pillow and throw it at her, humorless. “Knock it off,” I snap. “I don’t care what you think you bit, but I’m on suppressants. You missed, anyway. I’m not magically obsessed with you now; hate to disappoint.” The venom in my words masks the fear. Fuck, that was a close call.
Biology lessons I haven’t thought about in years flicker through my mind. Every omega has glands at the base of their neck. If an alpha bites an omega there and the gland bursts, it sends a cascade of hormones through the omega’s body, permanently bonding them to the alpha.
Game fucking over.
At least for a normal omega. Since I’ve never gone into heat and basically skipped the omega part of puberty, my glands are underdeveloped, unable to release enough hormones for a full bond.
In theory, anyway.
But theory seems to be holding. I still hate Christine’s guts.
God, how embarrassing. I always used to give my horny friends a hard time, but if this is how good it feels, no wonder they make such terrible choices.
“I’ll… get you some sweats,” Christine says.
“Why—”
I follow her gaze to my lap, where the fabric of my shorts is soaked from both sides.
“Oh, goddammit…”
My headache throbs.
Christine reaches into a cabinet in the hall and hands me a pair of grey sweatpants.
I snatch them out of her grasp, then slam the bedroom’s pocket door shut between us.
Christine doesn’t protest.
My shaking hands slip on the drawstring of my shorts, but I eventually get it untied and slide them down.
Cum coats my softening cock and the inside of my boxers, and I sigh as I lean over and grab a box of tissues from the headboard. It takes half the box before I’m dry, and I try to wipe out my shorts so I don’t have to accept Christine’s help, but it’s no use.
I am not about to ask for a pair of Christine’s underwear, so I slide the grey sweatpants on over my bare ass and cock. They’re sized for Christine, so I have to cinch the waistband tight and roll up the cuffs a few times. It’s not exactly subtle.
I ball up the tissues and my shorts, then shove them in the mini trash can.
The pocket door hisses as I slink out of the bedroom. I ignore Christine where she sits at the table and sink onto the couch with a sigh.
“I thought you’d run out of here,” Christine says. She changed into wide-leg pants and a sports bra.
“As much fun as taking the walk of shame in front of the whole crew would be, and having even more questions to answer, I figured I’d shake things up by not immediately embarrassing myself.”
Christine bristles at my tone, then her brow furrows. “What do you mean, ‘questions to answer’?”
“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean’? Oh, that’s right. America’s sweetheart is too pure for the hot goss. My bad, princess.”
Electricity charges the air in the trailer, and I can’t breathe. The tension in Christine’s coiled muscles seems to pulse through me.
She looks away, shaking her head and muttering, “You really are a piece of work.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
The silence stretches into awkwardness.
“I’ll call my private driver,” Christine says quietly. “Have him pull around this way. If you go now, you can get to the hotel before everyone else. Tell them you went back early to rest. Shouldn’t be any questions that way.”
“How generous,” I bite.
Christine shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”
“Oh, I’m taking it. But don’t think this gets you any brownie points.”
Christine’s glare sends a chill down my spine as she pulls out her phone.
I turn away from her, propping my chin on my knees. Fuck, I’m dizzy, and the trailer being full of her scent isn’t helping. I itch for fresh air, but if someone spots me leaving, I’ll never live it down.
“Shit,” I sigh.
“What?”
“My backpack and everything, my phone and stuff, it’s in the stunt trailer…”
“I’ll get it.”
I scoff. “Yeah, ‘cause that’ll be subtle.”
Christine makes a quiet, frustrated noise, but when I glance over, her ire doesn’t seem to be directed at me.
“What about Bella?” she asks.
Fuck. My forehead settles back onto my knees. I’m either going to have to lie to Bella or risk her disappointment. Still, there’s no one else I trust.
The headache pounds between my temples, radiating down into my injured shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Bella’s good.”
A few minutes later, the trailer door opens. It swings toward me, so I stay out of view. I wouldn’t have the energy to move anyway—fuck, I feel like crap.
Christine and Bella’s low murmurs crack against my ears, overloud.
“He’s just kinda crashing,” Christine says. “Long day. Told him he could hide out here for a quiet spot. My driver’s gonna take him straight back to the hotel.”
“That’s good,” Bella replies. “He hurt his shoulder more than he lets on.”
“I know.” Christine’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “I feel horrible about that. I just—I panicked. It won’t happen again.”
My chest pangs. Christine has every reason to believe that either I can’t hear her or I’m not listening. Maybe she’s telling the truth…
Then my better sense cuts in, sliding the door shut on that possibility. She needs to save face with Bella, and it’s a perfect excuse.
I can’t believe Christine has ever really cared about anyone else.
Least of all me.