Chapter Thirty-Seven – Mercedes
I claw at my throat, scratch at my clothes. Everything feels too heavy, everything so goddamned constricting. I need this fucking chain off my ankle so I can take off my pants. I need to be naked.
And I need an alpha’s knot. Or two. Or, hell, even three. All the knots. All the knots in the world wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me right now. My skin is drenched in sweat to the point where my clothes cling to me, making the sensation even worse, my flesh a bright pink hue, signaling the rise of my body temperature. Even the basement’s cool air isn’t enough to keep me grounded.
This is no place for an omega to go into heat. It’s cold, dank, dark, and the air is stale and unfamiliar—and all those things combined only make it worse. If I was home, surrounded by my three alphas’ scents, I would at least be comforted by it.
But no, I have to be here, in a stupid basement, stupidly chained to the ground, stupidly unable to go anywhere.
Did I mention this is all so stupid? Fuck. I need something. Anything. The pressure in my body is boiling me alive. I try to think of a song in my head, try to count backwards from one hundred, but nothing they taught me at Solus Academy works to simmer my body down. That injection made everything in me go haywire, and no amount of natural, at-home remedies are making a difference.
I feel like I’m going insane. I’m so close to crying out for Jay—I don’t want to. God, do I not want to, but he’s the only one I know is here, and he’s an alpha. An alpha I don’t like, sure, but he’s got a knot. He’ll know just what to do to make me feel better, to lessen the intensity of the fires burning deep within my soul.
But, no, I can’t call out for Jay, because I don’t want Jay. I don’t want that asshole. I want Nic, Warren, and Darius. I want my pack, my alphas, my freaking scent match. I want them to shower me with attention, to touch me, to ravish me, to fucking devour me whole.
These thoughts help me push away the idea of calling out for Jay—even in heat, even while out of my mind, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of begging for his dick. So, instead, I turn away from the camera and think about my alphas while I face the wall.
Nic and his dimpled grin, that smile that could knock me off my feet. Warren and his uneven smirk, how he hides his broken-ness by masking it with strange humor and erratic behavior. Darius and his scowl, his glare, and his hands… the way he can so easily make me feel alive.
They are my alphas. Mine. I crave every part of them. Their scars, their scents, their cocks. I need their knots right now.
Their knots are the one thing I might not ever get again, but the need to find a release is so strong, too strong, that I do something I’ve never done before—partially because Jay made me shrink away from it, but also because I’ve just never felt the need. But here, today? The need is so strong it’s overpowering.
What do I do? I slip a hand beneath my pants, under my damp panties, and curl my fingers around my swollen, aching clit as I kneel there in the corner, giving my back to the camera and Jay watching upstairs, wherever he is.
Fuck Jay, but not literally. I’d much rather fuck my own hand instead. It won’t relieve much of anything, but it’ll give me something to do, something else to focus on, besides the unbearable urge to ride a knot while orgasming a dozen times.
My core is leaking slick like crazy, so it’s easy to slide a finger inside of me. One finger, then two, then three. My pussy is ready for a knot, crying out for a big, thick, juicy knot; three of my fingers don’t equal a knot, but it’ll have to do for now.
My hips rock as I whimper, riding my own fingers as if they make up a knot. My pussy walls clamp down around them, the slick making it easy as my other hand goes to undo the button and zipper on my pants. Soon enough I’m rubbing my clit while riding my own fingers.
“Fuck,” I whisper, unable to keep the word in. The pressure in me is far past the point where I can ignore it. I need a release—or five of them. I need to come. My nipples are like razors against my bra, practically cutting through the fabric. I’m hyper aware of how uncomfortable this position is, but the need in me drowns out anything else.
When my clit spasms under the attention of my left hand, I throw my head back and cry out—and as I do, I swear I hear some commotion going on upstairs, maybe a few shots ringing out through the air, but that might just be the haze of the heat making me delirious. Heats are powerful things, they can make you imagine things that aren’t there. The only thing I know for sure is that my fingers aren’t as good as a knot, but they’ll do in a pinch.
The pressure in me finally gives way to an orgasm, and I shudder against my own hands, my inner core constricting around my three inserted fingers, as if it’s a knot instead. My core gushes more slick. So, so much slick. I moan, unable to keep the sound inside my body.
I don’t know how long I have until Jay comes down here and takes what he’s always wanted from me. Give me his knot and sink his teeth into my neck, bonding us together forever—thereby making me a slave to him and his wishes. Taking away all of my freedom, my link with pack Alabaster. I would become his, and even though I’m totally unwilling, a bite on the scent gland during a heat is not something an omega can fight.
Yet one more reason nature has it out for us poor omegas.
Once the orgasm fades, I withdraw my hands from between my legs. My fingers are coated in my slick, but there’s nowhere to rub them off since my clothes are so damp from sweat they stick to every crevice of my body. I don’t turn back around; I stay huddled in the corner, facing the concrete wall, as the pressure within me starts to swell again.
Fuck. It’s like I need constant orgasms to feel sane. How are omegas supposed to survive these things?
The door to the basement opens, and I hear shouting—or at least, I think I do. It’s hard to think straight, harder to be aware of my surroundings since my body and its needs take up the forefront of my mind. I prepare myself for the sour scent I’m used to when it comes to Jay, but it never arrives, even as heavy footsteps race down those stairs.
I’m so out of my mind, so lost to the misery that is an omega in heat without her alphas, that it doesn’t even register that the scent that fills the air is a delicious, intoxicating, musky scent that reminds of nature, of a campfire and the cinders that remain after the fire has died down.
I turn my head over my shoulder and see the wide eyes of Nic Alabaster, and my heart breaks. I’m happy, overjoyed, but at the same time, I don’t want him to see me like this. It’s… shameful. It’s wrong. This isn’t right, it shouldn’t be happening, and I feel like it’s all my fault.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my instincts tell me to crawl over to him and beg him for his knot.
This can’t be real.