The door locks—pointless but satisfying—and I collapse against it. Slide down to the floor.
My body is shaking violently now. Fever spiking so high I can feel it in my bones. The rejection sickness back with a vengeance. Punishing me for proximity without submission.
Between my thighs, I'm drenched. Slick has been producing since the pool, my omega biology responding to three alphas in rut regardless of what my mind wants. The cotton shorts are ruined, sticky and clinging, the scent of jasmine and desperation so thick I can taste it.
In the bathroom, I turn the shower on hot. As hot as I can stand. Strip out of the ruined clothes and step under the spray.
Steam fills the space immediately.
Water streams down my body and it feels like hands. Touching. Claiming. Spreading the slick that won't stop producing down my thighs in slippery trails.
My hand moves between my legs. Finds my clit and circles it once.
The pleasure is so sharp it borders on pain.
My fingers slide through slick that's obscene in its abundance. My body has been preparing itself for hours. For three alpha knots it will never get.
I lean against the tile wall. Let my head fall back. Close my eyes.
Try to think of anything else. The pool. The sun. Theater. Shakespeare. Medea's revenge—
Dorian's eyes. Dark and hungry and desperate. The way his voice cracked when he said "mine."
Two fingers slide inside easily. My body clenches around them, trying to draw them deeper.
I pump them slowly. Add a third.
My other hand finds my clit. Circles it with slick-wet fingers. The dual stimulation makes my knees buckle. I brace myself against the wall.
I think of Oakley's hands. The way they shook when he handed me the towel.
I think of Corvus's control shattering. Clinical mask cracking.
I think of Dorian at the pool's edge. Barely restrained violence. The promise in his eyes.
My fingers move faster. Harder.
The slick is everywhere. Running down my thighs. Coating my fingers. Making obscene sounds as I thrust into my own body.
I'm close. So close. The pressure building at the base of my spine.
The orgasm rips through me with violent intensity. My pussy clenches around my fingers. Once. Twice. Three times. Slick gushes out, running down my wrist.
But there's no knot. No alpha claiming bite. No scent flooding my senses and telling me I'm safe, I'm protected, I'm theirs.
Just me. Alone. Fingers cramping. Body still aching. Still needing.
The second wave hits before the first finishes. My omega biology won't be satisfied with one. Not when it thinks three alphas are nearby.
I have to bite my hand to keep from screaming. Blood mixed with slick mixed with water all running down the drain.
My legs give out. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting in the tub. Water pounding on my head. Fingers still moving because I can't stop.
Third orgasm. Fourth.
Tears mix with water.
Five. Six.
