The cold water pelting my overheated skin does absolutely nothing.
I’ve been in this shower for an hour, the temperature cranked as low as it will go, and I’m still burning up from the inside out. My heat has reached a level I didn’t know was possible. Every nerve ending feels like it’s been set on fire, and the ache between my thighs has gone from uncomfortable to unbearable.
I brace one hand against the tile wall, gasping as another wave crashes through me. My thighs are slick, and not from the water. From the constant production my body seems determined to maintain. More than I’ve ever produced before. It’s running down my legs, mixing with the shower spray.
“Come on,” I whimper to myself, reaching for the knotted dildo I brought in with me. “Please work this time. Please.”
I’ve used every single toy I brought. The vibrator is dead, batteries completely drained. The smaller dildo did nothing except make me more frustrated. The plug was a joke; my body practically rejected it within minutes.
This knotted one is my last hope. It’s thicker than my favorite purple one and the biggest I own, the most realistic, with a substantial knot that should provide some relief.
I position it against my entrance and try to work it inside. My body accepts it easily, too easily, slick easing the way like my biology is mocking me. I push it deeper, angling for that spot that usually helps, but?—
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. It feels good. But it’s not enough. Not even close.
I work it faster, chasing something I can’t quite reach. The knot catches at my entrance and I push past that resistance, gasping as it stretches me wide. Finally. Finally, the lock I need, the fullness that should soothe the desperate ache.
But it’s cold. Hard. Lifeless.
It’s not a real knot. It doesn’t pulse. Doesn’t swell. Doesn’t fill me with the heat and pressure my omega is screaming for.
A whimper escapes my throat. I try to muffle it, biting my lip hard enough to hurt, but another one follows. And another.
Thunder crashes outside, loud enough to shake the windows, and I’m pathetically grateful for the sound. It’s the only thing hiding the noises I can’t seem to control anymore.
I’m openly whimpering now. Can’t stop. Can’t help it.
My heat has broken me down to something needy, and no amount of cold water or silicone can fix it.
I work the toy harder, desperate, chasing relief that won’t come. My free hand slides down to my clit, trying to add stimulation, trying anything to make this work.
“Please,” I gasp to the empty shower. “Please, please, please?—”
But my body knows. Knows this isn’t what I need. Knows there are four alphas just down the hall whose knots would actually help. Whose scent would soothe. Whose presence would ease this unbearable burning.
Another whimper. Another crash of thunder that barely covers it.
I’m not going to make it through this week.
The realization hits me as hard as the next wave of heat. I’m not going to make it. Not alone. Not with just toys that my body rejects as poor substitutes for what it really wants.
I need help.
I need an alpha.
I need?—
“No,” I tell myself firmly, even as my body betrays me with another desperate whimper. “No, you can handle this. You always handle things alone.”
But I can’t. Not this time.
The toy inside me feels wrong now. Too hard, too cold, too not-alpha. I pull it out with a frustrated sound and let it clatter to the shower floor.
My legs are shaking. Actually shaking, barely able to hold my weight. I slide down to sit on the shower floor, water still pouring over me, and pull my knees to my chest.
This is day two. I have five more days of this.
