Then I’d replace my fingers with my cock. Would push inside that tight, wet heat and feel her clench around me. Would her competitive nature extend here? Would she demand more, harder, would she meet me thrust for thrust?
And when I finally knotted her?—
“Fuck,” I breathe, pressing my forehead against the bag.
I can picture it so clearly. The way she’d feel locked around my knot. The sounds she’d make. The way her scent would mix with mine until the whole room smelled like us.
Not just alpha and omega. Dax and Sierra.
My knot is swollen so tight it hurts. I reach down and adjust myself, trying to ease the pressure, but it doesn’t help.
Nothing helps except the one thing I can’t have.
I resume hitting the bag, putting all my frustration into every punch.
But the images won’t stop. Sierra in her nest. Sierra under me. Sierra crying out my name as I knot her properly, give her what those useless toys can’t.
This is torture.
Pure, exquisite torture.
Malik
The rain is doing fuck-all to clear my head.
I’ve been out here for thirty minutes and I’m no better off than when I started. Worse, actually, because now I’m soaked and cold and my rut doesn’t give a damn about either.
This is pathetic. But it’s better than thinking about what’s happening inside.
The door behind me opens. I don’t turn around.
“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” Dax says.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
He doesn’t leave. I hear him lean against the doorframe, probably trying to decide if he should say whatever’s on his mind or leave me to my misery.
“The bag’s got blood on it,” he says finally.
“So tape up your knuckles next time.”
“Not my blood. Yours.”
I look down at my hands. My knuckles are split open. I don’t remember hitting the bag, but I must have before I came out here.
“It’ll heal.”
“That’s not the point.”
I turn to look at him. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest. He’s been in the rain too, then.
“What is the point?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Damned if I know. That we’re both losing our minds? That her heat is going to kill us before it’s over?”
“Five more days.”
“Minimum.”
