I’m sad my heat is over, and that’s so stupid that I have to lean against the wall for a moment as I reel from shock and wipe my eyes.
They feel normal again, my eyes. My eyelids aren’t puffy anymore, and that makes me sad too.
It’s ridiculous. I didn’t even want to go into heat. Why on Earth am I upset that it’s over?
On top of all that, I’m angry. There’s a hot ball of rage forming under my ribs that grows a little more with each step I take because I can’t help noticing that the cabin has been thoroughly cleaned. It’s spotless. Absolutely spotless. The floors have been mopped. Surfaces have been wiped down. Windows have been opened, and the place has been aired out.
My blood boils.
How dare Branson wash away the signs of my heat? How fucking dare he?
And how dare he put me to bed in my room, not in his?
Most of all, howdarehe leave me to wake up on my own?
My heart thumps angrily as I walk. I trail a hand along the hallway wall for balance as I move, pausing every few steps when the pain in my ass trips me up.
How fucking dare Branson for that too.
My fingers run lightly over plaster and paint, and suddenly, I’m transported. I’m somewhere else. I’m not here. I’m in the past. Naked, in this exact spot in the hallway. I’m on my feet, hands braced on this exact spot on the wall, saying, “Oh God, yes, alpha. Give me that knot.”
Bright images flash before me like a movie, and I stand frozen as I watch the scene play out in my mind’s eye.
I see my fingers. Blunt nails clawing at the wall as Branson thrusts into me. I see Branson’s hands on my hips. Big hands, tan skin, holding me firmly. I see my bare feet planted on the floor, shoulder-width apart, as Branson’s massive dick plunges in and out of me.
“See,” says the past version of myself with a carefree laugh. “Told you I could take it standing.”
The vision, or memory, or whatever it is, changes, and I’m not viewing what happened through my own eyes anymore. I’m viewing it from above. I’m floating above us, watching as Branson fucks my sloppy hole with abandon. I see his head, tilted back, neck straining, as he reams me. I see his hips cant, his teeth clench, his slick, slippery dick splitting me in half. Most of all, I see myself, delirious andeuphoric, loving every inch, every second of having my ass mercilessly pounded.
I close my eyes to shake the flashback away. It doesn’t work. I not only see the scene before me now, but I can feel the impact of Branson’s body slamming into mine as if it’s still happening.
I feel the deep, intense shift as my insides are forced to accommodate him.
I hear the sounds of our fucking, loud and messy, as he loosens me.
I watch as my knees give way.
I see Branson follow me to the floor, not slowing his pace even a little.
The flashback shifts again, and I’m not looking down from above anymore. I’m back in my body. I’m not in my mind though. I’m in my groin. I’m between my legs. I’m the thick band of muscle that is pulled tight as Branson’s knot splits me in two. I’m the beginning and the end. The place where we joined.
Jesus.
I am my own asshole?
No!
That’s taking it too far.
If anything, I’m still delirious.
I blink furiously and press my cheek against the wall. It’s cool to the touch, which is a blessing. It brings me back to myself. My real self.
I get to the entryway and notice that my snow boots have been placed by the door. One of Branson’s jackets hangs on the door handle. I step into the shoes, annoyance building. I’m not a fan of this kind of shit. I’m really not. I don’t need an alpha putting clothes out for me and deciding what I should wear. Who does he think he is?
I’m perfectly capable of choosing my own fucking clothes, thank you very much.
As I shrug the jacket on, I peer through one of the sidelights and see Branson trudging through the snow as he approaches the house. I throw the door open, ready to give him a big piece of my mind.
