Eric leans back into the bathroom and retrieves my wallet and phone from where I must have tossed them last night. “Phone’s dead, but your key’s still here.”
I mutter a rushed thank-you and bolt for the door, pointedly ignoring the way Aksel’s nostrils flare as he finally catches myscent.
I hit the hallway at the speed of light.
And then it clicks.
We didn’t end up in Eric’s room. We ended up inAksel’s.
Thank the gods.
I make it to my door in record time, fumbling with the keycard as my entire body trembles with pent-up need. I could cry when the light finally turns green and the door beeps open.
I stumble inside, barely registering the room as I tear into my duffel bag. My hands shake as I find the suppressants.
Two. Just to be safe.
I swallow them dry and kick my jeans down, breathing hard, waiting for my body to calm the hell down before it completely betrays me.
The silence is deafening. My heart is still racing, my skin too tight, my body buzzing like it’s been struck by lightning.
Contact heat is basically your body installing a trial version of “Alpha Proximity Sensitivity” without asking you first. Symptoms include, but are not limited to, a sudden awarenessof how broadsomeone’s shoulders are,irrational irritation that they are not touching you, even more irrational irritation that theyaretouching you, but not in the way you want, and a dramatic insistence that you aren’t affected, even while actively melting.
In short, it’s when the laws of thermodynamics and unresolved tension decide to collaborate.
Contact heat feels nothing like the books describe.
It isn’t slow or sensual. It’s overwhelming, messy, humiliating, and impossible to ignore. I fist my aching cock in one hand and shove three fingers into my ass as my mindkeeps replaying the way Aksel looked at me. The way his eyes darkened. The way his scent spiked when he realized what was happening. I cum with a long whine, panting as the heat flares inside of me again.
I continue fingering my hole, adding fingers until my entire fist is inside of me. I stroke my stiff length, coming four more times until my heat begins to recede. I gasp for breath after the fifth and final orgasm, covered in fluids and humiliation. It feels like hours have passed, but a glance at the clock tells me it’s only been about twenty minutes.
I’m left shaky and mortified and sprawled on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the shellshock of the almost disaster that just happened in Aksel’s room.
By the time I’ve cleaned up and taken another suppressant, purely for my own peace of mind, I feel human again. Exhausted. Raw. Embarrassed.
Contact heat is not sexy. It’s inconvenient at best and catastrophic at worst. Definitely not the fantasy version everyone writes romantic manga about.
A soft knock pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Hale?” Aksel’s voice comes through the door, low and hesitant. “You okay?”
Panic flares all over again. My room definitely smells like sex. There’s no way around that. I debate my options for exactly half a second before deciding avoidance will only make this worse.
I crack the door open just enough to slip out, keeping my eyes firmly on the carpet.
We stand there. Too close. Too quiet.
Neither of us acknowledges the obvious. The air between us is thick with things unsaid.
Then sweet salvation.
Eric opens the door across the hall, steps out fully dressed, takes one look at our faces, and immediately goes on alert. “How are we doing out here?”yet.”
“Fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
Eric’s gaze flicks to Aksel. “So… you didn’t tell him
“Tellmewhat?”Iask,heartdroppingstraightinto my stomach.
