“Hurry up,” he growled.
I resisted rolling my eyes as I grasped the base of his dick and sucked it into my mouth.
“Fuck yes, slut,” the alpha said with a groan that made him sound constipated.
He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled hard, making me wince. I tried to breathe steadily, but the alpha’s scent mixed with the stench of the room, burning my nose. My jaw ached and my headache was getting steadily worse with each thrust. I tried to pull back so I could take a full breath, but the alpha tightened his grip.
“Fuck yes. Deep throat me.”
I did my best to match his uneven rhythm and waited to see if my pain would lessen. The last two times I’d been here, the pain that had become my almost constant companion had washed away with the alpha’s touch. The relief hadn’t lasted long, but for a day or so, it was like all of my symptoms were muted. This time, there was no relief. Nausea rolled through my stomach as a sharp pain shot up the back of my neck. My jaw was on fire. Tears streamed down my face. I needed to stop this. Now.
I pushed his thighs harder, digging in my nails when he still didn’t let go of me. I closed my jaw just enough that my teeth scraped against his cock, a threat of what was to come if he didn’t release me. That finally got his attention. His hold on my hair wavered and I pulled away, my palms hitting the floor to keep myself from collapsing fully.
“What was that, bitch?” he snarled, towering over me.
“I don’t feel good,” I managed to get out.
“What are you even good for if you can’t give a halfway decent blowjob?” His voice dripped with disgust. “What a waste of time.”
The pain stole my words, forcing me into silence. I wanted to lash out, to tell this alpha what I really thought of him, but I was at least thinking clearly enough to know angering an alpha while alone with him was not the best idea.
The alpha tucked his wet dick back into his pants. “Guess I better find a slut who actually knows how to please an alpha. I’m not paying for this shit.” And then, without even a second glance, he was gone, leaving me crumpled on the floor.
“Well, fuck you,” I muttered to the closed door.
I forced myself to stand, using the chipped sink to help keep my balance. The mirror was cracked and dirty, but I could still see my smeared makeup and disheveled hair. I groaned as I washed my face with cold water and patted it dry with one of the three remaining paper towels. This whole night had been a waste.
A lump formed in my throat and I scowled at myself in the mirror. I would not cry over this alphahole. I would leave this shitty club, go back to the massive, empty house that had never really felt like home, and put on the carefree facade I’d cultivated over the last year.
My muscles were weak as I pulled the door open. I felt like I’d aged one hundred years in the past few minutes. Could I get back home before the inevitable dizziness hit? Helplessness filled me like a dark, black hole in the center of my chest. My symptoms were getting worse, and I felt so stupid for thinking I’d found something that would help me.
My exit from the club was a blur. I dragged my sweatshirt over my dress, not wanting to take the time to change. I glancedbehind me as I approached my bike, feeling like I was being watched.
I’d hoped to earn enough money to justify calling the omega taxi service, but there was no way I could afford it now. I would just have to make the two-mile bike ride home before I collapsed. I crouched down to unlock my bike, black spots dancing in my vision as I stood.
I gritted my teeth, blinking rapidly. I could do this. I’d gotten through every single day in my life so far, and I would get through this night.
I started down the dark street, forcing my legs to keep pedaling even as fatigue seeped into my limbs. I squinted as the street blurred ahead of me. Blinding headlights from a car going the opposite direction sent a sharp pain to my head, and I lost my balance. My fall happened seemingly in slow motion, my bike ending up on top of me.
The rough asphalt rubbed against my cheek, and I felt a strong temptation to close my eyes and stay there. The sob I’d been holding back all night threatened to break free, but as my head pulsed painfully and the small rocks scraped against my skin, I found I couldn’t muster up the strength to do much of anything at all.
“Shit.”
I stirred as a masculine voice reached me, along with the steady thrum of an engine.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Gentle hands touched my arm and I flinched back.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Let’s get this off of you.”
The weight of the bike lifted and I limped to my feet. A large alpha stood in front of me dressed in all leather. A helmet obscured his face, and his motorcycle rumbled behind him.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again, his gravelly voice muffled behind his helmet.
I shook my head. My elbow stung and I was sure I’d be covered in bruises tomorrow, but I couldn’t show any weakness.
“I’m fine,” I croaked. “Can I have my bike back?”
He looked down at it as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. The wind picked up and wafted his scent to me—deep leather followed by the sharpness of whiskey—and I had to stop myself from leaning in for another hit.
