Page 13 of Knot Only For One Night

ASHER

Fuck. Fuckkkk. Fuck. Townhall went too damn long. I was trapped in an enclosed room with him for over an hour. His anger hinted in his scent. Crisp pancakes. Delicious. Tantalizing. And of course I sat right behind him. Because I simply cannot resist the omega who, thanks to some cruel god out there, is my scent match.

Matching me to the one omega who hates the very idea of mating and packing up. Hope those gods are having a good fucking laugh.

My feet feel like lead as I shamble toward my apartment. I just have to make it to the staircase outside the Bar and go up them. They may as well be Mount Everest.

Just. Keep. Moving.

I chant in my head, trying to focus on anything but the problem, I am growing in my pants.

One of our prospects, Roadkill, jogs to catch up to me. “Ash, what time should we be ready?”

With a silent curse to the gods of scent matching, I push myself faster, needing to reach my room before someone notices my very personal issue. He and the other two prospects, Cyclops and Trainwreck, follow me up the stairs. I want to roar at them to leave me alone, my alpha taking over my brain. Somehow, I hold myself back. Grasping the little sliver of control I still have.

“When I tell you,” I growl as I finally make it to my room. I slam the door shut behind me. Maroon walls welcome me as I turn on the warm-light LED stripe that moves in waves along each wall. The green plants covering my place do nothing to soothe the growing pain under my skin.

An insistent ache in my balls makes me lean over, another rut coming on with no way for me to stop it. I’ll have to handle this myself.

My mind fights as I crawl to the bed, trying to reach the nightstand. My meds, my meds that barely fucking work, sit in an orange container and I try, I try my damnest to reach them. Despite knowing they’ll do nothing.

With as many different medications as I’ve tried since I presented as an alpha, you’d think I would’ve found something to work. Since finding my scent match, my condition’s gotten even worse. The ruts are stronger, and satisfying them is harder.

“Fuck,” I grunt as my hips grind against the edge of my mattress.

No. No.

How damn weak.

My hips jut again, and the relief is minimal. I yank myself from the bed.

Hell. No.

I am not a goddamn teenager getting a boner for the first time. I am a grown man, six-foot-six and built. I am not rutting into the side of my mattress.

It’s not my fault this happens. This I know, and yet…

God, his scent is everything. It lodges itself under my nose, in my skin.

I can’t move enough to escape it.

Reed Nightwell.

His scent tortures me as much as I love it. An addiction I rarely get to indulge in.

My fingers itch as the familiar sparks flare in my… groin, and I moan. Flipity fuck. It’s here.

And my scent match, the one person who could help me, hates me.

The door to my room rips open, and like I’d summoned him by sheer desire, the man who’ll either make my suffering so much worse or so much better stares down at me. My savior and my damnation illuminated by the hallway light.

“Shut the damn door.” My voice sounds drained and tired from trying to suppress the oncoming rut.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Reed snaps even as he obeys. My scent match slowly walks into the dark room. His blond hair a shining beacon of my need and his sharp brown eyes glaring at me as he toes off his boots. My alpha tries to pry the last shard of control from me, wanting to tackle Reed and rut the fuck out of our⁠—

Not our omega.

Reed pulls off his shirt. “How long?” His deep black tattoo decorates his chest and abs, trailing up his legs and over his arms like bands. They almost look like black magic grabbing him.