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My knees actually knock together like a cartoon character.
I grab Ash’s shirt off the towel rack and press it to my face like it’s holy scripture. I grind the nozzle against me harder, panting like a dog in a desert.
And still - it’s not enough. Not like before. Not like when Theo held me or Lucian whispered filth through steel.
I finish - not really - but stumble out of the shower like a war survivor. I throw Ash’s shirt over my chest and collapse back onto the bed like I’m auditioning for a Greek tragedy.
Hair dripping. Skin flushed. Heat crawling up my spine like it’s trying to make a nest in my lungs.
I curl up and clutch the shirt to my chest. My slick’s already soaked through the sheets. Again.
And all I can think is how Lexi’s going to kill me.
Because she warned me. She threatened me. She made me swear that I wouldn’t fall for any alpha bullshit, that I wouldn’t let them touch me.
I more or less telepathically promised her that I wouldn’t look at Lucian Vale like he was anything other than a capitalist fever dream in a three-piece suit -
And now look at me.
Here I am, slicked up, swaddled in Alpha laundry, and seriously considering opening the door and asking one of them- any of them - toplease, for the love of sanity, come hold me down until I stop vibrating.
Even the OMB wouldn’t make me do this alone, and they’re sociopaths with clipboards. If they found me like this, they’d at least assign someone. Maybe even a nice, heavily sedated alpha with clean nails and a firm grasp of aftercare. They’d be monsters, but notthiskind of monster.
So why am I trying to be one?
Why am I doing this martyr shit?
For what? Feminist street cred? A merit badge in unnecessary suffering?
I’m not built for this. I’m built for iced coffee and soft blankets and telling my problems to Lexi until she solves them with passive-aggressive emails and well-timed violence.
I am not built to ride out a full-blown omega heat on self-sufficiency and stubborn pride.
I need help.
I need someone.
I think of Theo - his lap, his hands, the way he held me like I was breakable but wanted.
Of how the ache eased. Just a little.
Of how I felt safe, for the first time in what felt like years.
That’s all I want. Contact. Pressure. Comfort.
A knock startles me.
“Rhea?”
I lurch upright, heart pounding, voice catching in my throat.
“Just checking in. You okay?”
I shoot up like I’ve been electrocuted, stumbling to the door, forehead pressed to the steel.
“Ash,” I gasp out. “Please. I can’t - I can’t do this alone anymore.”
A pause.
