Chapter 15: Tyler - Wrong Date, Right Mates

After work, I went surfing until sunset, then nursed a beer at the bar until closing, too afraid of making bad decisions. I tiptoe up the back steps and unlock the door to my room, then nearly fall back on my ass. From scent alone, I know that Alden and the little goose who ruined my day, if not my very life, have spent all day fucking while I’ve been spiraling.

Sound hits me next. The soft slap of balls against ass. Alden’s quiet breaths like he knows I’m home and doesn’t want me to hear. My cock hardens.

My body heats with rage and despair. I want to barge into the guest room and cleave them apart, then fuck them both as punishment. Fuck. Need coils inside me. And fear.

My rut is here.

The suppressants must have failed. It better be because I’ve been neglecting my body and not because Elliott is my fucking scent match like Alden suggested.

Fuck. How am I going to survive a rut with a heat going on next door? I mean, yeah, I’ve been through this a couple times while Niall was in heat, but it was easy to ignore because the combination of Alden’s meadow and Niall’s lily nauseated me.

But Alden and Elliott… Fuck. The combination is catnip.

It sounds like they’ll be busy for a while, so I creep to the kitchen and grab a beer. Oh, fuck it. I grab the whole six-pack. I’ll drink away the blue balls I’ve been nursing since I met Elliott, drinking away any thought of what’s going on next door, the thought of Alden falling in love and leaving me behind.

Everything is too intense. I hear the electricity humming in every lightbulb, so I shut them off. Fine, I’ll wallow in the darkness. I definitely don’t want to see the crazed look in my reflection, the one that scares me because I hate losing control.

First things first, a shower beer and an orgasm. I grab my trusty fleshlight from beneath the sink and strip. The water scalds my skin as I stand under the spray and drink, stewing in my anger. Then I set the empty bottle on the shelf beside my shampoo, and get to work, planting my palm on the tile and thrusting into the toy. I forgot to grab lube, which only irritates me more. And conditioner is not a suitable substitute.

There’s no warmth, no pleasure in it, no slippery glide of Elliott’s sweet slick. I can barely feel it. It’s like my sensation is diminished. I thunk my head against the tile softly, and try using my hand. But that doesn’t work either.

“For fuck’s sake.” I crack my neck with a bit too much violence, and shut the water off.

Gritting my teeth, I dry my skin roughly, and finish another beer on the way to my bed. Sorry, liver. I cram noise-canceling headphones over my ears and fall into bed, irrationally angry that it only smells like me.

Wait. Where is my pillow? I pull back the covers and look under my bed. I scan the room and check the bathroom. What the fuck?

Fury boils inside me. Why would Alden take my pillow? Alden could have taken Elliott to a hotel. He can afford it for fuck’s sake. But the omega feels safe here, my stupid brain says, because I can’t help but care about Elliott too. He and Elliott already took my peace and sanity and they still want more?

“It’s my fucking pillow,” I mutter.

I growl into my mattress, then toss onto my back and scowl at the ceiling.

An hour later, and several failed masturbation sessions later, I’m still awake. My dick throbs with my pulse, tenting my sheets. I’m leaking almost as much precum as an omega leaks slick. I debate grabbing another beer, but I can feel my liver judging me from an imaginary cuckhold chair while I beat my dick like it owes me money.

Fuck Alden. Fuck the omega who stole my best friend. Fuck being an alpha. Fuck this fucking rut.

I sit up and yank the string on the lamp to turn it on, nearly toppling it onto the floor. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, overly loud with the headphones on.

Maybe I should get a hotel room. Or maybe I’ll sleep on a damn park bench. That’s a stupid idea, my liver says. What if I take advantage of someone? What if they take advantage of me? What if I get arrested for my giant erection?

I usually stay home because I feel safe with Alden, but I can’t have Alden right now, not even to check on me or offer to cuddle when I’m struggling. His scent alone will soothe me. I guess I could raid the dirty laundry. Yes. That’s what I’ll do.

But the laundry room is empty. The only scent is detergent and dryer sheets that make me sneeze. Fuck him for being so on top of his laundry when he’s usually lazy. Fine. He stole my pillow first, so I’ll steal his back. I stalk into Alden’s room, then stop like I’ve slammed into a wall.

God, his scent is everywhere. I inhale deeply and moan. My balls feel so tight and heavy, and I’m so hard my dick aches. My knot swells, with a pulling sensation in my gut dragging me closer to the bed and insanity.

Fuck it.

Alden’s bed linens are rumpled, comforter in a heap like he kicked it off while in sleep. I ball them up into the center of the bed, then arch over them, pressing my face against the soft feather pillow he hugs while he sleeps, nuzzling my nose against it, pretending it’s his neck.

I drag my cock against the blankets once, engulfed with shame. But that shame doesn’t linger, not when my entire body tingles with pleasure. I draw my hips back and rut into his blankets, slowly at first, like I’m really with Alden, like I’m teasing him to punish him until we both snap.

I lose myself in it. I forget where I am, who else is here, everything that’s happened today. Hell, I forget my very name. I’m Alden’s alpha, fucking him harder, and faster, imagining him warm and pliant beneath me, roaming my starved hands over his back, squeezing his hips, bending forward and kissing his neck.

Then I wrap my hand around my dick and thrust into the circle of it, squeezing as tightly as his sweet virgin ass would. My knot swells to bursting. I can’t wait to breed him and plug my cum inside him. Fuck, I’m so close.

But I just can’t get there. Alden is painfully absent, his blankets too soft, not hard and strong. There’s no Alden fucking himself back against me, muscles rippling. So I pretend I’ve flipped him onto his back and hike his knees up to his ears. I fuck him face to face, imagining his eyes vulnerable and on me.

I see the fear in them. He’s as scared as I am, scared of his feelings, of the prospect of taking my knot when my cock is bigger than his. But he doesn’t care. He wants my knot too much. He begs me for it. Finally, my orgasm nears, that familiar rising tension building toward a climax, that tightening near my knot as my balls draw up.

I bite into Alden’s pillow, wishing it were him, and spill onto the sheets. I barely feel it. It’s short and unsatisfying, the worst orgasm I’ve ever had, and I’ve spent a lot of ruts with only the comfort of my hand. I want to cry.

My knot throbs with my pulse, swelling even more, like my body can’t understand why there’s no hole surrounding it.

I scream into Alden’s pillow, then I fuck my fist again, biting the pillow over and over again, wishing I were marking him. God, if I had my hands on him, I would. I’d leave a neck full of scars for him to wear forever. I’d keep myself buried in him for a fucking week.

That idea sends me over the edge again. This orgasm is better, but there’s still no satisfaction, no refractory period. I’m immediately in need again. It’s like I’ve lost all pleasurable sensation.

This is torture. It’s not fair. I wrench the pillowcase off and then rip the pillow in half, showering feathers everywhere.

But that doesn’t sate my anger, and it’s terrifying. I’m out of control. There’s no Alden knocking on my door to make sure I’m okay, like when I’ve gotten frustrated during past ruts.

My anger builds and builds and builds, and with it a frenzied sort of panic. What if I can never come again? What if I’ll feel like this forever?

I take all his clothes off the hangers in his closet, and thrust against them. When that doesn’t work, I sift through his drawers and sniff the slutty little boxer briefs he always wears when he’s run out of clean underwear, the ones so short that the bottom of his cheeks peek out while he does his laundry. I sniff the boxers and moan, giving no fucks for the sounds I’m making. Let him hear. Let him know what he’s doing to me. Let him wish it were me fucking him.

I stuff his boxers into my mouth and bite them over and over as I fuck my fist for over an hour, my balls aching, my knot still swollen, desperate for a hole to lock into. When that doesn’t work, I fuck myself into his goddamn shoes, totally depraved. I know I’m being disrespectful as hell, fucking with all of Alden’s things, but I don’t care. I can’t right now. I’m going insane.

I whimper. It’s a foreign sound, one I’d never make willingly. But I’m miserable. All lucidity left me a long time ago.

Now even the omega invades my fantasies. I make him beg me to fuck him and knot him, because all of this is his fault. In my next fantasy, I take turns breeding them. None of it works.

I come over and over and over through the night without relief. I’m exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. I’m fucking thirsty. But I can’t stop. It feels like I’ll die if I stop. At some point after the sun comes up, I pass out from sheer exhaustion, but it’s so short it’s like I’ve blinked. There’s no reprieve.

My aching need pulls me in and out of sleep until I feel delirious, until time loses all meaning and I can’t figure out if I’m dreaming. Years pass. Eternities.