Chapter 3: The Truth in Heat
The fever broke into a temporary, sweat-soaked calm. Consciousness returned in jagged pieces. The first was the weight—a heavy arm slung across his waist, anchoring him to the mattress. The second was the scent—alpha musk, sex, and his own spent heat, all mingled into a potent, inescapable brand on the air. The third was the ache—a deep, tender throb between his legs, a vivid reminder of how thoroughly he’d been taken.
Ben kept his eyes shut, listening to Jaxson’s deep, even breaths against the back of his neck. He could feel the crisp hair of Jaxson’s chest against his spine, the solid wall of muscle caging him in. A different kind of heat flushed through him then: shame, bright and scalding. He’d begged. He’d sobbed. He’d come apart like a cheap toy in Jaxson’s hands.
The memory of his own voice, screaming “mate,” made his stomach twist.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to ease out from under the arm. The moment he shifted, the arm tightened, pulling him back flush against a body that was very much awake.
“Don’t,” Jaxson rumbled, his voice sleep-roughened and too intimate in the dark.
“Let go of me.” Ben’s own voice was shredded, each word scraping his throat.
“Mm. No.” Jaxson nuzzled the nape of his neck, inhaling deeply. A soft, approving sound vibrated against Ben’s skin. “Still smells like me. And you. It’s good.”
“It’s disgusting,” Ben snapped, but the effect was ruined by the way his body instinctively arched back into the contact. The simmering heat under his skin, temporarily banked, gave a low, warning pulse.
Jaxson chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “Your body disagrees.” He slid his hand up from Ben’s waist, splaying his fingers wide over Ben’s stomach, holding him there. “How’s the ache?”
“None of your business.”
“It’s very much my business.” His hand drifted lower, fingertips tracing the sensitive skin of Ben’s lower abdomen, teasing the line of dark hair that led downward. “I put it there.”
A violent shudder, equal parts revulsion and need, racked Ben’s frame. He batted the hand away weakly. “We need to talk. About before. About… this.”
“Talk?” Jaxson shifted then, rolling Ben onto his back with an effortless strength that stole Ben’s breath. He loomed over him, propped on one elbow, the flickering desk lamp casting his face in shadow and sharp light. His blue eyes were clear, awake, and utterly focused. “You want to talk now, Omega? While you’re still slick from my cum? While your heat’s just waiting to climb back up your spine?” He leaned down, his lips a hair’s breadth from Ben’s. “Talk all you want. But your body already knows the truth.”
Before Ben could form a retort, Jaxson captured his mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. It wasn’t tender. It was a reclamation. Ben’s hands came up, pushing weakly against the solid mass of Jaxson’s shoulders, but the kiss stole his strength, melted his bones. He tasted himself on Jaxson’s tongue, salty and intimate, and a low moan escaped him despite his fury.
Jaxson broke the kiss, trailing wet, open-mouthed bites down Ben’s throat. His hand slid between Ben’s thighs, finding him already wet, already open. Ben jerked, a pathetic cry torn from him.
“See?” Jaxson breathed against his collarbone. He pushed two thick fingers inside without preamble, curling them. “Already soft for me. Already hungry. Your tight little hole is still gaping, Ben. It misses my cock.”
“Stop—ah!” Ben’s head fell back as Jaxson’s fingers scissored, stretching him. It burned, a delicious, shameful stretch. He was so sensitized, every movement sent electric shocks through his system. “Don’t say things like that…”
“Why not?” Jaxson added a third finger, watching Ben’s face intently as he gasped. “It’s the truth. You’re built for this. For taking me.” He crooked his fingers, pressing relentlessly on that spot inside that made Ben’s vision spark. “You came so hard around my knot last time. Screamed for it. You think I forgot?”
Ben couldn’t answer. His hips were moving of their own volition, fucking himself on Jaxson’s hand, chasing the pressure. The heat was rising again, a tide of fire in his blood, burning away the last scraps of his resistance. The empty, throbbing need was back, sharper now, more desperate.
Jaxson withdrew his fingers, shiny with Ben’s slick. He brought them to Ben’s lips, smearing the wetness across them. “Taste it. That’s your need. That’s you, begging for me.”
Ben turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut, but his tongue darted out, involuntarily tasting his own desperation.
With a growl of satisfaction, Jaxson manhandled him, flipping him onto his stomach with a brutality that was dizzying. He dragged Ben up onto his knees, ass in the air. Ben buried his face in the tangled sheets, humiliation and arousal warring as he was exposed completely.
He heard the tear of a foil packet—Jaxson had come prepared this time—and then the blunt, slick head of Jaxson’s cock was pressing against his entrance. He was bigger than three fingers. So much bigger.
“Please,” Ben whimpered into the mattress, the word muffled.
“Please what?” Jaxson’s voice was a taunt. He pushed in, just an inch, a torturous, stretching invasion.
“Please… just…”
Jaxson slammed home.
The air rushed from Ben’s lungs in a choked scream. He was filled, stretched to the point of pain, utterly impaled. Jaxson didn’t wait for him to adjust. He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust jolting Ben forward, his hands fisted in the sheets for purchase. The slap of skin was loud, obscene, a relentless drumbeat in the dark room.
“This is what you are,” Jaxson grunted, his hands gripping Ben’s hips hard enough to leave new bruises. “My tight, filthy Omega. Dripping for it. Taking every inch.” He leaned over, his chest plastered to Ben’s sweat-slick back, his mouth at Ben’s ear. “You hate me so much, Ben? Then why is your hole clutching my cock like it never wants to let go?”
Ben couldn’t form words. He was a vessel, filled and used, his world narrowed to the brutal pistoning inside him, the friction on his own neglected cock trapped beneath him, the overwhelming scent of their coupling. He was nearing the edge again, hurtling toward it with a terrifying lack of control.
Jaxson’s pace grew ragged, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder, aiming perfectly. His teeth grazed the unmarked slope of Ben’s shoulder, right over his bonding gland.
The shock of it—the implicit threat and promise—tipped Ben over. He came with a broken shout, his climax wrenched from him, his channel spasming wildly around Jaxson’s driving cock.
The violent clenching was too much. Jaxson drove in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and with a hoarse roar, he came, his release hot and profound inside the condom. He collapsed over Ben, his weight a crushing, final anchor.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the oppressive silence of the apartment. The desk lamp flickered.
As the tremors subsided, a cold clarity returned to Ben. The heat had receded again, satisfied for now. And with its retreat, reality came crashing down. He was on his knees, soiled, stuffed with a condom of Jaxson’s cum, covered in the man’s scent and his own weakness.
Jaxson pulled out slowly, disposing of the condom in a wastebasket by the bed with a soft thud. He rolled onto his back beside Ben, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Ben slowly, painfully, lowered himself to the mattress. He felt hollowed out, ruined. He stared at the stained ceiling. “You need to leave,” he said, his voice flat.
Jaxson didn’t move. “It’ll come back. Probably in a few hours.”
“I don’t care. Get out.”
“You’ll call for me. Or I’ll smell it.” Jaxson turned his head, looking at him. His expression was unreadable in the dim light. “This is just starting, Ben. You know what happens if we keep doing this. Without a mark… you know what can happen.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the fever seized Ben. Pregnancy. The word hung between them, unsaid but monstrously present. An Omega in full, unmitigated heat with a fated Alpha. The chances were astronomically high.
“I’m not yours to claim,” Ben whispered, the defiance a thin, brittle shell.
Jaxson was silent for a long moment. Then he sat up, the mattress dipping. He looked down at Ben, his gaze tracing the new bruises on his hips, the bite marks on his shoulder, the utter devastation of him. “Aren’t you?” he said softly. It wasn’t a taunt. It sounded like a grim conclusion.
He stood, gathering his clothes with a quiet efficiency. He dressed in the semi-darkness, a powerful silhouette moving through the shadows of Ben’s pathetic life.
At the door, he paused, his hand on the broken latch. He didn’t look back. “When it hits again… it’ll be worse. Your body will feel like it’s dying without the bite. Without the knot.” His voice was low, factual. “I’ll be listening.”
He left, pulling the broken door as closed as it would go.
Ben lay perfectly still in the sudden, immense silence. The scent of sex and Alpha was everywhere, in the sheets, in the air, in his pores. He could still feel the ghost of the stretch, the deep ache of being used.
He brought a trembling hand to his shoulder, to the place where Jaxson’s teeth had grazed his bonding gland. A full, claiming bite there would seal them. Would make this permanent. Would make any potential life growing inside him… legitimate.
A dry, heaving sob racked his frame. He curled into a ball, alone in the mess of his own heat, waiting for the fire to return, dreading and craving the sound of footsteps in the hall.