Page 48 of Knot Forgotten

“We need rules,” I say.

Matt chuckles, dropping the last plate into the dishwasher. “You mean like Erin never sits in your lap because you won’t let her go?”

I shoot him a half-hearted glare and shake my head. “I let her go.”

“She deserves more than an alpha that can’t finish,” Blake says, and his words hit me straight in the heart. Of course she does.

I cross my arms. “I can finish.”

Matt scoffs but doesn’t say a thing.

Blake, on the other hand, rolls his eyes and drags his fingers through his hair. “Alone, maybe. But this is Rinny. She is going to expect certain things from her alphas. Not this second or maybe not even this week or month or whatever, but eventually. What will you do if she begs for your knot, man?”

My dick pulses in my sweats, and I press it down against my thigh. “Give it to her?” I say weakly.

Matt leans against the counter, his arms and legs crossed. “Yeah? Then what? Use her for a knot warmer?”

“I don’t want to use her for anything,” I say defensively. They are pushing me on purpose, saying this stuff out loud that I have already thought in my head. And I don’t like it.

“Maybe you should talk to her. Let her know what to exactly expect with you,” Blake says, sounding as reasonable as he normally does on his meds. “She is understanding. Seriously, she helped prevent me from crashing. She didn't need to do that, but she did. I bet if you told her, she would understand and not feel like she isn’t good enough if the time comes where you deny her.”

I swallow. They are both right. I know they are. Nodding, I focus on the fake wood grain of the table, imagining how the conversation will go.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her tonight.”

I’m not sure how long I’ve waited, but my chest is tight and my palms clammy. When Erin opens the door, I pop to my feet, the controller in my fingers tumbling to the couch cushions. I wasn’t playing anyway. The guys all gave me the space to talk to her, knowing how important it is.

“Rin,” I breathe her name like a prayer.

She slowly lowers her backpack next to the door, feeling the off energy in the room I’m sure. “You okay, Cam?”

“I was waiting for you. Can we talk?”

Her forehead crinkles, and concern fills the depths of her eyes. “Um,” she says, fingering the sleeve of her hoodie. “Sure?” I hate the uncertainty in her tone, especially since I’m the cause of it.

I sink back to the couch and pat the cushion next to me. Slowly, she walks over to me and sits.

“We agreed last night that we are doing this, that we are going to court you, and you are okay with a little fucked up–” I swallow, my tongue sticking to the roof of my dry mouth. Shit, I’m so nervous. I wipe my palms on my jeans. “Well, I think you should know my version of it.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, her eyes darting between mine, searching for something I’m not sure she will find.

“It is about my sexual preferences,” I say, inhaling a noisy breath. “You know a little of it from the other day. But you should know what you’re getting with me. I’m more than a little fucked up. I’m broken. I don’t reach sexual completion around anyone.”

“You don’t come?”

“No. I like to be edged, but I can’t?—”

“Finish?” she supplies when my words cut off. I nod. “By choice or–?”

I’m not sure how to answer that. At first, it was by choice. When she disappeared, other omega girls thought that meant our pack would be open to a replacement. We weren’t, but I am a guy, and after a year…hormones really kicked in, and I used them—the random omegas. Riding the edge until leaving them to come on my own, sometimes not even then. I wanted them to punish me for betraying the memory of what I thought I had with Rin, and withholding an orgasm felt like a punishment.

Now, what used to be a punishment is so ingrained in me that the idea of orgasm in front of someone has me feeling like I should run the other way. Even though a part of me craves it with Erin.

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly.

She presses her lips together, her face serious as she nods. This is it. Where she rejects me, says she can’t live with my type of crazy.

“Okay,” she whispers, reaching for my hand. “I won’t force you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

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