Page 72 of My Shy Alpha

Blood pools between my legs, heating my whole face with it, but as Noah’s kisses deepen, a tangible heartbeat forms in my core. Each pulse sends another wave of pleasure to my groin, soaking my panties.

He must be able to smell it; with a deep inhale, Noah groans, tearing himself away from my lips with red cheeks. “Feisty Omega, you’re killing me. We have to stop here, or else you’ll really be late.”

I flush, the chill morning air no longer noticeable in the slightest as Noah’s bulging pants nudge my belly. “Then we better hurry and separate before my wolf jumps you again.”

Noah chuckles, taking my hand. We brush ourselves off with sneaky glances and shared giggles before heading on our way.

I hug Noah’s arm on the path to town, shocked by my behavior as reality sinks in.

I can’t remember the last time I threw myself at someone like that - diving for Noah’s lips as if I’m sure he wanted me there as badly as I wanted to burrow into him. I’ve been all instinct since meeting Noah. But I guess my instincts were right; he enjoyed it as much as I did, still adjusting his pants as we walk. My cheeks burn, struggling to absorb that this gorgeous man existed in Greenfield this whole time.

“Are you okay?” He peeks at me. His lips are still bright red and swollen.

I giggle. “Yes. I’m just having a shy Omega moment.”

Noah chuckles, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t think I didn’t want to continue. I’ve been dying to feel you next to me, ever since we said goodbye last night.” After an abrupt pause, Noah sucks in a tight breath. “N-not in a sexual way. Well, I guess sexually would be nice too, but, um... I care about you, romantically and emotionally, and–”

I giggle, rubbing his arm. “I feel the same. It was hard to sleep without you. But I don’t mean to pressure you either. I understand you’re busy and can’t visit all the way out here every night.”

“I can make time for you.” His soft but bold declaration flutters my heart. “And I did actually try to visit late last night, but I figured you needed some space.”

“What? What made you think that?”

Noah shrugs. “Your door was locked. Which is perfectly fine. I want to respect your boundaries–”

Panic grips my chest, tightening my hold on his arm. “No, wait. I thought it was unlocked, like I told you I would leave it for you. Are you sure?”

He furrows his brows, not quite understanding my sudden fear. “Yeah, I’m sure... Why? What’s wrong?”

My gut sinks lower and lower as I trace back my steps last night. It never sunk in, but it happened: the silent war between my compulsions and what I actually wanted. Stopping at the door, locking it without thought. Realizing it’s locked and unlocking it while cooking dinner. The quiet, gnawing burn in the back of my mind, guiding me back to the door. Locking it. Unlocking. Locking again. Growling at the lock, tearing it back open, and demanding it stays that way. Giving up, falling asleep unsure if I really did lock it or not before bed.

But fuck, apparently I did. I’m relapsing worse than I realized, and I wouldn’t have even noticed unless Noah pointed it out.

Fear pins me to Noah’s side, just as we cross the border between Greenfield and Westview. And of course, Noah spirals into concern with me, our bond giving everything away. Confusion etches into his forehead, followed by a deep worry when I don’t continue walking.

I’m not prepared to tell Noah I have OCD.

Door locking was one compulsion Jenny and I worked on forever ago. I had hundreds of other compulsions to sort through, but we tackled this one first; I couldn’t stand how I used to waste hours on fucking doorknobs every night.

But it wasn’t just the front door. I’d repeatedly lock my front, back, and side doors - waiting for just the right click. I’d close all the other doors without locks, and hang bells on the main doors in case someone opened them. Ever since my ex broke in and...

We’re stopped where the farmland meets the river, the town waiting across the bridge. Noah pulls me closer, his eyes only on me despite the gorgeous scenery. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay...”

He raises one eyebrow at my obvious lie, and I laugh in embarrassment.

Noah has no idea about any of this, and I know he’d be understanding... If I took the time to explain. And pushed past the fear of him thinking less of me for my disorder.

But I don’t know how much I want to share just yet. How far I want to let him in.

Those teal, gentle eyes pull the truth out of me anyway. “Sometimes I’ll feel a deep, unavoidable urge to do things out of fear, even if I know they’re not logical,” I mutter. He’s still listening, and it’s out there now, so I continue. “I’ve worked in therapy to feel better and stop doing these things, but sometimes it creeps back on its own.”

He takes a moment to digest this, readjusting his grip on my hands. “W-what do you mean? What types of things?”

“Things like the lock. I used to be afraid someone would come in if I didn’t lock it correctly, but I’d lock it repeatedly until it felt ‘right.’ It was excessive, to say the least.”

Noah’s expression remains stoic, but I know he’s distressed beneath the surface. My throat tightens.

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