Page 13 of Cleat Heat

Chapter Eight

Vivi

Tears stream from my eyes as sweat runs in rivulets down my body, both soaking into my mattress as I shake and sob. The only sound in my apartment is the steady hum of the multiple vibrators bouncing around my bed. Not a single one of my BOBs has been enough to give me an orgasm. And I’d kill for a release.

Even the massive glittery purple cock that has a faux Alpha knot brought me no relief. My stomach cramps, making it hard to breathe, and I frantically spread my legs wider, flinging my arms around my bed to find something to soothe the ache inside me. One hand locates my little silver bullet, slamming it hard against my overly sensitive clit. The other reaches for my green top from yesterday. The soft material feels good against my overheated skin as I bring it to my nose, sucking in as deeply as possible, trying to get even the faintest whiff of my mates’ unique scents.

This is all their stinking, smelly fault.

Everything was just fine until dark chocolate, rum punch, and spring rain pushed their way into my nose. Into my brain. Into my instincts. Now, I can’t even get off by myself. Slamming my eyes shut, I conjure their images. Dash, my huge, broody Viking; Ty, my sunny day; and Fox, the calm that balances out their storm.

Pleasure begins to build low in my abdomen.

“Spread those wicked legs for me, baby girl,” Ty demands, flashing his white teeth. “Show me how you come. Look into my eyes while you touch my wet little cunt.”

My clit pulses as I circle it faster with the buzzing bullet. Please let this work.

“Dirty girl,” Dash rasps, with his eyes trained on my fluttering core. Lust radiates from him as he stands behind Ty. “Look at all that slick just pouring from your greedy pussy. Make yourself come. Do it fast so I can get inside you.”

Electricity tingles down my legs, and they shake as I reach for the purple monster; notching it at my soaked entrance. The thick head is too stiff as I push it inside, nothing like the velvety steel I somehow inherently know my Alphas are packing. More sweat runs down my body, leaving me chilled even as I burn. A whine rips from my throat as I thrust the phallus inside, and the pleasant, almost orgasm retreats. It’s all wrong and tears gather in my eyes.

“Little flier, don’t cry. Just call us. We’ll take care of you,” Fox snaps as he strides forward to stand between my spread thighs.

Ugly sobbing into my shirt, I grip the purple vibrator, yank it out of me, and toss it to the side with the useless silver bullet. Calling my mates is the obvious answer. They even texted me lovely good morning messages earlier—of course, I didn’t reply.

Stubborn fool.

But I barely know them, and the idea of letting my scent-matches see me like this sends a shiver down my spine. Alpha’s bite omegas in heat. It happens all the time—even if we are supposed to have the final say in the matter. And once bitten, I’ll be theirs forever. To control. To command. No. Heat bites are almost impossible to avoid between mates, and I just freaking can’t.

But you want them here. You want their bites.

My arms and legs dangle like limp noodles, and every single muscle in my body hurts. Despite my dehydrated, exhausted state, tears spring to my eyes yet again. I’m about to succumb to another round of sobbing when a loud rapping on the front door of my apartment distracts me.

Wrinkling my nose, I grab my phone off my bedside table. Sure enough, there’s a notification.

Your food has been delivered.

“You can just leave it on the floor,” I call out, not wanting to see anyone in my current state. My body protests as I slide from the bed, and my skin feels like it’s on fire as I slip the softest, silkiest robe I own over my arms and band it loosely at my waist.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

The pounding on the door begins again, and my stomach growls. Starving and grumpy, I slowly make my way to the door, sliding a hand against the wall to keep from falling onto my face.

“I already paid and tipped in the app. Just leave the food outside… I’m on a work call,” I shout, hoping the delivery driver will just go the hell away. My legs shake as I continue my trek across the small space.

After what feels like forever, I finally reach the door and stand on tiptoe to peer out of the peephole. Bags sit on the ground, as well as the six-pack of the fruit punch sports drink I ordered, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the hallway is empty.

The smell of garlic and tomato sauce on my pasta wafts under the door, calling me like the carb-loaded siren I so desperately need. My hand falls to my doorknob, twisting it, then pulling it open with what little strength I can muster.

The sheer effort makes me wonder if the food is even worth it, but I know if I don’t eat, I’ll only get weaker. Shouldering it open, I bend forward and grasp the bag's harsh plastic handles in my sweaty palms.

“Hello, my naughty princess.”

The familiar voice behind me causes me to jump. My voice lodges in my throat, choking me with panic as my heart jackhammers in my chest. There’s nowhere to hide… Run. Run. Run.

Dropping the bag immediately, I turn to rush into my apartment and engage the lock, but before I have a chance, his thick arm bands around my body, bringing a massive hand up to grip my throat. The scent of burned paper tinged with whiskey surrounds me as he crushes me against him, and I gag violently.

“My, my, you smell delicious, omega,” he growls, licking along my neck. A shudder of revulsion works through me, and I double my efforts to get away, kicking him as hard as I can in the shin.

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