Page 95 of Heat Clinic

“All right,” he says. “I’ll leave your copy on the counter. Have a good day.”

Another cramp squeezes me, and my leggings grow damper as I lie there on the floor and strain to hear him through the door. Is he gone? Did he really leave, or is he waiting for me to open the door? This is the fastest oncoming heat I’ve had since my dynamic developed as a teen. Each one is a little different from the next, but this is bad. It’s all wrong. We had plans. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

So I do the safest thing I can. I wait. Curled up and whimpering, I lie there and wait for someone to come home. There’s no clock to tell me how much time passes, but the sun is setting when I hear footsteps outside the door and it was a little after lunchtime when the repairman came.

“I’m home!” Tom calls out. “Sam? Come help me bring everything in.”

I drag in a breath to answer him when another cramp hits me, and all that comes out is an agonized whimper.

“Sam? Emily?”

“In the bathroom!” Straining, I reach for the knob and turn it. The door creaks open, narrowly avoiding hitting my head.

“I got the prints back from the framer, too. You’re going to die when you see them, they’re—Emily!” He rushes to my side. “Are you hurt? What happened? Where’s Sam?”

“He’s in the basement. I left my phone on the coffee table and the dishwasher broke and—hnnnng.” I pant as another cramp crushes me in its grip. It’s never been this hard, this fast and painful before.

“What’s wrong? Did you fall? Should I call an ambulance?” Tom kneels and puts his cool hand over my sweat-beaded brow. My hair sticks to my face, and he brushes it away.

“No, it’s my heat. It’s bad.” I whimper again, trying to curl up tighter. “Can you help me into the nest?”

“Of course, luv.” Tom steps around me, then gets his arms under me and hoists me up. Despite his lean frame, he’s strong. He walks us sideways through the door and helps me upstairs. The nest is deliciously soft and full of pack scents as he sets me down in the center. “I’m going to get the others.”

“Don’t leave me,” I say, not above begging. I’ll do anything, say anything, as long as someone puts a cock in me and ruts this pain right out of me.

He unbuttons his jacket and tosses it to the floor, then pulls his phone from his pocket. “Of course not.” He dials and puts the phone between his ear and shoulder, then undoes the buttons on his sleeves. “It’s time,” he says into the phone. “No, I’m not teasing you.” He sighs and grabs the phone, holding it out toward me as another cramp hits me, and I whimper, rolling onto my side and hugging my knees to my chest.

“I’m on my way,” Marcus growls over the line.

Tom pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor, then dials again. When it doesn’t connect and gives him Sam’s voicemail, he makes an irritated sound and rips his belt open, and then his pants, and shoves it all down.

The dark trail of hair leading down to his cock makes my mouth water and the cramps less important as he finishes undressing. I wiggle against my fuzzy blankets, hooking my thumbs in my stretchy waistband as I rip them down my hips.

Tom helps me, taking over as I lift my bottom and he undresses me. He’s gentle, and that irritates me. I want to be stripped. Flipped over, rutted, bred. Desire and pain crush me in a vise as he shoves my sweater up and reaches under me to find the hook on my bra.

I hook my legs around him and try to pull him closer. To line his cock up with me and work myself onto him. He lets out a surprised breath, then chuckles and claims my mouth with a kiss, distracting me as he finishes working it open. He lets my mouth go, and I try to follow him until he pulls my sweater up and I’m trapped in it for a moment as he tugs it over my head and tosses it aside. I throw the bra off, grateful to be rid of it. Now I’m free. I’m naked in my nest where I belong, with my packmate between my thighs wherehebelongs.

I reach for him and tug him into another kiss, pulling him closer with my legs. I set my heels into his ass and trap him there. Why isn’t he in me yet? I rub my wet slit against his front, searching for his cock. It’s soft against my inner thigh. Frustrating. I make a sound of displeasure.

“Sorry, luv. Turns out I’m not into weeping. Give me a moment.” He reaches a hand down between us and grabs his soft cock, stroking it.

Weeping? I press my fingers to my cheeks and they come away wet. I’ve been crying this whole time. His arm rubs against my belly as he tries to bring it to life. If he can’t fuck me, then I’ll take my comfort another way. Getting more of that buttery cookie scent in my sinuses will help. Leaning up, I trail kisses along his neck and lick over his healed mating bite, setting my teeth over it and sucking. It tastes faintly of his pheromones, his beta scent gland so underdeveloped it’s flat, but it’s there if you know where it should be. I bite him lightly to make it perfume.

“Blimey. That’ll do it.”

He groans and stops stroking his cock hard as he drags it over my inner thigh. Tom guides it to my center while I suck on his mating bite so hard it’ll bruise. He sinks into me with a hard thrust and no foreplay, his cock carving a path through my squeezing walls. I don’t need the prep. I’m soaked with slick and aroused from the heat. The first hit of his head against my cervix makes the cramping stop, and I sigh through my mouthful of skin and rock against him, asking for more without words.

He delivers. Tom pistons into me, hitting the mouth of my womb and pressing onward, forcing my body to shift and make room and give until my belly bulges with each deep thrust. The hard stretch satisfies some primal urge and leaves me purring as I clutch him to me, my heels locked against his ass and my hands curved into claws at his back. My teeth are still at his throat, as if to keep him from pulling out and leaving me before I’ve been properly seeded.

“Stop biting me so I can fuck you properly, omega,” he says, sliding a hand into my hair and squeezing. He pries my teeth from his throat and ignores my whimpers of loss, and then he moves and I forget why any of that mattered when he’s reshaping me, forming my body to fit him better. Tom fucks me into the nest with punishing thrusts that smack our skin together.

“You are a feral little thing sometimes,” he says, squeezing that hand at my nape and tugging. Each slap of his hips against mine pulls at his hold and makes my eyes roll back in my head. He takes his pleasure, using my body and pinning me under him as he fucks me until he’s as sweaty and panting and desperate as I am.

“You want this, luv? You want me to fill up this pretty pink cunt?”

I whimper and nod, ignoring the dull ache in my scalp. His rhythm changes, those thrusts coming deep and slow, and then his cock pulses and I know he’s close. And I want it. I want him to come inside me, to fill me with seed and satisfy this unquenchable hunger, even if it’s only for a moment.

“Here’s your cum, luv. Be a good little cum slut and don’t lose a single drop.”

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