Page 70 of Real

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Buddy

Going into heat never feels like this.

I yearn for an alpha, and then I try to finger myself until the agony subsides. That is how my heats go. My heats are not wildly satisfying with an alpha fucking me into oblivion and using his knot to open me up like a jackhammer. I relax until I wake up from the dream or the fantasy. Except I don’t wake up.

Timothy is giving it to me so good I don’t want him to stop. I remind him that I’m indestructible, that I need him to fuck me hard. And he gives me what I need. He’s such a good alpha. He’s strong when I need him to be strong and gentle when the world needs that of him too. I want to carry his pups. I want to milk him for his seed until I’m full of his litter and his love.

I relax against the counter, even though the stone countertop is cold and unyielding. I promise the Lights that if they let me become swollen with Timothy’s pups, I will serve the Illusors until the day I die. I’ll give Dorian’s money to them. I’ll dance on that damn stage with Skatt and learn everything about the Den of Dreams and take care of their people as best I can. I just want something for myself. And what I want is to be Timothy’s. Not halfway. Not a little bit. I want to be Timothy’s heart, mind, and soul.

There’s an echo in my head, or not an echo but a scattering of reflections like the crystals in the chandelier on Candlewick’s lower back. The reflections are a message, and the language is something I innately understand.

Take him inside you. Hold him there. Like the knife.

The comparison is so painful I don’t think I can do what the Lights are asking. But Einar said that an alpha Illusor winds their light around their mate and penetrates them with it when they bond. That means the omega Illusor takes the alpha’s light inside themselves, right?

What if a bond isn’t about what an alpha gives but what an omega takes? What if it isn’t just penetration but absorption? What if the ability to open yourself up for someone is more important than their ability to push inside?

I focus on Timothy’s knot, and I try to swallow it the way I swallowed the knife or a sip of water. I take it inside myself. My eyes are closed, but a million little reflections of light dance under my eyelids. What if Timothy and I can have everything we’ve dreamed of if we are willing to reach out and take it inside of ourselves? We just have to be willing to hope.

Timothy lets out a strangled cry as his knot becomes one with my body. The change rushes through me, and the resulting sensation isn’t pleasant. My skin becomes clammy and wildly sensitive. My ass is now horribly raw. Timothy tries to pull out, and I grab his hip to stop him.

“Don’t. You’ll… hurt me.”

“Buddy… you’re not plastic,” Timothy whispers.

Somehow I knew that. But hearing it from him makes it real.

A chill washes over me. My body is too soft everywhere. I can feel my heartbadum, badum, badumming, and my stomach churns with a pain I’ve never experienced before. It’s sharp and consuming. The countertop underneath me digs into my hips and the bite at the crook of my neck stings. It’s all too intense.

“Don’t pull out,” I repeat. Not only because he’d hurt me but because I need him here with me right now. There’s too much sensation for me to deal with on my own.

“I’m here with you, baby. It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you. Don’t you worry.”

Timothy runs his hand up and down my wet back. His knot is still stretching me wide, but unlike the pain in my stomach or my hips, this discomfort has a pleasurable edge to it. I don’t want him to stop. That’s the one thing I feel certain of in all this.

“Breed me,” I whisper, realizing he actually could now.

God, I want to grow his babies in this new body. That would be better than the time we spent in our fake cabin. The problem with fantasies is that they’re only made of imagination and light. This moment with Timothy is rooted in all these new sensations, and it’s better than being indestructible.

He starts rocking into me again, and my ass blooms with a pleasure so sweet, I have to squeeze my eyes shut. As I scrabble at the countertop, I notice the tips of my fingers reverting back to their tougher, plastic form. Instinctively, I know that all I have to do is let the change come over me, and I’ll be plastic again. The realization calms me. My body isn’t forcing an unwanted change upon me. It’s giving me options. Flesh or plastic. Being with Timothy doesn’t mean I can’t be indestructible when I want to be.

But I won’t be able to feel this moment so acutely if I shift back. And the seed in my belly can’t grow in my plastic form. It needs this newer, softer version of me to take root.

I have to be vulnerable to be real.

“Gentle,” I whisper as exhaustion overtakes me.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he assures me.

I surrender myself to him completely. Timothy will make sure I’m taken care of. This side of myself is safe with him.

All sides of myself are safe in his arms. Every part of me.

And now I’ve claimed him as my own.

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