Page 83 of Unbreak Me

For the next forty minutes, we maintained a moderate pace of sex, as I didn't want to overstimulate Day, guessing that the internal massage with the knot was a pretty powerful experience. Day came several times, and I knew that my knot was able to reach the entrance of his uterus and rub against it, which added to the intensity of his sensations. He was moaning loudly, his hands clenched tightly on my back, his eyelids closed, as he surrendered to the unstoppable waves of orgasms.

But it was just him—it was also an unforgettable event for me, if not overwhelming, as I observed him trembling and whimpering under me, so vulnerable and trusting, letting me penetrate him so deep, in a state of absolute surrender. I literally fell in love with the feeling of sliding in and out, while his legs were wide open, his passage tightly massaging me, and he was muttering naughty things: "Use my hole however you like, Jan, spread me, fill me…"

I was astonished by the immense effect it had on Day; it seemed to untangle something in him, in his energy, and seeing him thaw and regain the ability to freely and wildly experience the power of undisturbed pleasure gave me a sense of accomplishment. Our Joining had an extra healing effect on him, and I felt thrilled andhonoredto be able to accompany him during the process.

As we lay there afterward, hugging each other tightly, my knot slowly dissolving, I realized that in some ways we were even better matched than I had ever imagined. Yesterday, it might have felt like things were moving a bit slowly, with low intensity.But today, I understood—that calmer pace was exactly what I also needed. This was my first rut with an omega, and I needed to ease myself into it, gradually moving through each stage with Day, savoring it. It was incredible how much hidden wisdom there was in our harmony.

Over the next few waves, Day's trauma seemed to completely disappear. At the same time, I was gaining experience and confidence, finding my own rhythm in the midst of it all. Our sex became enthusiastic and wild, like any healthy couple during the heat.

There was just one piece missing, but I didn’t bring it up yet, wanting to keep things calm and positive.

It was the… neck marking.

Although I felt a faint tingling in my gums a few times, especially when my knot was expanded, my mating fangs never emerged—and neither did Day’s.

As the second evening approached, the thought crossed my mind more and more. I realized there was only one day of heat left, typically a less intense one. I knew people usually marked each other during the peak of heat, though True Mates could do it outside of that time as well. Still, it was considered the ideal moment, with hormones flooding the blood and intensifying everything. But I made a conscious decision not to stress over it or let it overshadow the experience. I’d always been a patient kind of guy, and I was used to staying grounded.

As we lay in bed, after one of the waves, tangled up together, and my knot slowly subsided, an unexpected thought hit me. At first, I figured my body was holding back because I didn’t want to overwhelm Day while he was still dealing with his trauma. But then it clicked—Day had been marked before, and he’d even marked Nico. This wasn’t new for him, and it definitely wasn’t something that would ‘overwhelm’ him, especially since he had no painful experiences tied to it.

It dawned on me—it might’ve been me. My own struggle, my own low-key trauma, hidden at the bottom of my soul.

Years of rejection, hearing people call me ‘not enough of an alpha’, or flat-out assuming I was a beta… Maybe I wasn’t ready to step into that role and mark Day? I’d buried my inner alpha so deep for so long that even now, when I had the chance, it couldn’t fully surface.

Even Day’s recent affirmation and praise of my actions against Ferguson did not allay all my insecurities, some still remained.

Flashes of those moments from college played in my mind—omegas looking at me with guarded eyes, their faces distant. It became a monthly ritual: "Wanna grab a drink with me?" I’d ask.

Cue the awkward look. "Sorry, I don’t date betas."

"I’m not a beta."

"Oh… I didn’t realize. I’m on suppressants."

"So yeah, I’m an alpha. Just short."

Then came that weird, crooked smile—half apologetic, half amused. "Sorry, maybe another time."

It happened over and over. Nobody wanted me, and even if I managed to date someone for a bit, they never stuck around. "My friends keep asking why I’m dating a beta…" Sometimes: "Sorry, but people stare at me with that pitying look. ‘What about your heat? You’re gonna be in trouble!’ I just can’t deal with it."

Most people wouldn't even call it trauma, they'd laugh it off, like Frank, but it felt like slowly sinking into the dark waters.

And now I wondered—could I suddenly start sailing? To go full steam ahead?

I didn’t even notice when I fell asleep. During a rut, naps didn’t happen often; the hormones usually gave me strength and stamina.

But I drifted into a strange dream.

I was standing in a crowd of omegas. They looked scared, almost panicked, their wide eyes fixed on me, full of expectation. I walked through them, and they slowly parted like waves until I saw someone standing ahead, turned away, unsuspecting.

That bastard; I recognized him instantly—from photos online and campaign posters.

Mark Ferguson turned to face me, a smug little smirk on his lips.

"What do you want, beta? This isn’t your place. I belong here, among the omegas. They want the real deal. Go on, get lost!"

A wave of anger surged through me so strong that my body almost shook with it.

Mark’s face twisted into a sneer of pure disdain. It was a face many omegas might’ve called handsome—sharp, regular features, a fine specimen of an alpha—but his good looks were revolting. Everything about him screamed falseness and cruelty.

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