Page 150 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
It lasts SO MUCH LONGER. My usual heat? Two days, max, at the clinic with their synthetic pheromones. This time? FOUR DAYS.
You’ll forget your own name. Also the day of the week. Also how to form complete sentences that aren’tpleaseandmoreandright there.
Three Alphas means three times the… everything. Math has never been my strong suit, but even I can calculate that equation.
You’ll consume your body weight in water and protein bars because apparently marathon sex is an Olympic sport, and I’ve been training without knowing it.
Your marks will have marks. I look like I’ve been mauled by very affectionate bears. With cowboy hats.
The emotional intensity is INSANE. We’re talking declarations of love, promises of forever, the whole romance novel package but in real life.
For My Omega Readers Still Using Clinics:
Look, no judgment. I used them for years. The controlled environment, the medical support, the ability to just handle your heat and move on, I get it. I really do.
But if you find your actual matches? Your scent-matched Alphas?
Baby, it’s a WHOLE different universe.
The clinic injects you with synthetic pheromones that trick your body into thinking an Alpha is nearby. It takes the edge off, makes it manageable. Like taking ibuprofen for a migraine, it helps, but the pain is still there, just dulled.
Real Alphas? That’s like… okay, I can’t even think of an analogy because my brain is still scrambled. It’s like the difference between watching fireworks on TV versus being inside the actual fireworks. It’s overwhelming and intense and absolutely life-changing.
Also, they made me FOOD. Like, actual food. They cooked between… sessions. Brought me fresh fruit. Fed me chocolate. Try getting that at a clinic.
The Emotional Whiplash:
Here’s the thing nobody prepared me for: the vulnerability. When you’re in heat with Alphas who love you (THEY SAID THEY LOVED ME!!!), you can’t hide. You can’t put up walls. You’re just… raw. Open. Theirs.
And they see all of it. The needy parts, the desperate parts, the parts of yourself you don’t know exist until you’re begging for something you can’t even name.
They said they loved me. All three of them. Multiple times. In multiple ways.
Your girl is SWOONING. Still. Probably forever.
But Back to Reality:
