Page 68 of Stream Heat
“And we want you,” Reid said, rough and raw, holding back everything he could. “But not this way. Not when you’re crashed out in heat. You can’t truly consent.”
The rage almost drowned out the heat, and for a second I could breathe through it. “So you’ll just leave me? Leave me like this?”
Jace answered, quiet but impossible to ignore. “We’ll help you through it. Just not…that way.”
“There’s other stuff we can do,” Theo said, all seriousness, none of his usual jokes. “Scent support. Sleeping close. Comfort without full contact.”
“We planned for this,” Ash added, arms folded, jaw ticking. “Protocols and safety checks. You call the shots. Whatever you want.”
It was hard to see through the tears and the haze of need. They could all see what was happening to me, smell the slick soaking through my shorts, but somehow they were still standing there, honoring what I wanted instead of what they wanted. Instead of what I needed.
It made me want to scream.
“Get out,” I said, voice small and shaking. “All of you. Just…go.”
They hesitated. Of course they did. Even then, they didn’t want to leave me alone.
“Kara…” Reid started.
“GET OUT!” I screamed, ragged and broken. “I don’t need your pity or your noble restraint. Leave me alone.”
There was a beat of silence, then Malik nodded. “We’ll be right outside. Water and electrolytes on the nightstand. The lock’s set so you’re secure.”
They filed out one after another, glancing back like I was the most pitiful thing they’d ever seen. The second the door clicked shut, I folded in on myself, crying so hard I could barely breathe. I clung to Reid’s hoodie, as if the fabric might somehow make any of this better.
But the ache between my legs wouldn’t go away. It just kept getting worse, sharper, hungrier, until I couldn’t think of anything else. I shoved my hand down, searching for relief, knowing it’d barely help but needing something, anything, to take the edge off.
I was drenched, slick everywhere, fingers slipping through it as I mentally called up all five of them: their scents, their bodies, every hungry look they’d ever given me. I imagined them crowding around, fighting over who got to fill me next.
Reid would take it slow, keeping me grounded even as I lost control. Theo would match my pace, wild and relentless. Jace would barely speak, just grip my hips and push me exactly where I needed. Ash would be clinical, precise, making every movement count. Malik would stay steady, always careful not to overwhelm me until I begged for it.
The fantasy was so real it hurt. I came hard, sharp and ugly, but it was barely anything, not even a drop in the oceancompared to what my body demanded. Self-pleasure during heat was a joke. It was like dumping a cup of water on a wildfire.
When it was over, humiliation poured in to replace the heat. I had begged. I pleaded for them to fuck me. Made a mess of my chair, probably ruined my dignity forever. And they had turned me down.
Not because they didn’t want me, I saw it in their faces, in the way they physically restrained themselves, but because they respected me enough not to take advantage.
It was the kindest rejection I’d ever gotten, and somehow that made it hurt worse.
I buried my face in the hoodie and cried, a raw, ugly sound, knowing I had days of this ahead. Dr. Patel had said it could last up to a week, easy. A week of torture, need, shame. And when it was over I’d have to look them in the eye, pretending I didn’t remember how I nearly lost my mind in front of them, how badly I wanted it.
That was almost worse than the heat itself.
I could hear them outside my door, voices low and steady, organizing a rotation and hydration schedule and probably a dozen other contingency plans. Even then, their thoughtfulness stung. It just highlighted the difference: my messy, desperate biology, and their relentless self-control.
I’d spent eight years trying to prove I was more than my instincts. More than an Omega. Now thirty minutes of a heat-induced trainwreck had stripped it all away and left nothing but need.
The shame was brutal. But not as brutal as the heat.
Not even close, because when the next wave came, and it always did, I started to whimper, a tiny, helpless sound, and I knew right then that if any of them came back in, I’d do it all over again. And hate myself for it in the morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kara
I wasn’t sure how many days it was after my heat started when I woke up and thought, for half a second, that someone had broken in and trashed my room while I was sleeping. Then I looked closer. Every surface was covered. Not with anything truly random, not garbage, not books, not wrappers. No, it was hoodies, half-folded and slung over the desk chair. Gaming keyboards and mice and gamepads stacked like some kind of weird tech art project. Empty energy drink cans lined up by brand and color. Snapbacks on every available hook or stuck to the bulletin board with pushpins. Even Malik’s meditation cushion was tucked in the corner, angled so the sunrise would hit it first thing every morning.
The real horror show, though, was my bed. Or what should have been my bed. The mattress was buried under a mountain of Alpha-scented... stuff. Hoodies, shirts, soft blankets, a comforter that definitely wasn’t mine, and enough personal items to rival a lost-and-found box at an internet café.
