Page 85 of Let It Snow
I’ve never really read much about heats before. I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because I never had a boyfriend, and it always felt too abstract. Or perhaps I just don’t remember? Right now, with Snow absent, everything in my memory is blurred and foggy again, and it takes effort to recall anything from before I came to the Nolans’ house.
I weakly try to reassemble my nest, but it’s clumsy and half-hearted. Finally, I curl up in what I’ve built, an ugly, misshapen circle. It feels useless anyway. It needs a total rebuild, but I have no idea how to even start.
What should I soak it with? My pheromones are all over the place. My energy is too chaotic, my hole is full of slick, my head completely blank, no clue how to create a space that feels safe. So I suffer.
The music is not here, the rest is irrelevant. I collapse onto the pillows with a dildo sticky with slick in my hand, pushing it inside from time to time just to find a shred of relief.
Why the fuck did this heat hit me so fast?
I had zero warning, zero signs it was coming!
For a moment a terrifying thought flashes through my head: what if the Snow situation triggered it? Maybe it was that waveof sexual energy he shoved into me at the oceanarium… What if it destabilized my hormones, jumpstarted them?
Sure, I’ve been using the dildo regularly these past weeks, but this is nothing like before. This is a rising tide, boiling, burning…
I writhe on the bed, skin hot, feverish, sticky with sweat. My body pours out pheromones in a hormonal burst that sets the heat off.
Thank Fate my room is tucked away up in the attic, far from the rest of the house, because the smell is intense enough to raise suspicion. Just to be sure, I stuff clothes along the door crack to block the scent from leaking out.
Everything itches, tingles.
My skin is hypersensitive. I can’t stop touching myself even when it irritates the hell out of me. I stroke my nipples, jerk my cock, push the toy in again, but the satisfaction is shallow, fleeting.
The poor dildo, with its dumb eggplant pattern, is completely inadequate for a simple reason: it can’t expand into aknot.
I only manage to fall asleep around 2 am, after hours of fucking myself relentlessly, when my body finally gives me a short break. But three hours later, with dawn breaking, I wake up to another brutal wave.
Moaning, I try to shove the dildo back in, but it’s useless. It doesn’t scratch the itch. I crave something else. I crave… an alpha: one with white hair, one whose solid body and primal energy could fill what feels so unbearably empty.
The one who hurt me.
The one I can’t stop fantasizing about.
I want him. I want his presence, his weight pressing me down, his cock buried inside me, breaking me into a trembling, moaning jelly of pleasure.
It’s insane how a heat rewires your whole mind. I never realized the sheer power of it before. It wipes away hesitation, shame, even dignity. I’d drop to my knees right now and beg, spread wide open at his feet.
Pride doesn’t exist here. My body has its own mind, wilder than my power ever was. This is far beyond control.
The next hours are hell.
Cramping grips me hard, my hole spasming painfully because there’s nothing to clench around. Empty, and demanding to be filled: that’s me. The need grows more savage by the minute. I doze off around seven, but barely for ninety minutes before another surge slams into me.
C’mon. Where were the swollen, ticklish glands, the pink color of them, lingering wetness in my hole, increased sensitivity there, the usual signs that reportedly last for weeks before?
In rare, calmer moments, I scroll through articles. They say a first heat usually lasts three to four days, sometimes five or seven, though extreme stress can cut it down to two. Rarely, trauma even stops it completely. Lucky me… that’s not happening.
My traitorous body doesn’t recognize Theo’s pregnancy as traumatizing enough, I guess?
What I do learn is that first heats are usually the most brutal, and going through it alone can be agonizing, physically and mentally. And it terrifies me, because I already know I’m one of those omegas who get hit the hardest. My legs simply won’t close; I even start to walk with them slightly spread.
Usually around nine, Jordan brings my breakfast. But this morning he’s late.
Nine-thirty passes, and finally he comes while I’m still riding the dildo. I rip it out of myself and leap to the door when I hear him knock. I crack it open, and he hands me the tray.
I take it, noticing my hand is sticky, okay… Jordan fortunately doesn’t notice.
"Gotta get back downstairs, we’ve got guests," he says quickly before running off.
