Page 146 of Saddle and Scent
I stand to leave—she needs space to process, to decide what comes next. But I pause at the door. "If it gets worse, call for me."
She nods, and we both know it will get worse. Heat cycles don't just stop after one orgasm. They build and build until the body gets what it truly needs. But I'll let her come to that conclusion on her own.
I make it halfway down the hall before I have to stop, bracing myself against the wall. My cock throbs painfully, demanding attention I won't give it. Not here. Not when she might need me again. I focus on breathing, on control, on anything except the memory of her spread out on that bed, coming apart under my watch.
The second time comes faster than either of us expected.
I'm in the kitchen, trying to distract myself with food prep, when I hear her moving around upstairs. The old house broadcasts every sound—every shifted position, every frustrated whimper. I last all of ten minutes before I'm climbing the stairs again, bowl of sliced fruit in hand because I need some excuse.
She's in worse shape than before. The brief relief of her orgasm has faded, leaving behind need that's sharper, more demanding. The sheets are twisted around her like she's been fighting them. Her shirt is soaked through, clinging to curves that make my mouth water. And the scent—fuck, the scentis everywhere, painting the air with pheromones that bypass rational thought entirely.
"You didn't call," I observe, setting the bowl on the nightstand.
She's got her face half-buried in the pillow, but I can see the conflict in every line of her body. Want warring with stubbornness. Need fighting with pride. It's a battle she's destined to lose, but she'll make it hurt getting there.
"I thought I could handle it," she whimpers, rolling over.
The movement puts her ass on full display, round and perfect and barely covered by those ruined shorts. My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. Control. I need control.
I sit on the bed, heavier this time, claiming more space. She needs to know I'm here, solid and real and not going anywhere.
"You did great," I tell her honestly. "But it'll keep coming. You know that, right?"
She nods against the pillow, a tiny movement that speaks volumes. Her body is shaking now, continuous tremors that run from head to toe. She's fighting the next wave already, trying to hold it back through sheer will.
My eyes catch on the mirror above her dresser. It's old, spotted with age, but positioned perfectly to reflect the bed. An idea forms.
"Try facing that way," I suggest. "It helps."
She twists to look, then resists. "What, you want me to watch myself lose it? That's?—"
"Yeah," I interrupt. "You're not seeing what I see."
Her laugh is more bark than humor. "Which is?"
I consider my words carefully. She needs honesty now, not platitudes.
"Someone strong enough to deal with this, even if it sucks. A woman who won't quit." I let my voice soften, let some of whatI really feel leak through. "A beautiful Omega, even when she's falling apart."
"You practice these lines in the shower, or is this improv?"
I almost smile at that. Even now, she's fighting. Even now, she's essentially herself.
"Sit up," I say instead of answering.
She does, movements sluggish but compliant. In the mirror, I watch her take in her own reflection—the wild hair, the flushed skin, the way her body trembles with need. She looks wrecked. She looks gorgeous.
I shift to the foot of the bed, kneeling on the mattress. The position puts me between her and the mirror, but also gives her a clear view of us both. Of what we could be, if she lets it happen.
"You said you wanted help," I remind her, voice low and careful. "Let me help."
The next wave is building. I can see it in the way her breathing speeds up, the way her thighs clench, the way her hands start to shake. She's going to come apart again, with or without assistance. But maybe this time she doesn't have to do it alone.
"Lie back," I instruct, and she does.
This time, when her legs fall open, she doesn't try to hide. Progress.
"Watch," I tell her, gesturing to the mirror. "Don't look away. Stay with me."
