Page 8 of Undone
He fell asleep like that.
When he woke up, he found himself grinding against the pillow—grinding the pillow between his cheeks, against his hole. It took his sleep-fogged brain a moment to catch up—and then Michael froze, horror and confusion crashing over him, before he shoved the pillow away. What the fuck.
No way.
No goddamn way.
***
It had been just a fluke.
He wasn’t responsible for what his body did during his sleep. That was what Michael had told himself.
But the problem wasn’t going away.
He was hyperaware of his hole in a way he never had been, especially when Anthony was near. It was worst when Anthony grew angry, his alpha scent thickening, turning sharp and foul. Michael’s empty asshole pulsed, haunted by the phantom cock that had filled it. It was disgusting. It was unbearable.
Michael took to avoiding his friend whenever he could get away with it. Anthony clearly could tell that something was off. He’d tried asking about it a few times, but Michael had become an expert at dodging questions and changing the subject. He knew he couldn’t do it forever, though.
But two days later, to his immense relief, they repaired the communicator and sent out an SOS. A passing ship picked them up within hours. Michael had never felt such profound relief.
Finally, the ordeal was over.
He could forget about it.
His life could now go back to normal.
Chapter 4
Being back on Eila felt strange. Surreal. It was hard to believe it had been only a week since he’d boarded Anthony’s ship. He didn’t feel like the same man.
Michael managed to sound normal when he said goodbye to Anthony. He even smiled and joked about Anthony being barred forever from picking the destinations for their hunting trips. Anthony rolled his eyes but laughed good-naturedly, clapping Michael on his back before getting into his helicopter.
Michael got into his own helicopter and relaxed back into the seat as the pilot took off. His skin prickled where Anthony’s hand had touched him, and he felt—
Michael gritted his teeth and stared out the window. He was back home. Everything was back to normal now.
But no matter what he told himself, it wasn’t.
Days later, his body still felt like a foreign thing, not his own. Other alphas’ scents agitated him now, and Michael found himself snapping even at his secretary when he came to update Michael on the paperwork he’d missed while away.
Maybe his body just needed to forget what had happened—forget the unnatural way he’d been forced to submit to another alpha. He was an alpha. An alpha who loved sex. Sex with omegas.
That was how Michael found himself watching porn that evening.
The omega on the screen was exactly his type: a red-haired young man with a beautifully proportioned body. The omega was moaning as he stroked his slim body, tweaking pink nipples, his thighs spread, his hole glistening with slick. He was hot.
Michael stroked his hardening cock, relieved that his body was responding as it should.
A bigger body stepped into the camera frame. A tall, dark-haired alpha. His long cock was almost touching his muscular stomach. Michael stroked his cock faster. The alpha yanked the omega’s thighs open and settled between them. The camera zoomed in on the alpha’s cockhead as it pushed into the omega’s hole. So fucking big. It must feel so good—it must feel so good being inside that pretty omega.
Michael moaned, stroking himself faster and harder as the alpha fucked into the omega’s hole.
“So damn tight,” the alpha growled, pounding into him. “So wet for me. Such a slutty hole.”
Michael arched and came, his asshole clenching around nothing. Empty.
“Fuck,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling dazedly.
