Page 31 of Sold Bullied Mate

Somehow, stupidly, I think that touching myself might alleviate this feeling inside me. Hand over my pants, I palm my member, shaking with the urges coursing through me. Maybe I can stay here, locked in my room, and jack off until I die.

My body rages, roars to turn around and go back downstairs where that perfectly gorgeous, perfectly supple, perfectly wet, sweet little omega is waiting for me, her hair mussed, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted.

But I can’t.

I could smell the moment her heat began, the rush between her legs, the slick, desperate need of that moment, and I knew that if I didn’t act, if I didn’t get myself out of there, I would take her.

But she was blocking the front door. And I would have had to go past her to get to the back door past the room with her sewing machine.

So instead, I’ve barricaded myself in this room, but I’m not sure how long I can last like this, knowing she’s down in the living room, probably already touching herself, trying to relieve the pressure like me.

I curse under my breath at the image that evokes and jerk my hand to the side in disgust. My body can’t be fooled—it doesn’t want my fucking hand, it wants my fuckingmate. Her legs opened wide for me, her head thrown back.

What my body wants is to be buried so deep inside her pussy that I wouldn’t be able to tell where I stopped and she began.

Turning to the window, I force myself to look at the trees. Reaching down, I yank open the window, even though it’s cold outside, and feel the cool breeze as it slams against me. I need the fresh air, I need to focus on the feeling of it.

But it does nothing to alleviate the flames licking inside me, growing and compounding, getting hotter with each passing second. Guess that means a cold shower is also not going to work.

I’ve been around omegas in heat before. In fact, I was there when Kira had her first heat. At school, sitting in the classroom, I thoughtthatwas a hard time, difficult to restrain myself. The other alphas in the class had shifted awkwardly, and I knew it was because they wanted her, were turned on by the smell of her, and I wanted to rip them limb from limb.

But none of them had to leave the classroom, like I did. The others didn’t report her to the principal, make a scene of it to the administration, get a teacher to force her to leave because he was worried his control might wane.

That was the moment I truly knew that she was my mate, that it would be dangerous to be around her. That it would be dangerous for anyone to find out what she was to me.

Another wave of pure sexual desire floods through me, like someone has hooked me up to an IV bag of pheromones, and I shake with it, my cock jumping painfully in response.

“Fuck,fuck,” I hiss, knowing this is how shifters go crazy—this is why all the folklore humans know surrounding us is of the guy howling at the fucking moon. Because this shit is going to send me over the edge, all this pent up, nervous energy and nothing to do with it.

Because Kira doesn’t want me. There’s no way I’ve earned back her trust. If I ask her, I’m not sure she’s going to say yes, accept me as her mate.

And I’m also not sure I can handle what that will do to me.

I wage a battle with myself, stalking back and forth across my room, pacing the same length of floor I did earlier. I feel like an addict, knowing it’s not right for me, but wanting it—wanting it—so badly I think I might die if I don’t get it.

So I pace. Toward the door, toward the window. My window drops straight down two stories into a set of scrubby, wiry bushes. But that might be a better fate than staying inside here all night, rolling around in my misery.

At least if I get out into the woods, shift, I might be able to run some of this off.

I walk toward the window. A rolling surge of lust so strong it nearly rips a sob from my throat courses through me and I turn around, body pulling me toward the door.

Nothing could be worse than this. I have to find a way to make this better. I have to go to her, to touch her.

I need to get my hands on her hips. My mind races through all the ways I could have her. Pull her to the end of the bed, hold her legs as wide as I can get them, pound into her. Flip her over and grab her hips, a handful of her hair in my hand.

Her on top, her in my lap, her in the shower, her on her stomach—there is not a way that I don’t want this woman. The only thing my body wants is to get inside her, and I know that’s driven by biology, by the need to reproduce, by the fact that she’s my mate and our bodies belong together, but I can’t explain itaway, can’t talk myself out of the fantasies, out of the urge to make them real.

I could get her up on the kitchen counter. Haul her into the shower. Take her out on the back porch, facing the woods, and make her fuck me right there surrounded by nature.

And then, I think about the allure of her pretty pink lips wrapped around my dick, those eyes locked on mine as she kneels in front of me, and my vision goes black, body steering me back toward the door.

Maybe I could get away with a kiss, with a graze—no, that’s insane, I know that won’t work. The moment I see her, I’m going to lose all control.

My hand lands on the doorknob. This is it—I’ll go downstairs and take her if she’ll have me. If not, I’ll call Emin and tell him to chain me up.

Shaking my head, I pull my hand from the doorknob. I’m not calling anyone. The last thing I want right now is anyone—even her own family—around my mate while she’s in heat. It’s built into my DNA to protect her, to lay my life on the line for her right now.

I’ve just yanked my hand from the doorknob when a sound cuts through the static in my head, so gentle and soft I almost think I’ve imagined it.

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