Page 14 of Hangman's Knot
She had always been short, like most omegas, but where most of them were thin and waifish, Eden had always been... round. Her hips and shoulders were wide, and no matter how she dieted, her stomach always maintained a certain softness. Her breasts were full and projected, ensuring she would have never been able to go braless, even if she had ever felt safe enough to. Which she never had, because the world was awful.
His scent was filling the air, mixing with hers. It was not noxiously aggressive anymore, though. Instead, it had turned aphrodisiac, advertising pleased alpha pheromones as a bouquet of lilies surround her with sensuous promise.
"Come here," his voice is a growl, the sound of an aroused or enraged alpha. She should run. If she had any self preservation left, she'd run. But run where? Into the prison with inmates who would not hesitate to tear her to pieces?
She stumbles in front of him, breathing in desperate deep gulps of his scent.
"What usually soothes your spikes?" His question is urgent, the potent pheromones she's giving off going to his head and threatening his ability to think clearly.
She shakes her head, staring up at him as she finds herself caught in his gaze. "I've never had one before," she says.
Her words appear to shock him, shaking him out of his stupor for a moment. "You've never had a heat?Never?"
"Never," she confirms, biting her lip. "I've been on suppressants since I perfumed."
"You've never had a breakthrough heat? Not even one spike?" Hisvoice sounds confused, almost incredulous.
She scowls at him. Why is he asking her these things? Shouldn't he be taking care of her? She had already answered his question. She fights the urge to stamp her foot like a cranky child.
"I've never been around enough alphas to trigger a breakthrough heat." She hears a little growl in her voice as her impatience colours her voice.
He grunts at that and moves on to his next question. "They're not giving you heat suppressants in here either, are they?"
She can't answer his stupid anymore. The burning inside of her is getting worse, and a rolling cramp wracks through her as more slick drips out of her.
She feels tears welling in her eyes that he is still standing there, away from her, not holding her or soothing her. Would he reject her? Did he not think she was beautiful? Did he find her body ugly because she did not look like the omegas in magazines and movies?
"Okay," he seems to say to himself. "Okay, that will make things more difficult. But we can work with that. I think I'm going to need to fuck you."
Her pussy spasms at his words as a wave of pleasure shoots through her body, and she nearly jumps at the sensation. Something in the back of her mind is screaming at her that this is insane, that she has only known him one day, that she has worked so hard all these years to keep herself away from the dangerous hands of alphas.
But the hormones that have flooded her scream the opposite. They tell her that he will take care of her, that sheneedshim, that his cock will make everything better. She nods at him in acquiescence, her eyes wide as saucers.
And then he's there, guiding her back to one of the tables againstthe wall that is clear of tools. He picks her up with ease and places her so she is sitting on the edge of it. He doesn't even struggle with her weight, as if she weighs next to nothing. The metal table is freezing cold under her flesh, but she barely even notices it.
His body is hard. It's unyielding and large and there does not seem to be a single soft part on him. Even his cheekbones look apt to cut her. Something inside of her glories in it, cooing about what a fine masculine specimen he is, how good it will feel to be his.
She hesitantly runs her hands over his form. He's still wearing his jumpsuit, and he quickly divests it so he is standing in front of her as naked as she is. At the sight of him, her body is wracked with another one of those wrenching cramps that doubles her over in pain.
He is chiseled with muscle, looking like a fitness model or some sort of representation of the ideal alpha male physique in a medical textbook.
His chest and arms are covered in tattoos, swirling tribal tattoos up his arms, a chunk of Latin text taking up one entire bicep, and other things she's too far gone to notice, because then her eyes fall to his cock. It's huge. Big enough to add a spike of fear even amidst all the desire clouding her brain right now.
He can see—or maybe smell—her trepidation, and when he soothes her, there is none of his usual cockiness in it. "Don't worry, omega. I'll take care of you. Have you ever been with an alpha before?"
"I've never been with anyone," she replies weakly, looking up at him. She feels like the picture of vulnerability. Hadn't she already told him that? Why was he still talking?
"Like," he stares at her for a moment, shock evident in his expression. "Never? You mean you're... fuck... no. You meanyou're a virgin?"
She nods at him, not trusting her voice.
"Fuck. Eden." It's the first time he's said her name, and she feels more slick drip out of her at the sound of it. He should always say her name. Her name sounded perfect on his lips. She wanted to ban everyone else from ever repeating it again except him. It was made for him. Made to be groaned out only by him as he thrusts into her.
"I'm sorry. This isn't right. This isn't how this should be." He sounds trapped, his voice more earnest than she's heard yet.
Her head is swimming and confused, and it takes a moment for the words to make sense. He didn't want to do this?
"It's okay," she says, rushing to reassure him, to say or do whatever he needs so he'll just put that beautiful huge cock inside of her and douse the burning flames with his cum. "It's okay, please, alpha, I need you."
