Page 15 of In Knots

God, his mouth is filthy. I never knew how turned on that could make me.

My fingers skirt around my quivering clit one more time and I fall apart, moaning loudly into the phone just as he demanded.

“Your cunt. I need to hear your cunt,” he rasps and still riding the wave of this orgasm, I screw up my eyes and thrust the phone between my legs, my spine arching and my body jolting with every fresh wave of bliss.

Then I collapse into the mattress, gasping for air, my cheeks on fire when I realise what I’ve just done. I cover my face with my hand, then slowly, cringing inside, I bring the phone back to my ear.

His breath grasps down the receiver. “Omega? Omega? Are you still there?”

“Y-y-yes,” I pant, and we are both silent, catching our breaths.

“Are you OK, baby?” he whispers, finally. “You OK with what we just did?”

I swallow, trying to hold back the tide of shame that threatens to swamp me. “I … I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice shaking in my throat.

“Don’t regret it. You sounded perfect, beautiful.”

“I shouldn’t have …” I start, too confused and embarrassed to continue.

“All that crap they tell you about this being dirty and wrong, it’s not the truth. The truth is how I made you feel, how you made yourself feel. Remember that. Promise me?”

I dig my nails into my thigh, fighting those emotions inside me.

“Alexa?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me how perfect and beautiful you are?”

“I can’t.” I shake my head. My body buzzes, it feels so light I’m almost floating. Yet my mind is trying to anchor me back down to reality.

“Well, we’re going to work on that.” I hear his boots on hard gravel. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Shopping,” I groan, making a face he can’t see.

“You don’t sound happy about it. I thought you princesses liked to shop.”

“Not this one, but my mother is dragging me to buy a dress for my date.”

“Date?” His voice is suddenly tight with tension. I cringe. What a bitch he must think I am! He got me off moments ago and here I am talking about a date with another man. Although I’m pretty certain he must have other women. Lots of women.

“Next Thursday. I don’t want to go,” I add quickly.

“Then why are you?”

“My parents,” I say, rolling onto my side and curling into my pillow. “They are desperate for me to find a mate.”

“Why?”

A brittle laugh breaks from my throat. “Finding me the perfect match is all they’ve cared about for as long as I can remember.”

“So, this man,” his voice is still tight, “the one you’re going on a date with,” he says the word ‘date’ with contempt, “ishe your perfect match?”

“They seem to think so, my parents, I mean.”

“And you?”

“No,” I whisper. More silence.

He doesn’t ask what I’m doing the day after tomorrow or the day after that. Is that it then? One chance and I blew it.

“I’ll come and fetch you, right now. All you have to do is ask,” he tells me, and I shiver, biting hard on my lip to stop from telling him yes, come, come and take me away.

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