The Mating Game by Lana Ferguson - 9

I feel like shit.

I did my best to hide it while Hunter drove me home, but the symptoms that plagued me yesterday in Denver seem to be creeping back with a vengeance, making my head swim and my stomach cramp. I manage to get through a very stilted good-night, clutching his coat under my arm for reasons I can’t even fathom.

Strangely, when he’d offered it, I felt like I’d never wanted anything more.

Which is insane, really. Who gets giddy when someone offers them a coat?

Back in my room and freshly showered, I find myself doubled over on the bed, the meds I took doing very little to ease the discomfort. I grit my teeth as I squirm on the mattress, sweat beading at my temples and tremors racking my body.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I roll onto my back, my hand brushing the stiff material of Hunter’s Carhartt and rustling it as I try not to writhe. The action stirs up the potent scent that seems to cling to the fabric, the scent of sunshine and rain going from overly pleasant to oddly mouthwatering as my body instinctively shifts farther toward it.

Oh God.

It’s like heaven .

I bury my face in the lining, drawing in deep lungfuls of the delicious fragrance that, strangely enough, seems to make the cramps abate, if only a little. I’m questioning the logic of this when my body wakes up in a new way, making my torment suddenly crystal clear, even if it’s something I’ve only heard about secondhand.

Because suddenly I’m drenched between my legs.

And I’m not talking about a little, I’m talking about soaked underwear and a throbbing need that seems to hit me out of nowhere, making everything below the waist positively pulse with want.

“ How? ” I groan as I bundle up Hunter’s coat and shove my nose deeper into it.

The nice doctor in the ER certainly never mentioned this .

For the most part, we just have to let it run its course.

Run its course, my ass.

I revel in the utter relief that is Hunter’s coat, struck with the sudden urge to seek relief of a different kind. The need to touch myself is overwhelming, and before I realize what I’m doing, my hand is slipping into my sweatpants, my fingertips skimming over my lower abdomen and tucking into my underwear. I hiss when they glide through the moisture between my legs, which is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s not like my usual arousal. No, this is something altogether different. More copious, more viscous, and somehow just… slicker .

But the momentary relief I feel when my fingertips glide over my wet clit is palpable, and my lips part on a silent cry as I circle the swollen bud. Suddenly all I can think about is coming, and with that in mind, I start to work my wrist, teasing and stroking myself as the cramps in my belly turn to a more pleasant simmer.

“ Fuck ,” I groan.

Is this really what Ada has to deal with?

And you too now.

I clutch Hunter’s coat to my nostrils as I roll onto my back, the smell of him somehow making my touches more potent, more enjoyable. It’s like his scent is giving me a high, making my skin tingle and my pussy clench. Even as I shake with an orgasm that is satisfying but somehow still not enough, I feel myself slipping into some sort of delirium, one that begs me to somehow get more of it.

Or, better yet, get it straight from the source.

A more rational part of my brain screams that this is a terrible idea—I’m even a little terrified by these current events—but that thought is lost to the rhythmic chanting that’s taken up somewhere in my hindbrain, one that shouts that there’s someone nearby who can make this feeling go away, that he can make it better . I don’t know where it comes from or what it really means, but before I can question it, I’m on my feet and stomping to my door.

Hunter’s coat is abandoned on my bedroom floor, but my needy body isn’t even perturbed by this, because it seems to know what I’m after. It seems to recognize that in a few moments, it will have something much better. Or at least I hope so.

I barely register that I’m beating on Hunter’s door; I have no idea what time it is or how long has passed since I saw him, but it’s fully dark outside now, so I have to assume a little while. He doesn’t answer at first, but I can see a shadow under the door, and the sight of it makes me even giddier, the anticipation in my blood actually singing .

I pound again, and when the door wrenches open moments later to reveal a wet-haired, shirtless Hunter Barrett looking like sex and sin, with his dark smattering of chest hair and his abs that look like I could wash clothes on them, I think I actually let out a whimper .

“Hunter.”

He looks at me for a long moment with shock in his features, and I can tell by the widening of his eyes that he knows . He knows what’s wrong with me. And maybe , my fevered brain whispers with delight, maybe he’s going to make it better .

“Tess?”

Jesus, his voice . Was it always this deep?

“Don’t feel good,” I tell him. “Hurt.”

He sucks in a breath when I fall into him and rub my cheek against his chest hair, brushing my fingers over his stomach to tease the hard muscle there. He feels like heaven against me, and I loop my arms around his neck and tug myself up, having the strangest urge to lick his neck.

“How are you— Jesus , Tess.”

Okay, so I definitely licked his neck. That is a thing I just did.

“You smell so good,” I murmur into his throat, running the flat of my palm down the center of his chest, gliding it over one of his nipples as he gasps. “Why do you smell so good?”

“I think you’re in heat,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fuck, this is exactly what I was talking about.”

It seems surreal. I’ve known I was an omega for an entire day . How can I already be in heat?

Maybe if I wasn’t so concerned with the possibility of dropping to my knees and wrestling Hunter out of his sweatpants so I can see what his dick looks like, I might have a better answer to that question. As it is, my brain is still hung up on the promise of the aforementioned dick.

His massive hand wraps around my wrist even as I’m going for that particular prize, tightening his grip. This also turns me on for reasons I can’t explain. He’s just so big . Was he always this big?

“We can’t,” he says. “You don’t know what you’re doing right now.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I purr, using a voice I have absolutely never used before. “If you’d let go of me.”

“Tess,” he says more firmly, but I detect the strain there. “I’m not touching you. Not when you’re like this.”

“That’s okay,” I hum. “I can just touch you.”

He groans, a noise that from here sounds painful.

Me too, buddy.

“Tess,” he rasps, his voice suddenly sounding tortured. “I can’t.”

And as if my body seems to get the message, realizing it won’t be getting what it wants, the cramps return with full force, threatening to cut my knees out from under me with how much it hurts. I cry out as I wobble, and Hunter’s arms are there, holding me close so I don’t fall. It feels so nice I don’t fight the urge to nuzzle into his sternum.

“Hurts,” I say again, sounding small and pathetic all of a sudden.

“Shh,” he soothes. “I know it does. I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you just touch me?”

I don’t even know how I know that he can help me, but I do. I fucking know it. Why won’t he help me?

“No, omega,” he says forcefully, his tone making me shiver. “I’m not going to touch you.”

I can feel tears welling in my eyes, and distantly I know that tomorrow, I’m going to be really embarrassed by that. Now, though, all I care about is the fact that Hunter is seemingly going to abandon me to my predicament.

I look up at him with tears clinging to my lashes, and the pain I find in his features, the intensity there—it makes me wonder if I’m not the only one suffering. His thumb strokes my cheek, and I lean into the touch, begging him without words for more. When I turn my face to lick at the pad, the sound of his sharp intake of breath washes over me.

“Don’t cry,” he says soothingly, his expression gaining resolve as he brushes the hair from my face.

“Hurts,” I say again.

He holds my face in his hands, staring into my eyes with a look of resolve and maybe even regret. At any other time, I would be wary of that look.

“I’ll help you,” he says softly.

I blink back at him, trying to register what he’s said. “You will?”

“I will,” he promises. His expression takes on a hard edge. “But I’m not going to touch you.”

I frown at this, because I don’t see how he can do one without the other, but before I can question it, he’s gathering me up in his arms. He kicks the door shut as he pulls me into his embrace like I’m some sort of princess, and I cling to him for dear life as he carries me to his bed, my needy body thrilled by this development.

But then he sits with his back to the headboard, situating me until I’m cradled between his legs with my back touching his front. His arms go around my middle as if anchoring me, and his cheek presses to my throat, his nose following after it as he breathes in.

“I’m going to give you my scent,” he tells me. “It will help. Okay?”

I’m nodding vigorously, not even entirely sure what he’s referring to but wanting whatever it is that he’s willing to give.

I feel the prick of his beard against the delicate tissue of my throat as he pulls me tighter, and only seconds later it gives way to his clean-shaven neck, the skin sliding against mine in a way that, for whatever reason, lights me the fuck up .

“ Oh .”

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s good.”

The guttural quality that his voice has taken on makes my pussy throb even harder, and I swear to all that’s holy, if he asked me to get down on my knees for him right this second, I wouldn’t hesitate.

“I know it hurts,” he hums. “I’ve got you.”

I nod, whimpering when he rubs his throat across mine again.

“Jesus. You smell…” His nose skirts along the length of my neck, his shuddering breath washing my skin, warming it. “ Ripe .”

I don’t even know if that’s good, but he says it like it is, and my entire body quivers with the praise. Just fucking absorbs it like a sponge and then asks for more. My back arches slightly as I squirm, and I can feel him hard and insistent against my ass.

God, I want that.

“Hunter,” I mewl. “Please.”

“Hand in your panties, Tess,” he commands, clearing his throat as he tugs his face from my neck. “You’ll need to touch yourself.”

I shove my hand into my pants so fast I could be in a professional competition to get there first—my modesty apparently a thing of the past—hissing between my teeth when my fingers meet my wet, oversensitized flesh. I let out a shaky breath of relief when my fingers slide into my slick folds, the relief immediate.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Feels better?”

I nod jerkily. “Uh-huh.”

“Mm. Good.”

I’m already moving to shrug out of my sweatpants when he stops me, holding me tighter.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “That isn’t what this is. I’m trying to be the good guy here.” I feel the ghost of his lips against my throat, can practically feel him murmuring, “So don’t tempt me, Tess.”

“Please,” I whimper, barely even knowing what I’m asking for.

“You’re going to make yourself come,” he tells me. “That’s all that’s going to happen here. I don’t want you to stop until you soak those little fingers. Can you do that?”

I suck in a breath. “Y-yes,” I manage. “I can do that.”

“That’s a good girl,” he breathes, then his grip on me tightens, like he’s realizing what he’s said.

What is wrong with me that those words have me seconds from combusting?

I circle my fingertips around my throbbing clit, hyperaware of the weight of his arms under my breasts, the scratch of his beard on my neck, the press of his hard cock against my lower back.

I want fucking all of it.

“Don’t stop,” he says through gritted teeth. “Keep touching yourself.”

I nod as I resume my pace, every swipe of my fingers making my thighs clench and my skin feel just a little tighter. My head lolls back against his shoulder, and from the corner of my eye, I can almost make out the darkness of his hair, his face turned to mine as if watching me. I feel the gentle press of his lips skirting along my jaw, and I work my hand faster, chasing that promise of release, trusting Hunter that it will make everything better.

I grunt in frustration when I can’t seem to get there fast enough, and Hunter’s answering hum comes from deep inside his chest, his voice sounding raspy and somehow more than usual.

“I know it’s not quite enough,” he says. “You need a knot. Don’t you?”

I don’t even know what that is, but I feel myself nodding.

Is that what I need? Would that make the ache go away?

I tease myself harder, my body arching into my own touch as Hunter’s voice in my ear takes me to new heights.

“You’ll just have to make do,” he goes on. He breathes in deep. “ Fuck , Tess. I can smell you. I can smell how fucking wet you are. What are you doing to me?”

I have no idea how to answer that, too lost to the sensations of my impending orgasm and his deliciously deep voice.

“That’s it,” he groans. “You’re close, aren’t you? I want you to make yourself come. Now , omega.”

“ Fuck .”

I shudder and shake as my orgasm hits me, teasing myself relentlessly through it as wave after wave washes over me. I can hear Hunter talking through it, muttered praises of Good girl and Pretty little thing touching my senses from what seems like far, far away. My entire body feels like one frayed nerve, my system seeming to be in overdrive.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, a memory triggers.

Being around one might wreak havoc on your system.

Dr. Carter’s warnings come back to me, and suddenly, even in the haze of my dwindling orgasm and the growing fatigue that creeps into my limbs because of it—the possibility of what she said makes itself known.

“Alpha?”

It’s the only word I manage as fatigue seeps through me, and even the sharp intake of Hunter’s breath and the rumble in his chest sound far away. Right now, I feel boneless and spent, even happy . Like all my problems floated away with my orgasm, and in a similar fashion, despite the audacity of what I’ve just done—I drift off.

It’s the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.