the alphas mercy

flashback

~elara~

I remember the very first time it happened, back when I was still living under this roof and trying to convince myself he was just my best friend's intimidating father. I was only eighteen, hiding in the library to avoid the noise of one of Lilac’s parties, when he walked in looking like he’d just come from a war room

—tie loosened, smelling of expensive tobacco and that dark, heavy cologne. He didn't even say a word, just reached past me to grab a bottle from the shelf, his arm brushing mine for a split second, and the reaction was so violent it almost knocked the wind out of me. I felt a sudden, hot rush of slickness between my legs that felt like a dam breaking, my panties turning damp and heavy instantly as a sharp, pulsing ache settled deep in my core. I sat there frozen, feeling the warm moisture slide against my skin for the first time in my life, terrified that if I moved an inch, he’d hear the wet friction of my thighs and know he’d ruined me without even trying.

I scrambled toward the guest bathroom down the hall, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I locked the door with trembling fingers. The silence of the small room felt deafening compared to the rush of blood in my ears, and I leaned back against the cold marble counter, gasping for air while my body continued to throb. I pulled my lace down, staring at the dark, heavy stain that had bloomed across the fabric—I had never been that slick in my life, a total, drenching heat that made me feel like I was coming apart. I grabbed a handful of paper towels, frantically trying to wipe away the evidence, but it was like trying to stop a leak in a high-pressure line; every time I thought I was dry, another wave of that heavy, desperate moisture would pulse through me.

I stayed in there for twenty minutes, splashing freezing water on my face and watching my pupils blown wide in the mirror, looking like I’d just survived a crash. I had to stuff a thick wad of tissues into my underwear just to keep from soaking through my jeans, the friction of the paper against my sensitive skin only making the ache deeper. I was terrified to walk back out there, convinced that the scent of my own arousal was clinging to me like a fever and that he’d be able to smell the raw, sweet musk of it the second I passed him. I just leaned my forehead against the cool mirror, shaking and utterly humiliated by how easily a single, silent look from him had turned me into a complete and total mess.

I leaned back against the locked bathroom door, my breath coming in jagged hitches as I let my hand slide down into my jeans. The second my fingers brushed against my skin, I realized I was even more of a mess than I thought—I was completely flooded, a hot, syrupy slickness that coated my knuckles instantly. I didn't even hesitate; I slid two fingers deep inside, gasping as the friction of my own body felt like a temporary relief for the ache Lorenzo had started. I began to move them in and out, the wet, rhythmic sounds of my own arousal echoing off the tiled walls, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out his name.

I was working myself frantically, my fingers slick with the evidence of how badly he’d affected me, pushing deeper and faster until I felt my toes curl against the cold floor. Every slide of my fingers felt like I was trying to purge the tension he’d built up, but it only seemed to make the fire in my core burn hotter. I was a total disaster, my own hand acting as a weapon against the desperation I felt, until I finally hit a peak that left me shaking and leaning my forehead against the wood. Even as I pulled my hand away, dripping and heavy with the scent of my own need, I knew it wasn't enough;

I was just a temporary fix for a problem that only he could actually solve.