November Heat

5

“Easy, easy, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid. It’s all right now…”

Kate was just about to throw something sharp and venomous back at him for that syrupy reassurance when he laid her down on something soft—a mattress. A bed.

She snapped her eyes open, fully prepared to see a “red room” straight out of a b**m porno.

Instead she almost choked on her own sarcasm.

Plain white walls. Dark wood floor and furniture. Grey silk sheets on the bed.

And… nothing else. No chains, no hooks, no crosses, no racks.

Kate even sniffed the air on reflex. Ben, apparently, took that gesture very differently.

He stepped back from the bed and looked her over slowly from head to toe. Under that gaze, Kate shivered and only then noticed that her clothes were back in order again.

“I’ve never brought a woman here before, Kate,” Ben started explaining, for some reason, like she was auditing him. “I’ve never had an omega before you, and I only met betas on neutral ground…”

He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

“What is this obsession with the Greek alphabet?” Kate asked, letting out a stupid little giggle at the completely wrong moment. She was still turning her head, looking for any trace of kink in the room.

Ben didn’t answer. When she focused on his face, she was startled to see him blinking at her in utter confusion, almost… adorably lost.

And then it hit her.

Kate slapped her own forehead with an open palm.

“You’re an alpha?” she asked softly. Ben nodded.

“I’m an omega?” Another nod, his brows rising.

“You dominate, I submit?” A wary, reluctant nod.

“And betas are neither one nor the other?” she pressed—and got one last, tiny nod.

Kate smiled and exhaled.

Okay. If this was some kind of roleplay, she could work with that. Later she’d find out who’d decided to prank her by sending a walking wet dream after her—and, for good measure, that ridiculously convincing “cop.”

“All right. Let’s set some ground rules,” she said, quickly sifting through her personal taboos. “s*x only with protection, no bondage, no humiliation, no flogging, and—” she gave a little giggle, “nothing inside me except your c**k, your tongue, and your fingers.”

Ben stared at her like she’d just spoken fluent Martian. Then he nodded again, silently.

Kate smirked and rolled onto her stomach.

“Then don’t waste time.”

“Kate…” He sounded… nervous?

She turned her head toward him again and met a hot, hurt look.

“You don’t like me?” Ben asked gently.

Kate snorted and rolled her eyes, giving him the Martian nonverbal equivalent of don’t talk bullshit.

He got the message; his shoulders relaxed a little.

“Then undress,” he said. “And don’t turn away.”

Kate frowned.

She’d never had s*x face-to-face; it always felt too intimate. But after a second of thought she decided: for a man who’d just given her three orgasms with his mouth and fingers, she’d make an exception.

She sat up, grabbed the hem of her hoodie, and froze halfway.

She’d suddenly realized she was sitting hunched and spread-legged like a frog on a rock.

Whatever. She yanked the damn thing off and threw it on the floor.

Here she was, for the first time in forever actually choosing to have s*x with a man—and she looked worse than a homeless girl.

Ben’s gaze slid to her chest under the thin tank top. His face softened, lust darkening his eyes. Kate felt a bit better—he clearly liked her small breasts with their hard, obvious n*****s. Good thing she hadn’t bothered with a bra just to run out for booze.

She peeled off the least sexy piece of clothing she owned—striped socks.

Then she undid the ruined, half-collapsed knot of hair at the back of her head and shook it loose, hoping she looked at least a little sexy. Judging by Ben’s expression, she didn’t need to worry; his eyes moved over her like a warm hand.

She grew bolder, stood up on the bed, slid off her sweatpants and kicked them aside.

“What next, the shirt or the panties?” she asked.

“The shirt,” Ben said hoarsely.

Kate took her time with it. If nothing else, she could show off a flat stomach and a runner’s ass—he’d already seen that. Finally, she hooked her thumbs in her panties, stepped out of them, and tossed the little scrap at him with a crooked grin, like she was throwing him a trophy.

He caught them. Raised them to his face. Inhaled.

Kate flushed scarlet, spun away, and dropped back onto the bed.

“Your turn,” she said.

Ben obediently stripped off his long-sleeved T-shirt stained with dried blood, and Kate’s mouth flooded with saliva.

He was gorgeous.

Perfect build. Beautiful definition.

She actually whistled under her breath, devouring him with her eyes. Whatever he was—escort, actor, firefighter model—he was extremely good at being in that body. Ben had fought her not just on equal footing, but clearly pulling his punches—against her, a boxing master of sport. That meant he knew his way around training and discipline.

He was kind, genuinely kind and courteous with her, despite the fact that her behavior had been way outside any reasonable bounds.

He was a wizard with his tongue and fingers, and if he was equally skilled with his c**k… hell, maybe they could negotiate some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement: top-level protected s*x once a month, and the rest of the time she could take care of herself.

If only she knew who had hired this “escort” for her. But Ben would never give up a client.

Kate got so lost in her thoughts that she missed the moment he stepped out of his pants.

She came back to herself, looked up—

—and almost screamed.

Ben’s c**k was big on its own, but apparently big wasn’t enough for him. She stared, mesmerized, at the raised ridges running down the shaft from the dark red head, like carved rays. When she noticed the sizable bulge at the base, her breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting an urge to cry.

She should run.

Run now. Push him away, call him a f****d-up i***t, and get the hell out. Out of this cursed city where her one real friend had died because of this same s**t.

Charlie s*x Machine had been her boss. Technically. After his death it turned out that Kate had been an equal partner all along and his direct heir.

Once, when she was still young and furious at the world, she’d walked into his gym. The huge brute had laughed in her face, tossed her medals and certificates aside, and pointed to the tatami.

“Beat me,” he’d sneered, “and you’re a trainer. Pretty little chicks have no place here.”

Kate hadn’t just beaten him—she’d knocked him out.

After that, Charlie had called her “sister.” She worked for him, listened to his joys and his far more frequent woes over a glass of cognac. The woes were always about women: too many, too few, they were exhausting, they’d dumped him, he’d dumped them…

Through Charlie, Kate studied the world of men and learned that on “Mars,” the d**k was king. Charlie’s was average—perfectly normal—until he got into “improvements.”

He was always drinking or rubbing on something “to increase size,” and drunk, he’d show off his progress to her. Thankfully, he had zero s****l interest in Kate; his type was tiny Asian girls.

One day he dragged her out of a training session, hauled her into the back room, and whispered with childlike glee that his cold, distant beloved—who had been ignoring him for a month—would finally come running back now.

He yanked down his pants and proudly displayed a c**k just like the one in front of Kate now, two years later.

“Beads under the skin!” Charlie had bragged. “Check it out!”

Kate had refused to touch. She’d smiled, kissed his cheek, and wished him luck. Then she’d spent a week consulting every doctor she could find, all of whom screamed in unison: get your friend help now.

She hadn’t made it in time.

When she finally showed up at Charlie’s place, armed with expert opinions and phone numbers of surgeons willing to operate, she found him at home with a bullet in his head. No note. No explanation.

The autopsy report said enough: tissue necrosis in the p***s. Gangrene.

Fucking gangrene. Of his d**k.

Kate fought tears as she stared at what looked like the exact same thing now. The same ridges. The extra centimeters. The swelling at the base.

In her mind, Charlie’s face flickered: first grinning—“Check it out!”—then grey and slack, with his brains on the wall.

She hadn’t saved him then. She would save this one now.

She lifted her eyes to Ben. He was watching her again, worried. Of course. Men and their eternal d**k anxieties.

Kate forced a smile and reached out, her fingers trembling, toward the c**k swaying half-hard in front of her.

She pressed down gently on the head, watching his reaction, then traced her finger down to the frenulum. Ben groaned. Good—sensitivity still intact. The flesh didn’t feel hot, inflamed, or mushy. Kate let out a quiet breath of relief. No obvious infection. Yet.

“Big,” she praised, just to fill the silence.

He made a smug little sound in his throat.

Of course. Size was always a point of pride or despair, and actually using it properly was a rare skill. Kate wrapped her hand around the shaft and slid down.

Not beads, she understood at once. No hard metal under her palm. A tiny hope sparked: maybe he’d used something organic that the body wouldn’t reject.

But when she reached the base, her heart sank. The bulge under her fingers was swelling. Expanding.

Dear God.

Kate mentally flipped through every doctor she’d consulted two years ago and selected the ones who worked around the clock. Two of them. Okay. First priority: don’t spook him.

She smiled again and stroked him, steady, up and down.

“You’re a very handsome and strong man, Ben,” she said evenly, looking up at him from below. She tightened her grip and picked up speed. “Women must have it really good with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a line at your door.”

Ben exhaled sharply, eyes half-lidded. The bulge at the base swelled even larger, and the ridges under her hand felt harder.

“But what you’ve done to your d**k…” Kate squeezed as hard as she could and moved her hand faster. Ben groaned. “My friend died from this kind of ‘fun’. I am not letting you go out the same way.”

His c**k started to pulse in her hand. Kate shut her eyes at the last second and dropped her wrist.

The stream of come hit her chest like it really was coming out of a hose. Ben swore elaborately. Kate opened her eyes and said firmly:

“You’re going to pull yourself together right now. We’re going to a doctor, and he is going to take that thing out of you. I’ll pay.”

Ben frowned, trying to catch up to what she was saying. When it finally clicked, his gaze darted from her face to his c**k and back again.

“You’re sick, Ben,” Kate said with weight. “That thing is going to kill you.”

He jerked away from her like she was contagious. His face, neck, chest flushed red with humiliation. There was so much pain in his eyes that Kate instinctively reached out to him.

But Ben snatched his pants off the floor and bolted from the bedroom like he’d been scalded. He left Kate alone with semen drying on her chest and tears burning in her eyes.

Dealing with Martians was so f*****g hard.

Kate looked around. She noticed another door off the bedroom and headed for it. Inside was a small shower and toilet. She rinsed off quickly, twisted her damp hair into a knot, and wrapped herself in a soft black towel.

She came out, already rehearsing arguments about urgent penile surgery. Ben was back—sitting on the bed, waiting, looking like a thundercloud.

Every thought flew out of her head.

She suddenly felt like she’d gone way too far when she’d started touching him. Her mouth opened to apologize—but Ben stood up, and the words got stuck in her throat.

“I am perfectly healthy,” he said darkly, holding something out to her.

Kate took it automatically. Some document, like a passport. She read the words on the cover: Alpha Health Passport.

She looked up at Ben, fighting the urge to spin a finger next to her temple. But he was deadly serious. So she started reading.

It looked exactly like the little blue book any vet gives a house pet. A long list of vaccinations, lab results—including pheromone panels—a weird “rut schedule” with a note that “no medication required, patient handles omega-triggered reactions independently.”

And at the end, a full spread devoted entirely to his d**k. With a diagram.

The same d**k she’d just seen—ridges and all, with the huge swelling at the base. Apparently, this had a name: a knot. The dimensions were listed, marked “larger than average,” plus an approximate volume of semen per ejaculation once the knot had fully swollen and the average “tie time.”

“Knot? Tie?” Kate repeated, dazed, lowering the passport. The amount of stamps, photos, seals, and holograms was way too much for some elaborate prank just to f**k with her.

“You mean you’ve never seen an alpha before?” Ben asked. He was so surprised he even stopped scowling.

“An alpha—with a d**k like yours? Never,” Kate said, scratching her head. “I thought you were sick. I thought that was a tumor.”

Ben’s gaze followed her hand up to her neck.

“Hang on…” he said slowly. “Where’s your bonding gland?”

Kate’s eyes went huge. Nothing in her school biology class had prepared her for this. She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, both of them smelled smoke coming through the vents.

“That’s downstairs,” Ben said immediately. “Stay here.”

And he bolted out the door.

Kate snorted. Like hell she was taking orders from some alpha. Him and his… knot could go screw themselves.

She tugged on her tank top, hoodie, and sweatpants, not bothering with underwear, shoved her bare feet into her sneakers, and ran out to the stairwell, crunching over the broken glass on the landing. It never even occurred to her to finally make a run for it—from the strange house, from the strange man—because deep down she trusted he wasn’t going to hurt her.

On her way down the stairs she heard a crash and sped up.

She burst into the first-floor apartment—a hoarder’s cave crammed with furniture and knickknacks and porcelain crap from floor to ceiling. She found Ben in the kitchen. Poor guy was sprawled on the floor with a fire extinguisher in his hands, pinned under a fallen cabinet jammed full of dishes. The damn thing must have come down on the brave firefighter headfirst.

Cursing like a dockworker, Kate heaved the cabinet aside, snatched up the extinguisher, and put out the burning tablecloth under an ancient hotplate, then the smoking microwave that looked about as old as she was. She made sure there were no active sources of fire left, went to the fuse box, and cut the power to the apartment. Then she opened the windows, came back, and crouched over Ben.

She splashed water gently on his face.

He didn’t come around right away. Then they spent a while hunting for peroxide and bandages in the old lady’s cupboards—the homeowner had apparently gone off to visit her son for the weekend. Kate patched up the cut on Ben’s forehead, then insisted he lean on her as they climbed back upstairs together.

By the time they stepped into the corridor—which Kate’s efforts had turned into a war zone—she was drowning in a ridiculous mix of infatuation, desire, and shame.

So what if he had a throwback d**k with spikes and a built-in knot? Some people willingly bought dildos like that. She had a chance to try the real thing—an instrument of delicious torture attached to a living, breathing man.

If only she knew how to bring it up now. Ben was hurt and pissed at her.

He spared her the effort.

“I can smell it,” he said with a crooked grin.

“Smell what?” Kate narrowed her eyes.

“Your scent. Your pheromones. The way your slick is starting to flow again right now,” Ben said, his smile widening.

“You still can’t have me!” Kate snapped.

“I can do anything,” Ben scoffed. “Being an alpha comes with enhanced regenerative capabilities.”

They watched each other again, wary, remembering how their last conversation had ended. Finally Ben delivered his verdict:

“You’re not an omega.”

“Nope. Just regular. Human,” Kate said, shrugging, lost.

“You’re not an alpha, not a beta, not an omega,” Ben clarified, thinking hard.

“I’m hearing these words for the first time anywhere other than Greek class and higher-f*****g-math,” Kate said. “Are you some kind of classified government experiment?”

“No, Kate,” Ben said slowly. “You’re the classified one. I don’t know where you’re from, but science has proven for a long time now that people like you don’t exist.”

“Ben, I’ve lived my whole life in a place where there are no alphas, betas, omegas, and men’s d***s are normal—honestly, smaller than yours,” Kate sighed. “So one of us is asleep and dreaming right now.”

“I don’t want to wake up,” Ben said, and brushed his fingers along her cheek.

Kate leaned her face into his palm. And then the doorbell rang.

She caught his hand and pressed it harder to her cheek, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t answer it,” she whispered. “Please. Let them go away…”

Ben pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

“Even if you’re not an omega, you smell incredibly strong. Go back to the bedroom,” he said.

Kate opened her mouth to argue, but he added:

“I can smell an alpha on the other side of that door. With all the smoke, I can’t tell who it is. But if he catches your scent, he might lunge, and then we’ll fight to the death. Because until the twelve hours are up, you’re my mate. Alphas protect their mates from other alphas at any cost.”

He tacked on that last part with so much dramatic flourish that Kate couldn’t help it—she giggled.

What an i***t.