This wasn’t a thing. We wouldn’t roll over in the morning, look into each other’s eyes, and know we were mated. I was a beta, even if I’d somehow taken his knot, and he had an omega, a fated mate, out there somewhere. I didn’t get to think about that for too long, as his insistent fingers were making the wave rise again, ready to sweep me away.
Sometime early in the morning,when the sky was just starting to turn pale grey, I wriggled my way free of the alpha. I didn’t want to, and neither did he evidently, his hands grabbing sleepily for me, but I needed to. I swayed on my feet like I’d just survived some kind of sexual car crash and was still feeling the impact, even if I was craving more. We’d fucked and fucked, the novelty of a beta being able to take his knot driving him wild and me with him, until we’d finally collapsed from exhaustion.
Still, I couldn’t rest until I was home, in my own bed, and I’d popped a few ibuprofen, because damn, I was walking bowlegged right now. My cunt ached for more, and a goddamn ice bath to reduce the swelling, but instead, I staggered over, picking up my clothes and putting them on, all but the shapewear.
I should’ve folded it up and put it in my bag if I didn’t want to wear it, because it’d cost me a pretty penny, but instead, I tossed it in the bin in the bathroom. I quickly washed my face, trying to make myself as presentable as possible before I did the walk of shame, because I couldn’t stay here.
Human beings weren’t really made for casual sex, despite what we might think. We got this rush of oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin after the event, hormonally inducing a state of closeness, of softness, and I felt squishy as hell right now. I stared down at this big beautiful alpha’s body, my eyes hungrily taking in every perfectly sculpted inch of tattooed muscle, and I wanted to claim it with every breath in my body. If his omega walked in the door right now, I would’ve had to fight the urge to not scratch her face off from sheer fucking jealousy.
Except that wasn’t my fate.
After I’d done my research about dating alphas on Howlr, I’d decided on how I’d deal with the aftermath. Good, bad, indifferent, I’d take down my profile, making sure there was no temptation to stay in contact, to ensure I didn’t catch feelings. I’d block his number, knowing that if he kept messaging me, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from responding. The forums full of beta girls and boys wailing about the loss of their alpha lovers just filled me with horror, and I decided before I’d even spoken to Lucien that I was not going to be one of them. I would treasure this for what it was, then GTFO.
Proof of life required!!!Nik had texted around midnight, which made me grin. I tapped out a quick message, reassuring her I was OK, then booked myself an Uber.
This is the right thing to do, I repeated over and over as I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, then stepped out onto the pavement to wait for my car. It appeared not long afterwards, not many people looking for a ride right now.
“Nice night?” a nice-looking older guy asked as I got it.
“Amazing,” I replied with a nod, then gave him my address.
8
Three weeks later. Job interview at Dacian Enterprises.
“Yes, you’ll do perfectly.”
I blinked as I stared at the perfectly dressed woman. Miranda Carmichael sat peering at me from the other side of the desk, looking like she had every right to be in this fancy office, in this fancy building. Her dress fit her slim body so perfectly, it had to have been hand tailored to fit her, her hair slicked back against her head and tied up in a bun, not a strand out of place. So it was hard to work out what the hell she was seeing in me that made her think I was perfect for anything.
I’d done my best. I’d ironed my suit so the creases were knife sharp, but the pants were too loose around the waist and too tight around the arse and thighs, something I’d tried to mask with a wide belt. That same belt was digging into the soft folds of my stomach, threatening to cut off my circulation right now, forcing my breaths to come fast and shallow. I tugged my blazer closer under her inspection, one elegantly plucked eyebrow rising slightly as I did so, but the fabric of my jacket felt like the only defence I could put between the HR manager of Dacian Enterprises and me.
“You can type accurately at sixty words per minute?”
“Seventy-five on average,” I replied, my voice strong now, my confidence returning. I might be shaking in my boots under this woman’s inspection, but I was good at my job.
“You’re competent with all Office suite applications?”
“MS Office, Google Workspace…” I shrugged. “I’ve always been very good with technology, so if there’s another platform you prefer, I’m confident I’ll master it quickly.”
She nodded slowly in response to that. The long silences, the searching looks… I was fairly sure it was all a tactic used in the job interview to keep me off balance. Problem was, it was working. I needed this job. Perhaps she could sense that, in the slight quivering tension in my body, in the the way my fingers clutched at the plastic sleeve I’d put my résumé in, in the way I leant forward slightly in my chair. I let out a small sigh when that endless gaze dropped down to my application form and she scanned the contents yet again.
“And how much do you weigh, Sage?”
I blinked, stared, blinked again, then kept on staring, scouring the woman’s bent head, looking for signs as to why she would need that information. To see if I would fit into a workplace uniform perhaps? No, she’d be asking me what my size was if that were the case, but…
“Excuse me?”
For once, the slight waver in my voice worked in my favour, taking out any hint of steel and replacing it with a tentativeness that worked well in this context. I didn’t want it to. I wanted my voice to be sharp, demanding an answer, wanting to know exactly why the hell she thought that was any of her damn business.
“Your weight.” The woman looked up then, and what had appeared to be a coolly intimidating façade was instantly remade into officious bitch as she smiled slightly. “How much do you weigh?”
“I don’t see—”
She held up a hand, her scarlet red manicure glinting in the artificial light of her office.
“It’s a simple question, Ms Davies,” the woman said, her red lips curving into a sharp smile. “Answer, or this interview is over.”
I let out a long, shuddering breath but managed to do so slowly enough that it didn’t come out in a big rush. No woman liked being asked that question at the doctors, but this was ten times worse. I’d come in here armed with a nice suit, a full face of makeup, and a damn résumé a mile long that told the story of just how good I was. I’d walked in here ready to make this interview my bitch.