Page 30 of Lilacs and Leather

He gently parts my folds, his middle finger dipping shallowly into my core for a moment, gathering my slick before withdrawing. I whine, opening my eyes at the loss of contact, only to see Rhett bring his finger to his mouth and sucking it clean. I moan, my pussy pulsing as his growl vibrates against my back.

“Sweet, just like my sweet girl,” he says, and I shudder.

His hand dives back down to my pussy, two fingers sliding deep. My keening whine turns into a moan of pleasure as he pumps his hand inside of me, curling his fingers at the exact spot to make me see stars. My hips move in time with his thrusts, fucking myself down onto his hand. Rhett moves the hand around my chest to my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers in tandem with the hand in my pussy. I can barely breathe around the intense waves of pleasure his touch pulls from my body. My breathy moans escape my throat, growing louder with each meeting of his hand and my hips. His hand on my breasts, the way his fingers roll and tweak my nipple, adds to the rising tide in my belly. I clutch his arm, nails digging into his skin as I scramble for something to hold on to as Rhett works me to a fever pitch.

“Are you going to be a good girl and come all over my hand?” Rhett’s breathing has turned short, and I feel him grinding his cock against me, pre-cum sticky against my skin.

I nod, so close to release. I can feel it just out of reach, and I whine. Rhett chuckles and his hand stills, fingers deep inside my clenching pussy. The heel of his palm rubs hard against my clit, and his teeth scrape against the skin of my neck. I gasp, back bowing, but Rhett’s arm around my ribcage keeps me trapped against his body. He snarls in my ear, and my body feels hot enough to set fire to the bed. Rhett’s hand works harder, faster, deeper and—

“Come for me, Lydia,” Rhett growls, that dangerous edge enough to push me screaming over the edge.

I wake with a jolt, and for a moment I’m confused why I can’t feel another warm body in bed with me. The endorphins from my orgasm rush under my skin, and my pussy is fluttering with the aftershocks. I realize then, with no small amount of horror, my hand is between my legs, and my thighs are coated with my cream. I sit up, and find my bed is damp with it, a dark spot under my hips. A glance out of my windows reveals that it’s the middle of the night, the only light in my apartment coming from the orange glow of the distant streetlights. Flushed and unable to stand it a moment longer, I strip out of the thin tank top I’d worn to bed.

I flop back down against the pillows, trying to get my racing heart under control. I kick off the blankets, too warm under so many layers. The echoes of pleasure from my dream fade fast, and I’m left empty and aching. Lying naked in the middle of my bed, trying not to replay that incredible dream, I count the days in my head. And sure enough, my heat is three weeks early. I’d usually start having extra urges around the beginning of April, and I’d be out of commission for a few days by the middle of the month. But it seems that my cycle has gone rogue, and I’m hitting that stretch of days where all I’m going to want to do is sleep and fuck way ahead of schedule.

The wet spot under me gets too uncomfortable after a moment, and I groan as I roll out of bed. As I go to stand, I whine as a stabbing pain pulses through me, knots twisting in my lower belly. I double over, trying to take slow, shaky breaths until the cramp passes. It takes several long moments for enough of the pain to subside so I can stand again. I move toward the tote of spare bedding in the corner, and I’m hit by a sudden wave of dizziness as I bend down to open it. I scramble to the bathroom, barely able to make it to the toilet before my dinner makes a second appearance.

Once I flush, I curl up on the bathroom floor, the cramps returning. I shiver as I lay there naked, but don’t move as I breathe through the agony. The cool tiles feel good against my overheated skin. I close my eyes as my vision blurs and the room spins before me. The next thing I know, my eyes fly open at the sound of my morning alarm. I’m able to make it to the floor beside my bed and shut off my alarm before another wave hits me. My heat cramps haven’t been this bad since college, and I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this nauseous. I send a quick message to Gabby to let her know I won’t be in today, and I’m about to call the omega health clinic when messages from Rhett appear on my phone.

Rhett Cooper: Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?

Rhett Cooper: I’ll be at Grandmother Wila’s around 10am today. Would you like me to bring you some coffee?

I groan as I swallow the urge to vomit again, closing my eyes against a wave of dizziness. I take several breaths and type out my response once the world has stopped spinning.

Me: I won’t be in today. I’m not feeling well. Sorry.

Rhett Cooper: Oh no, Lydia. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can get you?

Me: Not your fault. I’m going to call the clinic and just rest for a few days. It’ll pass.

Rhett Cooper: Oh. I see.

Rhett Cooper: Do you have anyone there to help you?

Me: I’m going to see what the clinic says, but I’ll be fine.

Rhett Cooper: Okay. Let me know if you need anything at all. Please remember to drink water and eat, okay?

My stomach lurches into my throat, and I throw my phone away and dash to the bathroom before I can type out a reply. Only bile comes up this time, but my head clears enough for me to stand and rinse my mouth in the bathroom sink. It takes me a minute to find where my phone landed, and I dial the number to the omega clinic. I throw up again while I’m on hold, waiting for a doctor to answer. I’m leaning against the bathroom wall, knees pulled up against another twist of pain when the hold music ends and a voice comes through.

“This is Dr. Miller. Am I speaking with Lydia Anderson?” an older female voice answers.

“Yes.” I cough, closing my eyes as the room spins.

“Hi. What seems to be the trouble today?” she asks, polite and professional.

“I’ve been taking heat suppressants according to my prescription, but I’m having really bad symptoms. I’ve thrown up three times since midnight, and I’m dizzy, and the cramps are the worst I’ve had in years,” I say, gritting my teeth, sweat beading on my forehead.

“Oh my, that sounds awful. I’m looking at your chart and the last time you saw us, you marked yourself as unbonded. Is that still the case?” Dr. Miller questions, and I can hear the clicking of a mouse in the background.

I grunt out an affirmative response, closing my eyes and breathing through my nose.

“Have you been around any alphas lately?” she asks, her tone shifting.

“I don’t—I mean, yeah. I went on a date with one last night, but I don’t understand why that matters,” I snap, patience running thin.

“Well, since you’ve been on suppressants for so long, and being as you’re a little on the older side to still be unbonded, your body may be rejecting the medicine because of the presence of a compatible mate,” she explains, and her patronizing sets my teeth to grinding.