Riot’s nostrils flared—so yes, he could smell it too. All of it. But his voice was gentle when he said, “Take your time, princess. I’ll be right here.”
Cass closed the door to the bathroom and slumped against it, pressing his palms to his hot cheeks.
He couldn’t believe he’d told them about the spot inside. Just announced it. To people he’d met yesterday. Riot’s face had gone red, and Orion had buried his face in his hands, and Cass still wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong. Sharing experiences was how everyone learned, right? Harmony circles were for exactly that, as long as the things shared weren’t courses not everyone had taken yet.
But apparently that was another thing that worked differently outside.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror and went still.
Without the beads and braids, his hair hung loose around his shoulders, wavy and wild. He’d been wearing it free since then, but he hadn’t reallylooked. There’d always been something more urgent happening.
Now he looked.
His lips were different. Fuller, maybe. Bitten. And there was a darkening bruise on his shoulder where Riot’s teeth had been. He touched it gently, remembering the pressure, the sharp feeling that had traveled all the way down his spine and settled low. The bruise didn’t look anything like the circular scars underneath the shirt. Those were precise. Symmetrical. Made with a tool designed for that purpose. This was messy and uneven and it had come from Riot’s mouth, which was a strange thing to think about.
He didn’t mind it.
He’d never thought much about his scars before. They were just part of life at Springfield Gardens, something that happened when Brother Matthias decided it was time, explained afterwardwith words about divine light filling the spaces left behind. But the bruise from Riot’s mouth looked different from those circles the same way wild prairie flowers looked different from the regulated gardens at Elysian.
He wasn’t sure what to do with that thought, so he let it go.
Then he noticed the marks on the backs of his thighs. Finger-shaped bruises from where Riot had gripped him in the stairwell, and again right here—on this floor—
His bare feet were on the same tile.
The bathroom.Thisbathroom. Riot on top of him, pressing forward, and the feeling of him, blunt and insistent and impossibly, terrifyingly big. His body had tried to open for it, some deep instinct overriding the panic, and for one awful moment Cass felt the stretch begin and had known with absolute certainty that it couldn’t fit, it was going to tear him apart…
Cass gripped the edge of the sink and breathed. He was standing in the exact place where it happened and his body knew it before his mind caught up, his skin prickling, his pulse jumping, that specific tightness in his chest that meantthis is where the good part turned into the scary part.
That was scary.
It had been. Really scary. Not the chase—the chase had been electric, the best feeling since the first time Riot’s fingers found that spot inside him. And not the fingers, or the orgasm, or even the way Riot’s voice went dark and commanding when he talked about everything he wanted. Those were good. Those weresogood that his body still got warm thinking about them.
But that part with Riot’s body against his, the size of what was pressing into him, and the way his own voice sayingpleasehadn’t been enough to stop it until he’d raised his voice…that sent him somewhere panicky and small.
And the confusing thing that kept circling back like a cramp that wouldn’t fully release was that being scared of Riot feltwrong. Not wrong like breaking a rule. Wrong like wearing someone else’s robes. Because Riot was the person who rubbed his back and stroked his hair during cramps without being asked, who said there was nothing wrong with his body like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Riot was the first person who had ever made Cass’s body feel like it belonged to him instead of to a community.
But Riot had also pressed him against this same cold floor—
He let go of the sink.
The things before were good. That part was scary. I want the good parts back.
His body wanted them back right now, actually. The ache was getting worse again, deeper and more specific, centered in the place where Riot’s fingers had been. His body learned what helped and now it wanted more of it and it didn’t care that the bathroom tile was making his skin crawl. Except his body kept doing the wanting and the scared at the same time and he didn’t know how to make them take turns.
He grabbed the remaining toilet paper and tried to clean up. It just kept coming, his body producing it faster than he could wipe it away. He used more paper. Then more. The roll was nearly empty.
How do other Omegas deal with this?
He gave up on the toilet paper and looked at himself one last time.
The person in the mirror didn’t look like anyone Brother Matthias would recognize. Or Honey for that matter.
I don’t know who that is yet…but I think I want to find out.
When Cass opened the bathroom door, he watched Riot’s pupils dilate as he asked, “Better?”
“I used most of the toilet paper,” Cass admitted. “Trying to... it just kept...it didn’t really help.”
