I pull every last ounce of energy I have into the most sincere smile I can manage. It must land, because her expression eases, and she nods once like she believes me.
Milo seems satisfied too. He turns back to the counter, already reaching for the next clipboard. "Alright, who's next? What do you need?"
I twist the cap off the water and drink slowly, letting the cold sit on my tongue before I swallow.
From my stool, I have a full view of the line. It stretches from the counter all the way to the tent entrance, nurses and techs clustered in pairs, tablets and clipboards in hand, murmuring to each other about dosages and patient numbers. Through the back tent flap, I can see the tree line, tall pines pressing in close, their shadows cutting across the paths that connect the tents. Everything smells like diesel and pine resin and canvas baking in the sun.
And underneath all of that, is pure, masculine alpha.
They’re not too close, probably lingering on the far side of the barriers, but I can still smell them.
The market doesn't officially open for another hour or so, but the clients always arrive early. I learned that during my first shift at the market. Their harsh, overlapping scents build gradually until they overtake everything else.
“Drink up, Pérez,” Milo glances back at me. “I don’tneed you passing out,” he says it like it’s a joke, but I can see the worry in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I quickly take another sip. The water slides down my throat right as a fresh wave of pain moves through me. This one is a deep, clenching cramp that makes my abdominal muscles tense so hard my back arches slightly.
I bite down on a gasp, my breath catching in my throat. Milo frowns and I plaster a smile on my face so fast it hurts. “I’m good.” I force a small laugh. “I got a little dizzy for a second there. That’s all.”
I have no idea if Milo believes me or not, but he finally turns around, getting back to work.
Thank god.
More pain builds, and I press my forearm across my midsection, breathing through my nose. Slow and measured.
It passes in waves, tightening and releasing, each peak sharper than the last, and I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper.
I can feel Milo’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look up.
And then it hits me.
It seeps through the canvas walls, warm and heavy, carrying something underneath the sweet scent of the forest that hits me like a wall. Rich. Thick.
Alpha pheromones.
The aroma is concentrated and layered, dozens of individual scents braided together into something my hindbrain registers before my conscious mind even has a name for it.
My thighs squeeze together instinctively, a desperate, useless attempt to stem the sudden flood of heat between my legs. I have to fight the urge to moan as my clit throbs.
It’s a deep, biological pull that overrides every shred of my self-control.
My mind races, a frantic, panicked spiral of images that aren't my own—of being pinned down, of a heavy weight on top of me, of being filled and claimed until the ache stops. My eyes float closed as I fantasize about a long and wide cock. A thick, unyielding shaft that will split me open and leave me gasping.
A fresh gush of slick soaks the thick fabric of my panties, and pure panic rips through me as sweat beads along my brow.
My pussy feels so swollen and hot, a desperate, hollow ache that throbs with every beat of my heart. The urge to fuck and rut grips me, a primal, overwhelming need that makes my hands shake.
I shift my hips and lean forward, trying to grind against the small stool beneath me, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. I need to be filled and stretched, fucked so hard I can’t remember my own name. I’m so desperate to be stuffed, I have to fight the urge to shove my own hand down the front of my scrubs and push my fist inside my cunt.
“Is she okay?”
Someone asks, and I quickly stand, then stagger a little, falling into the nearest refrigerator.
“Pérez?” Milo turns toward me, his brown eyes wide with fear.
I stumble past him, mumbling the word “sick” as I pass the long line of worried nurses. Someone tries to reach for my upper arm, asking if I need a doctor, but I manage to slip free.
The tent flap hits my shoulder on the way out, and the heat slams into me, thirty degrees warmer than the refrigerated air I just left. The sweat that was beading at my temples turns into a full pour down my neck, my chest,soaking into the collar of my scrubs before I've taken three steps.
