Page 41 of The Florist and Her Alphas

My clit is swollen, hard, and aching under my touch. I gasp into the empty room, my back arching off the mattress as my fingers brush my nub.

“Oh,” I whimper.

I rub it. I need to rub my clit.

My fingers work my clit through the wet cotton, circling faster and faster, my hips bucking against my own hand, chasing relief that feels just out of reach. The pleasure builds fast, too fast, a tsunami gathering force at the base of my spine, and my thighs shake, my toes curl, my free hand gripping the sheets.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god. Ahh!”

The orgasm hits me like a truck.

My back bows sharply. A cry tears out of me, raw and desperate, echoing off the walls of my bedroom. My pussy clenches hard, pulsing, and slick gushes out of me. It’s so much slick that it soaks through my underwear and onto the sheets beneath me in a warm rush.

I’m squirting, my body convulsing, my fingers never stopping, grinding my clit through wave after wave until the sensation borders on pain and I have to force my hand away.

I collapse. Panting. Sweating. My heart hammering against my ribs.

The relief lasts exactly eight seconds.

Then the cramping starts again. Deeper this time. Lower. A hollow, aching emptiness in my womb that no amount of rubbing my clit is going to fix. My pussy throbs, clenching on nothing, hungry and desperate and so fucking empty it hurts.

I need a knot.

The thought comes unbidden, primal, animal. I need an alpha’s cock inside me, thick and hard and stretching me open, his knot swelling at the base until he’s locked inside me, filling me, pumping me full of cum while I come around him.

I need to be fucked. I need to be claimed. I need… I need to be bred.

I press my palms against my eyes as tears start to fall.

My breath comes in short, ragged bursts. The heat is getting worse, the cramping deeper, my pussy dripping slick onto the ruined sheets beneath me, and I am alone in my apartment.

Am I going to die here?

I need to move.

Getting out of bed is agony. Every muscle burns. My legs shake so badly I have to brace myself against the nightstand, and the cold air against my sweat-soaked skin makes me gasp. My underwear is ruined, slick running down my inner thighs, and I peel them off with trembling fingers and let them drop into the hamper.

I stumble into the bathroom naked and burning.

The tiles are cold under my feet. I fumble with the shower knob, turning it all the way to cold, and step under the spray without waiting for it to warm up.

The water is fucking freezing.

It hits my overheated skin, and I gasp, bracing both hands against the shower wall, my head bowed, water streaming down my back, my ass, between my thighs where my pussy is still throbbing, still hungry, still empty.

It doesn’t help. The cold water does nothing for the heat burning under my skin, and my pussy aches so badly I can’t stand it.

One hand slides between my legs.

My fingers find my swollen, dripping pussy easily.

Desperately, I push one finger inside, and the sensation is so intense I cry out loud. My entrance is hot, tight, clenching around my finger, slick gushing around my knuckles. With my other hand, I grip my breast. My fingers find my nipple, and I pinch it hard, and the dual sensation of my finger inside my pussy and my hand on my nipple sends a shock through my body that makes my knees buckle.

“Fuck,” I sob. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I finger myself faster.

Two fingers now, pumping in and out of my slick hole, my thumb finding my clit, rubbing in rough, frantic circles. My hips buck against my hand, chasing relief that doesn’t come, the orgasm building and building but never breaking, my pussy clenching around my fingers, slick running down my wrist, my inner thighs, pooling on the shower floor beneath me.