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By the week's end, she was sure joy had taken a wrong turn. What had found her instead was a twisting, cramping agony that she was sure would be the end of her. Her pulse was racing, sweat beaded on her forehead, and she hunched around a pillow on her sofa, breathing shallowly. Her hips canted on their own accord, seeking a relief that was not present. She needed to be filled; she knew in her bones. It was the only thing that would stop this aching burn, to be fucked and filled until she forgot her name and her heartbeat finally evened out.
Moriah swallowed, shifting on the sofa miserably. The ticking of the clock on the mantle seemed to echo through the house. Each hollow click brought her closer to the full moon, closer to her fate, and the sound reverberated through her chest until she was unable to distinguish it from the beating of her heart. Drea hadn't mentioned anything about this part. She hadn't said that going into heat was tantamount to torture and that Moriah could expect to feel as if she were being fully alive every moment she was not stuffed full of a fat werewolf knot.
She never experienced this because she understood how to make an appointment at the right time of the month, you fucking idiot.When the phone buzzed beside her, jarring the monotonous syncopation of the clock, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Lowell's name flashed on the screen, and her heartbeat outraced the ticking of the timepiece.
Hi, just wanted to check in and make sure nothing has changed
I hope you're holding up okay
See you Tuesday?
He's so nice, she thought, pushing the pillow between her knees. He was friendlier than Kinley, the other face she'd chosen from the catalog at the clinic. She'd reached out to him as well, feeling obligated once he'd been notified that she'd potentially selected him, although his responses didn't send a riot of butterflies moving through her.
I'm okay. Getting through it.
Thanks for checking in
The overwhelming silence of the house seemed to press her into the sofa, flattening her with its oppressiveness, but there was nothing to be done. She had to stay indoors. Despite the tardiness of her consultation, the injections had triggered her period right on time. The temperature chart that she filled out diligently showed that she was, in fact, ovulating, the heat burning through her. It wouldn't do to catch the nose of a werewolf she hadn't vetted from a glossy catalog, after all.
Thumbing open her pictures, she scrolled to the photos she'd snapped of her two donor choices and set Lowell's contact info to show his bright smile before she could change her mind. He was potentially going to be the father of her child, after all.
She'd already decided that she would tell her parents that she had conceived via artificial insemination. She knew they wouldn't care, would be over the moon and wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't need to know she'd gone two towns over to be literally bred like a bitch in heat. No one would need to know the process, she thought, staring at his picture.He seems nice, nice and friendly and laid back. It's going to be okay.It was a pep talk she gave herself often. She'd read her fill on the way he would smell her heat, how a werewolf on the cusp of the change could breed repeatedly, of the way she'd be stoppered by his knot until he softened, and the process would start all over again.It's going to be fine.
Staring at the phone, she tried to reconcile the fact that the smiling man in the photograph would be fucking her senseless in one month, harder still to understand how much shewantedit, that she was twisting on her sofa, thinking about being filled and stretched, over and over again until he was a snarling beast, all trace of the smiling man gone. It was going to be a very long month.
Have a good change?
Lol, is that right? Happy full moon?
I can't wait to meet you next week.
* * *
Lowell
“Okay, first of all, let’s get something clear. I never want to see your balls on my phone screen first thing in the morning ever again.Everagain. Don’t send me pictures of your scrotum unprompted, understand? For that matter, let’s expand that to include your entire lower anatomy, since I know you’re a fucking stickler for semantics. I don’t want to see your asshole. I don’t want to see your chewed open frenulum. You want to let your girlfriend treat you like a Milkbone? That’s between you and her; I don’t care what goes on in your bedroom. But here’s the important part — I’m not your doctor. So before you even think about asking me if that looks infected, why don’t you consider that the question you really ought to be asking is why the woman who allegedly loves you bit your scrotum so hard that we would be able to identify her through dental records from your ball sack.”
Grayson’s deep laughter reverberated through the truck’s speaker, and Lowell mumbled to himself that this was one call Trapp could have used the handset for.
“Okay, butdoesit look infected?”
“I mean, it doesn’t look great, Gray. Most bites to the balls don’t.”
“I’m supposed to be able to eat breakfast after this?” Lowell piped up, earning Trapp’s wide grin.
