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“Okay, picture this: we're on his couch—"
"Netflix and chill?"
"Amazon Prime and White Claws. Three minutes into a perfectly adequate fingering, he suddenly gets up to use the bathroom and comes back holding a knot dildo."
"So, another Beta, then?" Ben asks, cleaning a water spot off his butter knife with a paper napkin.
Rey nods and takes an enormous bite of her pastrami sandwich. She’d dressed to go to the gym this morning as part of a new “healthy routine,” but morning had somehow blurred into noon and noon had blurred into cured meat. Which is protein. Healthy protein.
"Next thing I know, he's jamming it into me, yelling 'Alpha is pleased!' I mean, I have 'betas only' on my Tinder profile specifically to avoid that kind of bullshit."
His face does a thing. A sort of "you've disappointed me but I'm only going to indicate that through this split-second eyebrow movement" thing.
"You still have your ticket right?"
Rey rolls her eyes.
"Will you stop asking me that?" It only happened the one time."
"And we spent an hour looking for it because you refused to pay the lost ticket fee."
"It's fifty dollars! And I eventually found the ticket in my bra, where I put it for safekeeping because women's shorts don't have pockets for some reason."
"Okay, well your bra doesn't count as a secure location. Just let me hold on to it," he insists. "I can't risk it. I want to make this matinee."
Rey sighs and hands over the printed, numbered ticket, which Ben places in the breast pocket of his henley sweater, along with his own ticket.
"You wouldn't believe this guy, though—his body. And I'm not a size queen, but, like—" she makes the universal symbol for proportionate penis "—chef's kiss. Oh, and beautiful hair—like you're not afraid to put your fingers in it and it's surprisingly soft and lush, and then you realize he pays more for haircuts than you do?"
"What a rare find," he deadpans, placing his napkin on his lap. "You know, you don't have to paint such a vivid picture of the men you fuck."
“I didn't say I actually fucked him. I mean, I probably shouldn't generalize,” she continues after swallowing another bite of pastrami, “but Betas who date Omegas in order to try out some tired Alpha cliche, are just so fucking annoyng. They're all obsessed with the knot and the glands and the biting. I swear to God, you call a man 'Alpha' one time—" Ben looks up from the knish they’re sharing "—just to be nice, and he doesn't hear a word you say for the rest of the night."
“Definitely not a generalization at all, no. ” He cuts it neatly into a two-thirds piece and a one-thirds piece, and he slides the bigger part over to Rey.
“You have crumbs on your sweater,” she says. He stills as she reaches over and brushes her hand across the right side of his chest. “Ooh. Cashmere?”
He nods. She rubs the soft black knit material between her fingers and it releases the slightest hint of something that tickles her nose. Of course he shows up to Katz’s in cashmere. Of course he probably sprays his sweater with some obnoxious smoky, Alpha-y cologne that gets kinda mixed up with the equally delicious smell of cured meat and warm, salty soup, and makes you want to wrap yourself up in that scent for days.
“And yet you only date Betas,” he points out, very casually sitting up a little straighter in his chair.
“Well, 'dating' is a generous term for it.” Rey returns to her sandwich—the perfect combo of fresh rye bread and Russian Dressing and thinly-sliced pastrami. “Can I be honest about something?”
“Were you not being honest before?" He picks up his part of the knish, unconvincingly feigning disinterest.
“I’ve only done that, you know, the full experience, maybe two or three times in my entire life."
" 'That?' "
"You know...with an Alpha. When it—" she makes an inflating motion with her hands. "Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about.”
Ben puts the knish back down. Now he has a different thing—a “turning gears” look on his face—like he's running a complex math equation on that statement.
“Not for lack of trying," she continues. "And I know all bodies are different blah, blah, blah. Maybe mine just doesn’t want to be knotted. I’ve tried for years. I have an entire collection of knot toys that were supposed to open this door for me. I've had Alphas try to 'help me' through my heats." Ben does the tiny disappointed thing again. "But the angles are never quite right and I’m concentrating really hard and I feel bad, so I start to fake it so they'll hurry up and finish. But then, when the knot expands it hurts like a motherfucker. And who wants to spend hours physically attached to some rando you just boned? It's awkward as fuck and I just wanna get out of there and shower or eat a cheeseburger and get myself off the right way. Most of the time I just lay there and recite a bunch of facts about Mitch McConnell so their knot goes down faster—”
“Sorry—you do what?”
“I mean what even is a knot?”
“I’m still stuck on Mitch McConnell.”
“It's the vestigial limb of prehistoric fucking! That whole idea—" she waves her hand around "—does nothing for me."
“Why do you keep calling it ‘that’?” he asks, leaning forward ever so slightly, his eyes scanning her face.
“Because when you give something a name, you give it power. And I’m not sure I believe in it. Like, yeah, biology, blood tests, designations. Whatever, it’s all connected. But when you give it a name—"
"Knotting?"
"—it creates this whole myth and pressure around it that is totally undeserved and we waste a lot of time sniffing around for it and waiting for our glands to get all tingly, and it’s not even that special.”
“It isn't?”
He doesn't look up as he pours his Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda into a glass with ice. Rey has never seen him drink directly from a can.
“You know, a couple times, it’s been on the verge of... like…'oh, this could be interesting.’ Like some cool, kinky roleplaying shit? But then I remember I could just let someone Dom me without the weird body horror element and have the exact same experience."
"Body horror?"
"And, I swear to God, there’s just nothing pleasurable about the knot.” His face betrays full-on disapproval. “It’s supposed to 'inflate like a balloon?' What the fuck does that even mean? Give me a normal, standard cock any day of the week. Or, hell, give me a good pair of hands!”
She notices Ben’s hand on the table, death gripping the glass, for no reason at all.
“So how do you handle your heats, then?”
“I take a sick day, make sure my toys are charged, change the sheets and move on with my life. Oh, speaking of changing the sheets, did I tell you that I made a woman meow last week?”
“You made a woman—”
“You grow up hearing about this 'spiritual experience' where you're going to see the face of God—not that I believe in God—and it's like, 'Why?' Why I can't just decide to be a slut for a few days and own it, without blaming it on my gland, like I have a horny thyroid condition?”
Ben furrows his brow at her, for what has to be the fourteenth time since she was late to meet him at the entrance to Katz's.
“I thought you were married to an Alpha.”
“We consciously uncoupled from our designations when we got married. The decision was mutual. She didn't feel comfortable with that power differential." She bites into her pastrami.
"Wasn't she your professor?"
"That was just a coincidence," Rey insists. "She never used it to order me around or control me." Ben's gears turn again, so she pivots. "I thought you didn't mess around with Alpha/Omega shit. Didn't you get on TV at some point and say that obsessing over Alpha designations is the first sign of a small dick, or something equally tasteless and reactionary?”
"I can't speak for all Alphas.”
“Fine. Just you.” Rey starts in on the knish.
“Okay.” He lifts the rye bread from the top of his sandwich and rearranges some of the elements inside. “I agree that the Alpha/Omega dynamic is a ridiculous relic in terms of everyday life. It's for people who want to blame biology for their need to be dominated." He slathers an additional layer of mustard on the bread and looks up. "But you're dead wrong about the sex. That part's real.”
“How would you know?" She drops the knish back onto the plate and wipes her fingers with her crumpled napkin. "Paige is a Beta. And you haven't fucked anyone since you broke up, let alone done that.”
“I had a life before Paige, you know.” He puts the bread back on the sandwich, his hand pushing it down lightly. “And I know exactly what I’m doing with ‘that.’ ”
“Oh, you do? How do you know? All Alphas think they've somehow permanently altered an Omega's world. Trust me, every mediocre Alpha I fucked could be sitting at Second Avenue Deli right now, saying the same thing you just said to their long-suffering woman friend.”
"No," he says, casually slicing the sandwich in half. Rey waits for him to elaborate, to make some other conceited, wrongheaded assertion about his supposed sexual prowess.
She leans back in her chair, still waiting. She fixes her ponytail, he says nothing. She lets her hand brush against her gland, completely accidentally, and he doesn't even look up.
“What are you implying? That you can do that to me and it'll change my entire sexual worldview?”
“I’m not implying.” He finally bites into the sandwich.
“You’re so full of shit." She sits up straight again. "You think you know what I need better than I do? Do you have any idea how much sex I've had?" Three out of four members of the tourist family at the next table look over at her. She lowers her voice a notch. "That is peak mediocre Alpha confidence, my friend.”
“You just told me that you don’t understand what the knot is.”
“Trust me, the men I've tried this with? They never even realize I’m faking it.”
"Maybe instead of putting on a show, your time would be better spent learning to actually, you know, take a knot. I could give you some pointers. If you ask nicely.”
“Oh, this should be good. Please, enlighten me…Alpha.” She puts down her sandwich without taking a bite.
He leans forward. Her gland tickles a little bit.
“First, stop using the term 'body horror.' It's fucking offensive. The knot is an augmentation—an effective one. Designed to fit in your body—”
"And pump loads of sperm in me that I don't want? I'm on birth control, so don't bother with the breeding propaganda."
"And yet you still fuck. You still go down on people? Touch yourself? Because it feels good. Knotting is the same."
"Have you been reading my LiveJournal again, Solo?" She takes a sip of her water through a paper straw.
"Knotting is—" he blows out a breath. "It's like trying to explain fire to someone who can't see. You have to put out your hand and feel it. It’s better as a demonstration.”
“Oh of course it is." She slowly sinks backward into her chair. "Should we order a knockwurst and a bagel so you can show me?”
“We already have something better than a bagel.” Ben's eyes drift over her body and her gland prickles again.
“Are you kidding me?”
“You need a teacher. Apparently.”
She scoffs. “You are so transparent. Now I know you’re full of shit because you would never actually go through with this.” She reaches up to take her ponytail down and put it back up again, and this time he definitely notices when she brushes the gland.
“I can show you how to take a knot.” He clears his throat. “Mine.”
“Just so I’m understanding—you can't explain why fucking an Alpha is such a mind-altering experience unless you knot me?” An elderly lady at the table behind Ben turns her head. “How convenient for you.”
“I guarantee it wouldn’t end with you reciting Mitch McConnell facts to me," he replies. "And there’s the satisfaction of proving you wrong.”
“This is insulting.” She can feel herself sweating under the athleisure top she'd purchased at the TJ Maxx on 6th Avenue last week.
“You’re curious.”
“I am not!”
"I can literally smell how—curious you are right now."
"That's not—" Stupid fucking biology! “That's probably not even me, okay? This restaurant is a like a sea of humanity at brunch time.”
"No,” he says, evenly. “It’s you. Meet me in the bathroom after you finish your sandwich." He stands up from the table and his belt buckle is just about level with Rey's forehead. "You'll need the energy."
Rey finishes the sandwich because she's hungry. She also finishes the rest of Ben's food—but only because she was famished before she even entered the restaurant. When the food is gone, she walks back to the restroom, checking for any employees near the entrance, and cracks the door open.
Ben’s at the sink, washing his hands, which—although necessary—seems weirdly clinical. But not necessarily a turn off? He looks up at her through the mirror over the sink.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure you’re bluffing, yes. And it's not like I can just leave. You have my ticket.”
She pulls the door shut behind her and locks it. There’s barely room to maneuver in terms of floor space, but there is a counter. It's not filthy by the standards of a typical Manhattan deli, but they both eye it warily.
“I’m not putting my ass on a mysterious countertop. I’m not nineteen anymore.”
Ben considers it for few seconds, and takes his sweater off, laying it on the counter.
“How many layers of black do you have on?” she asks, eyeing his t-shirt that looks half a size too small. “I swear to God, I’m going to buy you a white undershirt for Christmas.”
“I can take it off if it’s bothering you so much.”
“No!” she says quickly, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his scent is rolling off his skin in a way that the cashmere and the crowded diner must have muddled. “You’re sure about your sweater though?”
“I have a fantastic dry cleaner.”
Rey rolls her eyes, as she peels off her leggings and her boots, leaving everything else in place.
“That’s it?” he asks, eyes laser-focused on her underwear. “Interesting choice.”
“That’s all you get. I’m not getting naked in the bathroom of fucking Katz’s"
“We’ll see,” he says, darkly.
The rational side of Rey's brain believes she has left her panties in place for reasons of modesty, even though she's never been modest in her life. The soft, but audible Omega voice says to leave them on, so her Alpha can remove them whenever he wants to. It's up to him.
She's positive she's following the rational voice.
And—what the fuck?—he's not 'her Alpha.' "
“Lean against the counter. Face me.”
She acquiesces with a little sigh. His tone is firm, but least he hasn't resorted to barking orders like some cliche video in the Alpha/Omega tag on Pornhub. He places his palm against her stomach, pushing her until the counter presses into her lower back. It tingles through the thermal fabric of her shirt. And more when his hand migrates underneath it.
Her gland is itchy as fuck now. She doesn't usually get this way on her current dose of suppressants.
“Uh, I don’t think so.” She tugs his hand away. “Keep it professional.”
“Professional?”
“You shouldn't need to grope me above the waist. And don’t even think about making out with me,” she says, pulling her head back as he gives her an annoyed little glare. "This is about—" she swallows "—knotting. Nothing else." She tightens her ponytail again.
What if he...does something she actually likes and then it makes the friendship weird or what if she doesn't like it and he's forever offended and quietly resentful and that ruins the friendship? Maybe her concerns are written all over her face because he adjust his tone slightly and asks,
"You're still okay to do this?"
She looks up at him.
“Just so we're clear: it's kinda fucked up to let your friend knot you in a public restroom of a major tourist destination, right?" The sheer fabric of her underwear rubs against his sweater. "Just to prove a point and not out of medical necessity or something?”
“Yes," he agrees. “We absolutely shouldn’t be doing this.”
“But you still...want to—”
"Yes."
Fine, then.. He'll perform his "demonstration." She'll politely act just the right amount of impressed, so as to not make him feel weird, and then they can walk over to Film Forum for the matinee of whatever pretentious movie he'd wanted to see. Aguirre, The Wrath of God or something.
It’s definitely fine.
He slips his hand down the front of her panties, trailing the pads of his fingers down so they just brush against her clit and around it in light, steady strokes, which is…okay, yes, good , but not what she agreed to. It’s also irritatingly effective.
“What are you doing?” she hisses. “I know this part. I practically have a PhD in it.”
“You're going to come first.” He doesn’t stop his movements. “Did I not mention that?”
“No! No you didn’t!”
“It’s very important. Like stretching before you run. You were just complaining about some guy jamming a toy in you. How do you think you're going to take my fucking knot if you—”
“I don’t know!” she snaps, before biting down on her lip.
“Well then I’m starting to understand what your problem is. Should I stop?”
“No!” It comes out faster and louder than she intends and she blames her stupid Omega instinct for that.
When she’d ordered him to keep it professional, she hadn’t taken into account that, with the way they’re positioned, their heads are unsettlingly close. There’s nowhere to look but at his smug, serious face. And, God, she just wants to reach up and swipe a finger over his gland, just barely visible under his hair. She grips the edge of the countertop instead.
He takes his other annoyingly oversized hand and slips it under the waistband, pressing down just below her navel.
“Are you enjoying this?” she snaps, gripping the counter even tighter. It feels like she could break it away from the wall. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
“No more than you are.”
“I’m being polite.”
He barely stifles a laugh. “Sure you are.”
She turns her head to the side to avoid eye contact. He is really good at this. Well, this part, at least. It’s infuriating. She reminds herself that it’s just his stupid enormous fingers. Surface area. Math. That's all. It has nothing to do with his Alpha-ness. It's human nature, not Omega nature.
But her gland is burning.
“It doesn’t count if I come from this, by the way,” she clarifies quickly. "The debate was about the knot."
“Consider it a free sample.”
It’s a hell of a sample, though—like a Saturday afternoon at Costco, when there’s a tiny cup of some weird snack at the end of every aisle and it just makes you hungrier for the rotisserie chicken in the back of your cart.
She can already feel her self-control slipping, with the bare minimum of effort on Ben’s part. There's just something slightly out of reach. She moves her hips, trying to increase the friction, to force his fingers into precisely the right spot.
But he’s not quite cooperating.
“Are you...prolonging this?”
“If you want more of something, you’ll have to ask. This is really basic stuff, Rey. It has nothing to do with being an Omega.”
She absolutely hates the way her gland lights up with pleasure when he says “Omega."
“You are—unbelievable,” she manages to utter in between increasingly ragged breaths.
“Thank you. Were you about to say something else?”
“Can you just—mmhm—stop torturing me with the overture and get on with it?”
“Since you asked so nicely.”
He increases the speed and pressure enough to bring her just to the edge, all while keeping his eyes locked on her. It’s unnerving. Rey finds a spot near the door to focus on as the familiar throbbing sensation continues to build, but not quite peak.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she finally blurts out.
“Why are you looking over my shoulder like that?”
“Stop eye fucking me. And don’t say it’s part of some Alpha instinct.”
“It has nothing to do with instinct. I’ll tell you why I’m looking at you. You try to conceal everything. If you were a good sexual partner, you'd be telling me what feels good instead of pretending it has no impact.” He leans in, hovering over what little remains of her personal space, way too close to her gland. “But just so you know, the Omega in you is giving me everything. I can tell that you like this—” he strokes his index finger just to the left of her clit, making her whimper “—and you don’t want too much direct pressure. Just enough in the right spots. And even if I couldn't tell how much you’re enjoying this from your scent, I can see it all over your face. That's why I'm looking at you.”
Her nostrils flare but she can't muster a verbal response.
“Are you ready to come now?”
“Y-yes!” she stammers, grabbing at his t-shirt. “Jesus Christ, just—”
“No groping, Omega.” He grabs her wrist and pins her hand to the counter, leaning her back, grabbing a hold of her ass as he finally—finally—focuses more directly on her clit with light, rapid movements.
“Shit. Ahh. Oh God. Oh God. Please, Alpha, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come—” Something swoops along her spine and down to her center and her eyes squeeze shut. She can feel her slick making a mess of his fingers. Her inner Omega cries out with unfulfilled need, and she tenses, trying to chase the feeling to its climax. When her eyes open again, he’s still looking down at her, taking everything in. She squirms against his hand, letting out a ragged moan.
“Come for me, Rey. Let go. Right now.”
“Ffffuuu—” she starts to yell as she tips over the edge. Ben clamps his other hand over her mouth and the wave of pent up, pure sensation crashes over her body. Every one of her concerns vanishes with the scent of his hand under her nose.
She’s dizzy and sweating and panting when she comes down off the high, hanging on to the edge of the counter for dear life. Her gland is pulsing in time with the aftershocks.
“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, as soon she catches her breath.
“I mean—that was...Don't you think we should probably—”
“Continue?”
“Yes. We should. Definitely.”
He nods rapidly.
“Bend over the counter,” he says, with more than a touch of roughness in his voice. She turns around and looks down at the black cashmere draped over the white porcelain sink.
"I'm—" she can feel an indecent amount of slick dripping between her thighs "—I'm going to ruin your sweater if you leave it there."
"Yes. You are."
The affirmation makes her inner Omega squeal with delight.
She can't tell if it's the Omega who's blindly obeying or if Rational Rey is just motivated by the need for more of whatever the fuck just happened.
Leaning forward over the counter, trying to ignore her flushed reflection in the mirror, she places her hands on either side of the sink.
“This is still just to prove a point, right?” She glances at his reflection, his familiar face just slightly altered by the odd perspective. His shoulders seem broader, maybe. And she has the urge to touch him sometimes, but, God, real friendships are so fucking delicate. She quickly looks away again. "It's not like there's something—" her eyes travel all around the little room but they always come back to his face "—more personal going on here?"
He nudges her legs further apart with his foot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"Okay. Because sometimes things like this ruin friendships, you know?" His fingers meander up the delicate skin of her inner thigh until he reaches the fabric of her soaked underwear. "But I—ahh—definitely think we can both handle it. Right?"
"I can."
His voice is low and rumbly against her back. She's never felt empty like this before.
He tugs the fabric to the side. Yessss. She inhales sharply as he angles his hand and slowly slides a finger inside her, eliciting a moan from the Omega who is now, apparently, in charge of Rey's vocal chords.
“God, why are your hands so fucking big?” She white-knuckles the edge of the counter.
“Why are you so fucking wet?”
He's stretching her panties to the breaking point, just to be a dick about her reluctance to remove them.
"Just let me take them off, Ben." She's whining like an annoyed teenager, but she can't help it. "They're gonna tear."
"No." He rubs his finger firmly against her front wall, making her knees buckle. "You're going to be a good Omega, and beg me to rip them off of you."
"Ben—f-fuck—I like this pair. It's a good pair. I ordered them from this ad on Insta that—ohhh shit—" she trails off as he adds a second finger. Fuckfuckfuck. "Okay, okay, Ben. Jesus! You can take them off!"
"What did you call me?" He pushes both fingers deeper inside her, while rubbing his thumb around the side of her clit, until she's whimpering over the sink.
"Alpha!" Her voice sounds whiny and ragged. "Rip them off. Please, Alpha. Please do it. Please."
In under a second, his other hand yanks on the sheer, stretchy fabric, and it tears away from her hip like tissue paper. Her Omega screams with delight.
"So you can be a good girl." She finds herself nodding eagerly at him through the mirror. "Can you take more?” he asks, with another finger ready to join the first two.
Rational Rey stills, mildly indignant. “I’ve taken an entire fist, you know.”
He looks her reflection squarely in the eye.
“Not mine.”
Her Omega heart grows three sizes.
She moans softly, clenching around his fingers. It’s pathetic how easily she’s coming undone, how her slick makes a mess of his hand and his sweater. How her gland feels hot and prickly every time Ben exhales.
Like he can read her mind—her needs—he uses his left hand to move her ponytail away from the back of her neck. “Do you feel that?” He just barely grazes her gland with his fingers, watching her reaction in the mirror. “You’re holding your breath. Breathe.”
It's killing her that every instruction he gives her feels right. She lowers her head and inhales deeply, taking in a strong hit of his scent, letting it fill her lungs and her bloodstream, and gradually chase away every misgiving, every inhibition she has about letting her Omega instincts take control.
He takes hold of her ponytail and tilts her head up to face herself in the mirror.
"Look at me." Her eyes snap to his.
And then she feels it. Maybe it’s just a tiny shift of his fingers against that seemingly mythical "spongy" area—a matter of millimeters, but it’s there. Real.
“Shit. Holy shit.” She jolts forward, almost knocking her forehead into the mirror before he pulls her back.
“Yeah, I feel it, too.”
“Ahhh. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop. Just do—that. Fuck.” She’s almost drooling into the sink, letting the heat roll over her body in waves.
“Tell me what you need, Omega. Do you want to come again?”
"Yes, Alpha!" she shouts. "Make me come, makemecome, makeme—"
He drops her ponytail and covers her mouth again.
"Shhh. I need you to be a good girl and tell me more quietly." He glances back at the restroom door and lowers his voice. "Tell me what you need, Omega."
Rey swallows, feeling his essence hit the back of her throat, as he uncovers her mouth.
"Your knot, Alpha. Please give me your knot." Her hands fumble behind her for his belt buckle. "I need it inside me. Please."
"That's right. And because you're begging me so nicely, I'll take care of you."
His words sound like fucking poetry to her Omega ears. He eases his fingers from inside her, and she makes a pathetic whining sound that Rational Rey would be fucking ashamed of.
Every breath she takes is a dizzying mix of his pheromones and hers, permeating the air in the tiny room, making it impossible to clear her head for a moment. The five seconds it takes for him to undo his belt and pants feels like torture. Her gland throbs as she turns around.
Because his cock is a fucking masterpiece—a goddamn Rembrandt of penises. It's something Rational Rey and her Omega can shake hands and agree on. Long and thick but not so big that you panic, because—holy shit—there's also his knot to think about. The Omega voice screams about how hard and red he is for her. About how good girls get knotted. And Alpha thinks she’s a good girl.
Rational Rey's two still-functioning brain cells concede that her friendship with Ben is already so compromised by the events of the last ten minutes, that to stop now would just be a waste—an insult, really—for both parties. And impolite to Ben. Rude, even. Leaving an Alpha hanging like this would be an actual crime in a few states, none of which Rey wants to visit.
She waits for Alpha to give her a verbal command, something like "I know my Omega won't let a drop of precum hit the floor." But instead he grabs her shoulder, dangerously close to her gland, and turns her back around to face the sink.
"Arch your back for me," he almost growls, pushing her down until her elbows hit the counter and she's face to face with her own reflection at the bottom of the mirror. She still looks like plain old Rey, at least—albeit disheveled and sweating and kind of…glowing. "Spread your legs."
She feels a fresh gush of slick running down her inner thigh.
"Is this good?" she can't help asking. Apparently her Omega is a needy little bitch.
And that needy bitch nearly shrieks as he grabs her hips, digging his thumbs into the roundest parts of her cheeks.
"Fuck. I always knew you had a fantastic ass."
Rational Rey raises an eyebrow at that—making a concerted effort to file that away for later. Assuming there is a "later." Maybe as conversation fodder in between movie previews.
"Please, Alpha." She feels his cock nudging against her skin as his right hand moves around to play with her clit. "Please."
"Tell me if it's too much." He presses the tip just inside her, before whispering in her ear. "But I know you can take it." He keeps pushing in, steadily, feeding her praise. "You were built for this—for me." The ends of his hair tickle her gland and it makes her groan. He digs the fingers of his left hand into her hip, holding her steady. "You're taking me so well, Omega. It's—fuck—it's really good."
“Oh god, right there. You're so deep. So deep, just—” She's never felt so full. And it's been ages since—
"Fuck, Rey, I'm only halfway in."
Rational Rey whips her head around, calculating how much more of his cock can possibly fit inside her normal-sized body. Maybe the obscene amount of slick soaking his cashmere is throwing off the estimate.
But somehow it works, even if she has to hold onto the faucet for an extra bit of leverage when he pushes all the way in, and she can feel the soft tissue of his knot inside her. Her Omega beams with pride, as he pauses, fully seated, and sweating.
He tilts his head down to the back of her neck and gently blows on her gland, making her thrash slightly and reach up to pull at his hair, before he moves his head out of the way.
"Ben! God, that's unfair—"
"What did you call me?"
"Alpha," she corrects. "Alpha, please move." She thrusts her hips back. "Pleasepleaseplease fuck me now."
"You're greedy, Omega." He digs his fingers in harder and pushes into her, eliciting a whine. "Kind of a brat? Can't say I'm surprised."
"Hey!" says Rational Rey, down but not totally out. "You don't need to be rude."
"I didn't say I didn't like it.”
Her Omega hums contentedly as he begins to thrust into her at a steady rhythm, his right hand pressing hard below her bellybutton, making her feel exactly how the tip of his cock is bumping against some deep, sensitive place inside.
"Yessss. Oh God, yes, please don't stop, you feel so—"
"You like this?"
"Hnnnghh. B—I mean, Alpha, yes, yes I like it. I need more. I need it harder. Please. I'm gonna come again for you."
She looks up at his reflection. God, maybe they'd caught some stray feelings for each other at various points over the past couple months, but she didn't wake up this morning thinking she'd be fucking Ben Solo in a bathroom after brunch.
Of course, had she known about Ben's dick, maybe she wouldn't have even bothered with the Beta last night…
“I’m starting to think," he says into her ear, "that you just wanted me to do this to you all along. Is that why you wanted to complain to me about your date?” He drops his right hand back down to her clit, never stroking it directly, just edging around it.
“Don't talk about him. Don’t say anything, just...shit, I’m so close. Please.”
“You just expect me to nod and be sympathetic, while you tell me about some Beta's cock? Or how you made a woman meow?”
“No—I didn't. You said you were cool with—Oh fuck. Oh fuck—” her stomach tightens up as he slows down slightly, letting his cock drag inside her, creating the best kind of friction. “I’m—I’m gonna come again.” She feels so full. Her Omega needs the release. It's too much.
“No.” He looks directly at her reflection. “You’re not going to come until you admit I was right about this.”
“What?” She feels him pull out a little bit, ease up on everything, like something's being unspooled. No no no no no—
“I want you to say it. Tell me how good I am at this. That I opened this door for you. That you don’t need to fake it with me. Then you’re going to beg me to let you come.”
She analyzes his face for any sign that he’s kidding, but based on the seriousness mixed with slight cockiness in his expression, it’s no joke. Rational Rey seethes, but fuck it, she needs this orgasm, too.
“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “But when we're not high out of our dumbass minds on pheromones, you're going to regret this.”
“No, Rey.” He moves in closer so that his mouth is just brushing her gland. “I don’t think I am.”
“Alpha, please.”
He takes a swipe at her gland with his tongue and it feels like fire rips down her spine, straight to her core. She can't wait any longer.
His knot. Her Omega is crawling out of her skin for it.
Rational Rey looks up at herself in the mirror and sees a panting, trembling mess of a woman who's just one little admission away from the best climax of her life.
“You were right,” she says breathlessly, rushing to get the words out before all the build-up dissipates. “You’re...you’re...good at this. I’m not faking it.”
He looks momentarily appeased, before his eyes darken again.
“Whose cock is bigger, mine or his?”
“What?!”
“I’m waiting, Omega.”
She waits a beat to see if he's serious. He doesn't move a muscle.
“For fuck’s sake…yours. You-you’re so much bigger.”
“Whose knot is filling you up right now? Mine or his?”
“Yours. He doesn’t even have a knot.”
“Who has better hair?”
“Oh come on!”
“Say it, Omega.”
“You do. You have better hair. So much better” He seems momentarily appeased. “I want this. I want your knot. I need your knot. Fuck, Ben—I mean Alpha!”
He gives her a look that, in the thousands of looks he's given her—annoyed, charmed, pretend-horrified, actually-horrified, impressed, incredulous—she's never seen before.
“Say my name when you come.” He grabs her by the ponytail again and says more quietly, “Just don't scream it. We don't want to get arrested.”
She nods and arches her back again, looking down into the sink. She didn't know her spine was quite this flexible.
"And look at me," he adds, as his fingers make lazy circles around her clit. "Look at me when you say my name."
It's hard not to squeeze her eyes shut when he starts moving again. She's never given it much thought, but in all the times she’s come in front of someone else, she’s always closed her eyes, or buried her head in a pillow, without even thinking about it. She’s never actually looked at another person who was looking back at her.
“Y-yes, yes, please," she groans, as quietly as she can manage, as he fucks her over the countertop. His knot feels like it’s swelling. "Please. Ben. Fuck. I don't know if I can—”
"You can, Rey. Look at how you're taking me. You're such a good girl. The best Omega.” His words coax her closer and closer. ”Do you feel that? You feel my fucking knot getting bigger? You're doing this to me." His voice breaks a little. "Fuck, you feel good."
Her Omega screams. Rational Rey wants to scream.
His hand is moving furiously around her clit, while she stretches around his cock, feeling every inch of him pounding into her with more ferocity as he looks in her eyes. It’s fucking intense, feeling seen when she’s about to surrender control of her body.
"I feel it, Ben. Please. I'm so close." Her gland is sparking with untapped energy, like a pipe that’s about to burst. "This is the best fucking thing to ever happen to me. Let me come for you. I know I can take your knot. I know I can. Pleeeease."
Just when she thinks she can’t handle another physical sensation without going numb, she feels him mouth over her gland and murmur, “Come for your Alpha. Bigger this time. Come all over my knot.”
Maybe it's the mystical, hormone-driven desire to please an Alpha or maybe this is just what happens when your hot friend edges you for ten minutes while revealing heretofore unknown sexual skills that you're definitely going to think about in the privacy of your apartment later. In any case, a stronger rush—something primal and throbbing, coming from deeper inside than before—spills over and courses through her whole body. Yeah this is nothing like her previous attempts at this.
Maybe she believes in God after all.
"Ben!" she cries out, forgetting Alpha's warning about the volume.
He grimaces and clamps his hand under her chin, making a shushing sound, before pushing his fingers in her mouth. It’s both obscene and effective.
She lets go of whatever thread she was holding onto and feels herself gush. All over his hand. And his knot. And his sweater. It feels amazing while it's happening—like the best release of her life, swiftly followed by a sobering moment of what if he thinks I just peed on him a little bit? shame.
But apparently his body very much knows exactly what it was, because she feels his knot swell up inside of her. He grabs her by the hips and thrusts into her—more times than she's previously experienced with a Beta—cursing under his breath, until he’s spent.
At this point, Rey would normally formulate an excuse and begin to make her exit. But, aside from the fact that his swollen knot is preventing anything of the sort, he’s holding her tight to his chest. And...she doesn’t mind it. Maybe that part's an instinct. It feels like something her tired, sated Omega craves.
Maybe Rational Rey doesn’t mind it so much, either. Even if she's still bent over the counter at an odd angle. It hadn't occurred to her that they would even make it to the actual knotting stage. And the only thing resembling a nest of blankets is—
“Ben, your sweater. I think I definitely—.”
He stares at the defiled black cashmere.
“Do you—” he clears his throat “—do that...often?”
She shakes her head.
“By myself sometimes, but usually not with other people.” The corner of his mouth starts to curve up into some kind of smirk. “Well don’t get all smug about it. I mean, it’s definitely ruined, I don’t care how good your dry cleaner is.”
”I—” The smirk fades into a mix of concern and dawning realization as Ben looks down at the sweater. "Goddammit. The tickets. They were in the—the pocket—" He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. "Yeah, I can't hand those tickets to the cashier now."
"Wow, Ben." She bites back a gleeful smile. "How irresponsible of you, not to keep those tickets in a more secure location. Like my bra."
Ben mutters something about "the most expensive sandwich you'll ever eat," and Rey finds herself—or is it her Omega?—musing about whether it would be nice for her bra to be a little less secure. To come off.
The truth is, it’s nice, actually. Being held. Cared for. Feeling him inhale and exhale softly over her gland. Her Omega practically purring with contentment.
And just as she’s about to open her mouth and tell him how amazing that was and how she wants to skip the fucking matinee and go back to his apartment—where he undoubtedly has piles and piles of luxurious blankets—and do the whole thing all over again in a more hospitable setting, some sudden movement catches her eye in the mirror.
The door handle rattles.
“Ben? Um, how long does your knot usually last?"
Followed by a light knock...
“Rey,” he says, keeping his eyes on the reflection of the door. “Now would be a very good time for those Mitch McConnell facts.”
...and then a more insistent one.
"How long, Ben?"
"The shortest it's ever been was about—" he hesitates long enough to make her think it's a conservative estimate "—thirty minutes."
"Oh God. Is there something else we can do to um—" She reaches for the tap. "Cold water?"
"No! I mean, it's not exactly helping that you're half-naked and I'm still inside of you and my nose is like three inches from your gland."
There's another knock. Some muffled voices.
"How did this happen? Were we this fucking stupid an hour ago when we waited in line for pastrami?" she stage whispers, trying to control her sense of panic. "Jesus Christ, Ben, we're basically 'Florida Man' right now."
She can feel his chest pushing against her back with heavy, frustrated breaths.
"This is not our fault," he insists, trying and failing to shift into a more manageable position. "It's a biological impulse. We can't help it."
"Oh, so it is a horny thyroid condition!" If she could move, she'd be pacing and ranting, rather than just ranting with her head turned to the right. "God, I can't believe you, of all people, blaming pheromones for this. You're supposed to be a fucking philosopher!”
"Well, what's the other explanation, Rey? That we just really wanted to fuck each other?"
Their eyes meet awkwardly in the mirror.
Neither of them speak, as they listen to someone knock on the door twice more.
Rey closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in.
She knows what she has to do.
"McConnell was first elected to the Senate in 1984 and has been re-elected five times since,” she begins, voice shaking only slightly. “He was included in the Time 100 list of the most influential people in the world in 2015. His upper left leg was paralyzed by a polio attack at the age of two…"