Chapter Text
“Our little secret,” Samira said softly.
Jack closed his eyes, letting the comfort of her familiar voice wash over him.
She looked him over, eyeing the leftover sweat trickling down his neck and over his faded mating scar. She had rubbed her hand over those ridges so many times she could have drawn his late wife’s jawline by memory alone.
They were finally safe from Robby’s invasive eyes. The man had speed walked away after a noticeable pause and a sharp squeak of his sneakers upon seeing the way they’ve set themselves up in room six.
Samira inhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips as her nose picked up on Jack’s faint scent: wet asphalt, crisp linens, black coffee, and the faintest hint of his wife’s leftover mint.
“You might want to reapply your scent-blocking spray,” Samira suggested. Her tone was light, but underlying it was that firmness she used whenever she wanted Jack to actually do something for her. “I can smell you. It’s not much, but the leftover sweat is doing you zero favors.”
His thin lips turned downward, but he remained frozen, his back straightened against the examination table. “I can’t smell you at all.”
“That’s the point of medical grade blockers, Dr. Abbot.” She squinted, focusing on keeping his skin taut beneath her left hand. “If we wanted to mix and mingle scents, we should’ve gone into education.”
He snorted lightly at that. “Such a smart ass you are, Dr. Mohan.”
“Any excuse to call me smart. Tell me, does your jaw ever get exhausted from flirting so much in a single day?”
“My jaw is exhausted, alright,” he dropped his voice to a low gravel, keeping it under the radar of any potential passersby. “From you.”
Samira smirked. “Chosen misery. I told you to go to bed last night.”
“An unfair assessment, given the way you palmed my dick before we even left the shower.”
Samira almost slapped a hand over his mouth, but she was actively finishing the final stitch. “SHH! Shush. Our secret, remember? Not PTMC’s.”
Jack wisely chose to stay silent while she pressed the final bandage firmly over the wound. Between the clean dressing and the few painkillers he’d swiped before she arrived, the throb was finally easing into a dull ache.
Samira walked around the table, eyeing where his black t-shirt lay draped over his lap. “You okay there, cowboy?”
He looked thoroughly bemused by her attitude today. “Relax, darlin’. I just didn’t want the sterile gel on my pants.”
“Oh, so just the blood and soot, then?”
Jack ran a hand down the side of his mouth, watching her tear off her gloves and drop them into the wastebasket. “How long are you going to be pissed at me about the TEMS job?”
She shrugged, pointing a sharp finger at his shirt in a silent demand to, hurry the fuck up.
Other people needed the room, and her actual patients needed her supplies. “Depends on how many Ubers you plan on ordering for my discharge list.”
His sudden, surprise arrival had granted her about five minutes of a calming effect, but now the baseline tension of the day was creeping back into the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders.
Jack wanted nothing more than to throw her into a shower, wash the chemical scent blocker away with his tongue, and fuck her until she cried. Instead, he pulled the black cotton over his head, flashing her a wild, wicked smile the moment his face popped through the collar.
“Oh, I can work with that. Hell, you can even have my amex card number.”
She was pushing through.
Dr. Mohan was almost at the finish line of the day shift. Once it ended, Samira could finally deal with the mounting avalanche of voicemails and text messages from her mother. Right now, she was moments away from killing Oglivie if he questioned her handwriting one more time.
Then, without warning, the heavy, impactful scent of Jack hit her like a runaway train.
Samira froze, the medical chart crinkling aggressively in her tightening grip. Her pupils blew entirely wide, her inner instincts honing in on him like a missile. The scent was sour, something was desperately off. The sudden spike of distress pheromones made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She stood up abruptly, knocking her desk chair back with a sharp clatter before her conscious brain could stop her.
Across the central hub, Jack’s head was bowed as he spoke quietly to Robby. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but the thick, suffocating weight of his distress was unmissable.
An overwhelming, feral wave of mine crashed over her, blinding and fierce. Samira dug her fingernails into her own palms and her toes into the insoles of her shoes to stop herself from vaulting over the central nurses desk, ripping Jack away by his collar, and threatening Robby with a scalpel just for breathing his air.
He forgot to reapply his blocker, she realized, a dangerous, manic spark lighting up her chest.
She wasn't horrified by the uncharacteristically violent turn of her thoughts; she was entirely consumed by them.
Her nose greedily flared and inhaled, drinking in his wafting, upset scent from across the room like she was starving. Her pulse leaped when he suddenly turned his head.
They were separated by a sea of ER chaos and printed documents. Before she could shove her way past the desks to physically tackle him, Jack disappeared through the double doors. A low, frustrated click echoed in the back of her throat, a desperate, animalistic urge to snap at him to get back here.
His scent lingered in the corridor for fifteen agonizing minutes. Samira paced her small station, practically vibrating, each dragging second adding a new layer of feverish sweat to her skin. She let out a tiny, sharp hiss under her breath when it finally faded, replaced by the mundane, offending stenches of random patients.
But the pit didn't allow for distractions. Soon enough, she was pulled into another assessment.
Then her mother called. Again.
The tension in Samira's stomach snapped like an overstretched rubber band.
She turned on Princess, baring her teeth in a way that was entirely unprofessionally sharp.
Realizing she was entirely losing her filter, she swerved away from the bedside, her blood pressure climbing rapidly. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead; her skin felt scalding hot, almost vibrating with heat.
She headed toward the break area, desperate for air, just as a sharp, deep cramp struck her abdomen. Beneath her scrubs, she felt her underwear suddenly dampen with a heavy, sudden flush of slick, a sensation far more intense and sudden than anything she had ever experienced.
With a horrified, greedy sniff, Samira realized she could smell herself.
Her fingers twitched, her nails scratching against the fabric of her scrub pants with a sudden, twitchy ache to tear them off and claw for relief. The standard medical suppressants in her system weren't just failing; they were being systematically demolished by a runaway breakthrough heat.
The moment she paced out into the waiting area, patients eagerly swarmed her.
On a different day, Samira would have had the headspace to answer their questions and soothe their anxieties. At this moment, she could only clench her jaw so hard her teeth clicked, fighting down a growl of pure disgust at the overwhelming stench of broken humanity surrounding her.
They were in her way.
They were touching her.
Call Jack. Call Jack. The mantra rolled through her brain incessantly, but her hands were shaking too hard to type.
“Get in the fucking chair!” Joy’s voice commanded from behind her, muffled and leaving no room argument.
Samira dropped into the wheelchair like a stone, curled inward, her eyes darting around the hallway. Joy pushed her like a bullet through the crowded corridors of the ER.
“No, I have to stay.” Samira gasped out, though she was actively clawing at the armrests as another cramp made her double over.
Joy rolled her eyes, miraculously navigating into an empty exam room without alerting the rest of the cavalry. The moment the privacy curtain clicked shut around them, another heavy wave of slick drenched Samira's underwear.
“Fuck!” she groaned, salivating heavily, her tongue darting out to lick her dry lips as the feverish heat settled deep in her bones. “I need my phone. Give it to me.”
“Shit.” Joy pulled the device from Samira’s pocket, trying to force the Face ID. “It’s failing. You’re too sweaty.”
Samira snatched at the phone, her fingers clumsy and wild. “The code is 1216!”
She typed it in herself, leaving a greasy, sweaty smudge on the glass, and aggressively tapped the most recent contact on her log.
It didn’t even ring a full time before he picked up.
“Hey, you need me to come back in? I just saw the news about the water slide accident,” Jack said roughly. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and Samira could hear the heavy chug of his truck engine in the background.
Not home yet.
Samira swallowed hard, but instead of words, a needy, demanding whine tore from her throat.
Miles away in his truck cab, Jack froze.
He didn't know why, but that specific sound didn't just worry him. It triggered a sudden, blinding spike of adrenaline that made his vision go narrow. A dark, primal fever ignited at the base of his spine.
Jack growled in response, a low and protective sound that cut through the line as the truck's engine revved in sympathy. Another wave of slick left her body, making her squirm ruthlessly in the wheelchair.
“Talk to me. What’s wrong?” Jack demanded.
“I think,” she barked out, her voice dropping into a raspy, unhinged register as she leaned away from Joy’s watchful eyes, “I think it’s a breakthrough heat. Bring me my pills. Now, Jack. Please.”
She didn't care about the way Joy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sheer aggression of the diagnosis; she was entirely focused on the deep, rumbling timbre of his voice.
Her teeth ached with the urge to bite him.
“I’m five minutes away,” Jack said, his tone shifting into alpha territory. He could feel his own skin beginning to burn, his heart hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against his ribs. “Have Jo push you to the lower parking garage right now.”
“But-!” She let out a sharp, frustrated hiss.
She had to finish her shift. She couldn't just abandon her patients. She had to call her mother back. Robby would be absolutely irate if he found out why she walked out.
“Now, Samira,” Jack growled, cutting through the frantic calculations. “You need your suppressants, and they won’t kick in until forty-eight hours after you take them.”
Samira could practically feel herself leaking through her clothes. Hating the vulnerability but consumed by the need to see her alpha, she snapped, “Fine. Hurry up,” and hung up on him with a harsh slap of her finger.
The trip down to the parking garage was a disjointed blur. She faintly remembered glaring at Frank and dumping her remaining charts on his lap, while Jo tracked down Dr. Al-Hashimi to help sell the cover story. By the time Jack’s truck pulled into the quiet, dark corner of the garage, Samira was practically vibrating in the chair, her fingers twitching against her knees.
She wobbled on her feet, and slapped Jo’s hands away. When Jack stepped out of the truck, she glared at him, crossing her arms defensively over her damp scrubs. "I can walk, Jack. I don’t need you to carry me. In fact, change of plans. Give me your keys, I'm driving."
She physically blocked him from opening the passenger door, digging her heels in like a stubborn toddler.
Jack didn’t argue or waste his words.
He stepped right into her space, towering over her, and simply waited three seconds until a sharp, sudden cramp made her wince and lose her posture. He effortlessly scooped her up mid-wince, buckling her into the passenger seat while she hit his chest with her fists and he shut the door.
Samira let out a loud, uninhibited groan, writhing against the leather seat to try and find a cool spot. He had left the A/C blasting, the icy air helped blunt the stinging rush of her rising body temperature, but it wasn't enough.
Through the window, she watched with feral impatience as Jack exchanged a few final, hurried words with Joy.
Hurry up. Leave her. Get back in the truck, her brain screamed.
The moment he climbed into the cab and shut out the rest of the world, Samira’s nostrils flared. She didn't just reach across the console, she lunged, her fingers grabbing his wrist.
He squeezed her fingers back tightly, once, before sliding his grip down to the racing pulse on the inside of her wrist. Jack’s darkened eyes scanned her face, clinically cataloging the visual progression of her developing heat.
Pupils reactive. Tachycardia. Massive slick production.
The effects of a breakthrough heat in the hottest summer on record, he thought with a grimace, entirely missing the fact that his own pupils were dilated to the absolute edge of his irises, his own blood roaring with a phantom, aggressive heat.
Then he caught her unblocked scent: warm cardamom, jasmine, rich sandalwood, and the heavy undertone of fresh fallen rain.
He breathed in deeply, almost tasting the thick, sweet pheromones in the air. The rain note only ever appeared when her defenses were entirely shattered. He had to get her home.
Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed a bundle of clothes and dropped them into her lap; a pair of gray sweatpants, dark boxers she’d left at his place previously, and an old band t-shirt. The clothes were unwashed, heavily saturated with his own scent from a run two mornings ago.
Samira didn't just look at them; she shoved her face entirely into the bundle, groaning loudly as the concentrated alpha scent hit her system. It sent a massive, rolling cramp straight through her lower abdomen, causing her to bark out a sharp, frustrated cry. She squirmed ruthlessly against the leather seat, her fingers clawing at the fabric of his old shirt.
Jack frowned at the tremors wracking her frame, casting a quick look around the empty parking garage to ensure they were completely alone. Before Samira could even blink, his large hands reached across the console, grasping the hem of her scrub top.
“Arms up, Mohan.” His voice was pure gravel. Samira shivered, snapping her arms upward with zero hesitation.
Her stiff scrub top was swiftly stripped off, and she aggressively shoved her own head through his soft, oversized t-shirt. She didn't help him as he worked her out of her scrub bottoms and soaked underwear, she just lifted her hips demandingly, panting as he tossed the ruined garments into the back seat. She could see the tight clench of his jaw and the subtle tremor in his fingers, and it made a smug, possessive thrill shoot through her fogged brain.
Samira let out a long, shuddering sigh, rubbing her bare thighs against the clean cotton of his sweatpants, her fingers still firmly locked into his bicep. She dug her nails in hard, anchoring herself. “Drive,” she commanded, her voice a breathless rasp. “Get us out of here.”
Jack didn’t waste another second. He handed her a cold water bottle, which she practically ripped from his hand and drained in large gulps. He shifted the truck into drive, navigating them away from PTMC and toward the safety of his home.
Samira clenched her teeth, her chest heaving as she tried to focus on the low, chill mix playlist Jack had turned on rather than the powerful alpha pheromones slowly filling the cab of the truck.
It was a losing battle.
She whimpered, her hips shifting restlessly against the seat as another heavy gush of slick wet the inside of his boxers.
Jack glanced at her tightly clenched thighs.
He had to grip the leather of the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white to keep himself from reaching over, guiding her legs apart, and easing her discomfort with his fingers right there on the highway.
His own skin was slick with a sudden, sweat, the territorial urge to twist the truck around and find a hotel to hide her in was battling his typical logic.
Keep her safe. Focus on driving.
He forced his eyes back to the road, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “We’re almost there, Samira.”
“I know!” she snapped out, her filter entirely gone as she turned her face toward the passenger window, looking anywhere but at him in that sweat-soaked shirt.
From across the console, she could smell the faint, metallic scent of lingering blood from his recent wound. A sudden, feral urge hit her: she wanted to lean over, tear his shirt open, and lick the wound clean.
Her back straightened with a sharp jolt at the startling, possessive thought. She realized very quickly exactly where her mind was heading, and the total lack of a filter that came with an authentic, breakthrough heat.
“Jack,” she inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching against her knees. “I’m probably going to violently beg you to put a baby in me once the delirium really hits. Obviously... do not listen to me. Do not put a baby in me.”
He nodded, his eyes sweeping down her body in a long, considering look before returning to the traffic. “When was your last heat?”
She bit her lip, her eyes suddenly tracking the passing trees outside, her foot tapping a restless, frantic rhythm against the floorboard. “Uhh.”
Jack waited. This, whatever this was between them, was still so incredibly new.
He had known her since she was an eager and defensive intern. In the years since, his wife had passed away. Her medical mentor, a man Jack had once called a close friend, had died during the height of Covid. His attraction to her had built slowly over that exact same timeline, but he had rigorously refused to act on it, hyper-aware of the hospital's rigid power dynamics.
The mass casualty incident back in September ended with the two of them exhausted on a hospital bench, Samira looking at him in an entirely new light. She had asked him for a ride home that night, and they simply never stopped. They weren't even sure when the late night chats in his darkened truck had shifted into Jack helping her cook dinner once a week, or when the quiet, whispered confessions had started.
But Samira’s biggest, most fiercely guarded secret had been shared just moments before she leaned across her doorstep to kiss him for the very first time.
She was an omega.
Biological sub-genders weren't typically public knowledge in the hospital hierarchy; only upper management was notified for the administrative scheduling of heat and rut leaves. The medical grade scent suppression sprays and suppressants were usually more than enough to keep the staff functional and prevent breakthrough cases from disrupting care.
But Samira had been on a brutal cocktail of heavy medications ever since her father passed. She had whispered to him, almost shamefully, that she only experienced a handful of true heats in her entire life, all of them medically induced and spent entirely alone in a dark room.
She had never been knotted.
That primal, old-world aspect of biological mating only occurred during a heat or rut cycle. The last time Jack had ever knotted anyone was his late wife’s final joint cycle with him, though neither of them had known it at the time. Jack hadn't experienced a rut since; the biological cycle often went entirely dormant in an alpha if their chosen mate died.
“Last year. March,” she confessed, her voice tight, almost a hiss as she glared out the window, frustrated by her own body.
But Jack felt nothing close to disappointment. He just felt a profound, aching sadness that she was so relentlessly overworked she wouldn't even allow her own body the grace to slow down. He reached across the console, his right hand gently stroked a stray lock of hair behind her burning ear.
“We’ll get you through it,” he said softly. “But we have to take the medical after effects of delaying a heat that long seriously. And I’m not saying that to coddle you, Mohan.”
Jack knew she carried immense baggage regarding her omega status, and he had spent months consciously monitoring his own dominant alpha attributes to ensure he never triggered her deep-seated fear of being forced to submit. But right now, she didn't look afraid to submit, she looked ready to tear him apart if he didn't move faster.
His thumb gently wiped away a stray tear that had gathered on her flushed cheek. “We need you healthy, right? That’s the job.”
Samira nodded aggressively, grabbing his hand and dragging his palm against her cheek, scenting him back with a needy, frantic friction. “When was the last heat with your wife?”
He had told her before, but he knew she wanted the reminder right now, the reassurance that they were starting on the exact same level of nervousness and vulnerability.
“Spring, three years ago now,” he said, pulling his hand back to steady the wheel as he felt her intense, predatory gaze burning into the side of his face. “We’ll go slow and steady, Mohan. Did you take your birth control this morning?”
“Yes. I remembered that much, at least,” she said, her fingers diving into her bag to rip the pack out, visually verifying the dates with an agitated huff.
Jack nodded, satisfied, his voice dropping into a gruff, low register. “Do you want me to knot you?”
Samira let out a sharp, choked gasp at the explicit question. Her slick pooled instantly, her cervix throbbing with a sudden, localized ache of pure want.
“Yes! Damn it, please,” she whined, the sound frantic and demanding, entirely stripped of her usual poise.
His cock strained painfully against his pants at the sound, the sheer thought of locking into someone after three years of dormancy sending a bolt of heat straight to his groin. His nostrils flared as the scent of her slick became richer, sweeter.
“Alright,” he took a deep, steadying breath that did absolutely nothing to help his heart rate. “What about our usual routine? Oral?”
Samira cut him off with a loud, frustrated growl, shoving her hand down into the waistband of his sweatpants to aggressively claw at herself through the boxers. “Everything. Everything! Just don't bite my mating spot yet.”
They definitely weren't at the stage of their relationship where permanent mating marks had been negotiated. Usually, that desire manifested as Jack longingly staring at her bare, unmarked shoulder, picturing the exact alignment of his teeth against the hollow of her neck.
Samira pulled her wet hand out of the boxers, carelessly wiping her slick onto the gray fabric of his sweatpants before grabbing his arm again, her nails digging in. “Are we there yet? Drive faster!”
She practically marched into the house, her gait awkward and twitchy as her thighs locked tightly together, refusing his offer to carry her with a sharp snap of her teeth. Her jaw was clenched so hard it ached, her eyes darting around his quiet kitchen like she was looking for a threat. The dried sweat on her skin had left her sticky and profoundly uncomfortable, a physical distress Jack could sense with every halting step she tried to take.
He walked ahead of her, heading straight into the master bathroom. He turned the shower dial to a cool, steady mist, pulling down fresh towels and the plush, oversized robe she always used whenever she stayed the night.
When he stepped back out, he found Samira hunching over the edge of the kitchen counter, riding out a massive wave of cramps, her small fingers digging into the wood so hard her knuckles were white.
“Come here, Mohan. Let’s get you into the shower. The cool water will help with the fever, and we can get you cleaned up.”
Samira let out a needy, pathetic sound, lunging forward to wrap her arms securely around his broad shoulders, her overstimulated mind entirely fixated on the promise of cold water. Jack took the majority of her weight against his left flank, his right arm locking securely around her hip as they shuffled into the bathroom together.
He settled her onto the closed lid of the toilet seat, but she immediately reached up, grabbing his shirt to pull him down with her. He touched her damp hair away from her face to look directly into her eyes. They were bloodshot and watery, tears spilling over as she panted through the shivering.
“I need a few minutes alone,” she rasped out, though her fingers remained tightly coiled in his clothes, completely contradicting her words.
“Samira,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of her head. “Your body is about to let go of a lot of built-up chemical restraint. Give me your phone.”
She snapped her teeth softly near his chest, the lingering dread of her mother’s missed calls cutting through the rising haze of the heat. “Are you going to talk to her?”
“I can, if you want me to.”
She immediately shook her head no, letting out a sharp hiss.
“We’ll leave it on silent, then. I’ll monitor the screen,” he promised.
Samira yanked the phone from her pocket and shoved it into his chest. Before he could move away, she hooked her hand behind his neck and pulled him down into a harsh, demanding kiss.
She didn't just receive it; she actively took it, her tongue sliding deep to drink in his alpha flavor, whining into his mouth when he tried to pull back. When she finally let him catch his breath, he moved lower, dragging his damp tongue over the pulsing, swollen gland at her throat. He bit down softly, not breaking skin, but hard enough to mix his own alpha scent directly into the leaking pores of her neck.
Her ragged breathing began to even out at the chemical combination of their scents. Her eyes cleared slightly, though the heavy, glassy sheen of the heat remained.
Jack pulled back with a wet pop, holding out a single white tablet in the palm of his hand. He gave her an authoritative nod toward her chin; it was the strongest dose from her emergency stash. “This should stop the cycle within forty-eight hours.”
She snatched it from his palm and swallowed it dry before he could reach for the water cup.
While she was in the bathroom, Jack occupied himself in the kitchen, prepping high-protein snacks and smoothies packed with nutrients to offset the massive caloric burn her body was about to endure.
He listened carefully to the steady hum of the shower piping, his ears twitching the exact moment the water stream clicked off. A second later, her sharp, demanding voice drifted through the hallway.
“Jack! Get in here!”
“Coming!” he called back, shoving the remaining ingredients into the fridge.
When he entered the bathroom, Samira was huddled on the built-in shower bench. Her scent had completely detonated within the small space, an overwhelming, potent fog of jasmine and warm spices wrapped around the room like a thick, suffocating blanket. He looked down at her, her eyes flashing dark in the steam. Her body was still vibrating with faint, rhythmic shivers.
“Can you take me to bed?” she asked, holding her arms out demandingly.
Jack stepped into the stall, bending low to slide his arms securely beneath her back and the crook of her knees. She locked her arms around his neck like a vice. Her skin was scalding hot, the leftover water droplets from the shower evaporating off her skin without the need for a towel.
The brief walk through the hallway made Samira’s vision blur, a sudden wave of motion sickness hitting her throat, causing her to bury her face into his chest. But the nausea vanished the moment he brought her into the master bedroom.
He had already blacked out the room, leaving only the dim, amber glow of the bedside lamp. He had layered dark towels across the mattress, covering them in a thick nest of unwashed laundry from his hamper. A secondary stack of clean towels sat on the dresser alongside a massive jug of ice water and the plate of food.
Drip. Drip.
Samira squirmed in his arms, letting out a frustrated growl as a fresh slick drop hit the hardwood floor. Jack’s arm hair stood entirely on end at the concentrated odor, and he quickly deposited her onto the edge of the mattress.
The moment her back hit the bed, she didn't wait. She scrambled backward into the pile of his dirty laundry, gathering his old t-shirts into a messy pile beneath her, her knees instinctively flaring wide apart.
Jack drank her in greedily. He was shirtless now, his black briefs visibly straining as her sweet pheromones completely saturated the bedroom air. His own blood was boiling over now, a thick, dark haze settling over his brain.
Samira let out a low, desperate growl from the back of her throat, her eyes tracking the heavy, flushed lines of his chest before she reached out and aggressively yanked at the waistband of his briefs. “Touch me. Fuck me. Stop standing there looking at me, Jack, do something!”
“Shhh,” he tried to murmur a soothing alpha rumble, but Samira bared her teeth with pure impatience.
She shoved her hips forward in a blatant invitation, and Jack’s large hands came down, locking onto the outer crests of her hip bones. Before she could snap at him again, he flipped her roughly onto her stomach. His hands guided her knees apart, forcing her ass up against the edge of the bed.
Using his rough, calloused fingers, Jack aggressively stretched her open, immediately coating his hands in the thick, heavy puddle of her slick.
“Samira,” he commanded, his deep voice vibrating.
She threw her head back over her shoulder, her glassy, manic eyes locking onto him as he took his slick-covered hand and wrapped it around his own thick erection. The heavy shaft glistened in the amber light, the broad head dripping with her own fluids.
Samira let out a needy, fractured whine, her fingers clawing at the sheets as she felt his fingers slide back down to spread her open once more. Without her folds in the way, the slick flowed freely, dripping down to form a small, dark puddle on the towel beneath her.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he watched her body shiver in response to his praise.
Her hips swayed backward against his knuckles. Her internal muscles clenched rhythmically. Once, then twice, and Jack watched her entrance flutter, weeping even more fluid over his hands.
He leaned down low to lick her firmly.
His thumb swiped over her swollen clit as he leaned over her shoulder to whisper, “You taste fucking incredible.”
Samira let out a sharp, feral squeak, her orgasm building at the base of her spine as his thumb maintained a relentless, heavy friction. The moment his index finger plunged into her tight heat, her body seized, squirting a light, hot stream over his hand. Jack let out a low grunt of happy surprise. Reaching down without breaking his rhythm, he grabbed a hand towel from the floor, gently wiping down her inner thighs to keep the slick from chafing her skin.
He ducked his head lower, his flat tongue parting her to lap directly at her center, and Samira practically bucked her weight against his face, desperate for more.
“I’m going to cum,” she gasped out, entirely undone by the rhythmic swirl of his tongue and the steady pump of his fingers inside her.
Less than a second later, she was barreling through her first orgasm, her back arching violently as a loud, uninhibited shriek tore from her throat.
Jack didn't stop.
He pumped her relentlessly through the contractions, adding a second finger to ride out the waves until she reached back, blindly grabbing his wrist with a tight, claw-like grip to halt him.
He pulled back with a dark, satisfied smile, holding her gaze as he slowly sucked his soaked index and middle fingers into his mouth, cleaning them off in front of her.
Samira turned her head over her shoulder, her gaze dropping instantly to where he was bursting out of his black briefs.
"Take them off. Now," she ordered, her voice a rough command, her heat immediately cycling back up as her cervix throbbed for his knot.
He obeyed instantly, stripping them off and kicking them across the floor. Samira didn't wait for him to move; she scrambled back toward the center of the mattress, flipping onto her back and pulling her knees all the way to her chest, exposing herself completely.
Jack took a sharp, rattling breath. The sheer volume of her scent was almost suffocating, not that he would ever complain.
"Is this exactly how you want it?" he crooned. The tone was raspy, deeply alpha, but underneath it was that steady, conscious check in he always needed.
"Yes! Hurry up!" she huffed, her fingers clawing at her own thighs to hold them open for him. New sweat was already rolling down her spine, soaking into the dark towels beneath her.
The heavy, metallic clunk of his prosthetic hitting the hardwood floor echoed through the quiet bedroom. The familiar sound jolted something deep within her, briefly clearing the heavy fog of her heat.
"Shit, is your leg hurting?" she asked sharply, shifting upward, her medical brain automatically tracking the reddened skin around his scar tissue.
He braced his right calf forward on the mattress, reaching out a broad hand to gently but firmly press her chest back down into the pillows.
"I love you," Jack told her, the dominant alpha edge completely vanishing from his voice as his left knee joined the bed to mirror his right. "I’m doing fine, sweetheart. I lift double your weight three times a week at the gym. Don't worry about me."
Samira’s thighs shook, but she let her shoulders relax, satisfied that he had at least paused to consider his response before he answered her.
Jack shuffled forward, his hands locking onto her elevated hips to pull her flush against his groin. His right hand slid down the slope of her stomach, tracking the violent way her muscles twitched and burned beneath his palm.
"I’m gonna make you feel better. I promise," he murmured, his hand reaching lower to cup her pubic bone, gathering another thick handful of her slick.
He dragged his wet palm upward, smearing the fluid across both of her breasts, watching with heavy satisfaction as her dark nipples hardened instantly against the wetness. He used the remaining moisture to slick down the length of his shaft, throwing the towel aside. His muscular arms hooked securely beneath the creases of her knees, pinning her legs wide as he anchored his weight through his palms on either side of her head.
Samira burrowed deep into the pillow, her eyes locked onto his, a fierce, demanding light in them. “I know. Just do it faster.”
He buried himself inside her in one powerful, unyielding thrust.
The sheer friction cut off whatever words she had left. Samira could have sworn her vision whited out for a fraction of a second from the absolute magnitude of the sensation. Her mind was wiped entirely clean of the ER; the anxiety over her mother's messages vanished. They both groaned in a loud, ragged unison as he immediately established a brutal, driving pace.
“Oh!” she gasped, her internal walls clamping down like a vice around his immense thickness. “Fuck, Jack.”
He growled, changing his depth to shallow, rapid punctures, deliberately chasing her contractions. It wouldn’t take long. She could already feel the heavy, electric coil of a second orgasm tightening deep in her lower belly.
Her hands came up, framing his heavy jaw, her fingers digging into his cheeks to keep his mouth locked against hers. Their scents were intermixing beautifully now, and a wild, feverish thought crossed her mind, wishing he would accidentally slip, bite her shoulder, and lock this exact smell in her skin forever.
Jack groaned against her lips at the sudden, massive influx of wetness inside her, and Samira moaned directly into his mouth in response.
He pulled his face back, his breath hot as he licked a wet trail down the side of her neck. “Fuck, Samira. Your scent.”
Without warning, he dipped his head lower, burying his face against her chest to take her wet nipple fully into his mouth, sucking obscenely at the slick he had smeared there.
He nipped sharply at the bud, then shifted to her left breast with a low, vibrating growl in his throat. “I’m going to smell like you for a week.”
She was ready for a knot; they could both feel it.
Her mind was slipping into beautiful, chaotic static from his proximity and his words. His base began to swell, and Samira felt the thick, blunt ring of his knot beginning to widen with every successive thrust, stretching her demandingly.
Neither of them recognized the unique, structural change of the knot. It was expanding far larger and deeper than a standard cycle.
“Come on, Samira,” he praised her, his voice rough and commanding. “Such a good omega. Cum for me, and I’ll fill you completely.”
“Alpha,” she gasped out. The instinctual title slipped past her lips, carrying the last traces of her tight medical control along with it.
She let go of his jaw, her nails clawing deep into the dense muscles of his back, leaving red marks.
Jack thrust even harder at the title, his massive hands locking onto her hips with a bruising grip. It was the only thing keeping her grounded as her body began to fall apart. Her soft, rhythmic groans fragmented into a loud, broken wail as she felt his expanding knot begin to wedge itself firmly behind her folds.
“Oh! Oh god!” she cried out, tears leaking down her cheeks from the sheer, agonizing overstimulation of her nerve endings.
Jack leaned forward, tenderly licking the salt from her skin before catching her lips in one final, searing kiss.
Samira came with a choked, breathless cry, her hips hitching upward to lock him in place just as Jack’s knot swelled fully into place with a tight, visceral click.
He moaned deep into her mouth, his entire frame locking up as his cock pulsed rhythmically, pouring layer after layer of warm fluid deep into her womb.
Her eyelashes fluttered, her arms wrapping weakly but securely around his broad shoulders, her fingers still lightly twitching against his skin. “I love you too, by the way. Thank you for picking me up.”
Jack kissed her damp cheek, leaning his forehead against her temple as he let out a long, ragged exhale, his tongue tracing the soft line of her jaw. “Always. I’m here to take care of you for as long as you’ll have me.”
Samira hummed from the back of her throat as exhaustion won the battle against her heat. Wrapped securely in his arms, she finally allowed herself to close her eyes and rest.