I lose track of time after that.
The knot, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being taken over and over by someone whose face I still haven't seen. My borrowed body knows what to do even if my mind is screaming, arching and accepting and 'begging' in ways that make me want to die all over again.
At some point he flips me onto my back, finally pulls out when the knot deflates enough, and I get a glimpse of his cock.. thick and flushed, still hard, glistening with slick and come, before he's spreading my legs wider and sliding back inside with one brutal thrust.
"Look at you," he says, voice ragged. "Taking me so well, like you were made for this."
I can't respond, I can barely think, all I can do is grip his shoulders and hold on as he fucks into me with deep, measured strokes that hit something inside me that makes my vision white out.
There might be a round three. Or four.
Everything blurs together into sensation.. his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips, my thighs, my cock. The filthy wet sounds of him fucking into my slick-soaked body, his voice in my ear, sometimes praising, sometimes commanding, sometimes just groaning my name like a curse.
At some point I'm sobbing from overstimulation, from pleasure so intense it borders on pain, from the sheer overwhelming 'wrongness' of being in a body that wants this so desperately when my mind is still reeling.
"Shh," he murmurs, surprisingly gentle, his thumb wipes at my tears. "One more, give me one more and then you can rest."
I shake my head frantically. I can't. I'll die.
"You can." His hand wraps around my cock again.. I'm hard 'again', how is that possible.. and strokes in time with his thrusts. "Cum for me, omega, cum on my cock."
The command in his voice does something to me, something primal and inescapable.
I come with a broken cry, back arching off the bed, clenching so tight around him that he curses and follows me over the edge, his knot swells one final time, locking us together as he fills me again.
I collapse face-first into the sheets when he finally releases me and pulls out.
I can't move, can't think, my body is trembling, oversensitive, thoroughly 'used'. There's come leaking out of me, trailing down my thighs, and I should be horrified but I'm too exhausted to care.
Footsteps. The sound of water running in what must be a bathroom, then nothing.
I should run, get up and get out of here before this gets any worse.
But I can't make my limbs cooperate, my legs feel like jelly, my entire body feels like it's been taken apart and put back together wrong.
The bed dips behind me.
A warm, wet cloth touches my thigh and I flinch.
"Easy," the alpha says, voice softer than before. "Just cleaning you up."
He's gentle, surprisingly so, the cloth moves carefully over my thighs, between my legs, wiping away the evidence of what we just did. When he's finished, the cloth disappears and I hear him moving around the room.
Then the bed dips again.
"Turn over."
The voice is closer now, clearer. That same deep, commanding tone that made my body want to obey without question.
I don't move, I can't.
"I said turn over, omega."
Something in the command goes straight through me, some omega instinct I don't understand but can't resist. My body rolls onto my back before my brain catches up.
And I finally see him.
Oh.
Oh 'fuck'.
He's devastatingly handsome in a way that feels dangerous. Sharp features that look carved from marble, black hair falling across his forehead, mussed from fucking me senseless. High cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass, the kind of face that belongs on magazine covers, not buried between some random omega's thighs in a hotel room.
There's a bite mark on his collarbone. Did I do that?
But it's his eyes that stop my heart.
Gray. Cold gray, like a winter storm, like polished steel, they look down at me with an intensity that makes something in my chest clench tight. Not warm, not kind, 'assessing', like I'm a business acquisition he's deciding whether to liquidate or keep.
His gaze drags down my body, wrecked, covered in marks, thighs still trembling, and his lips curve into something too sharp to be a smile.
"You're even prettier when you're not crying."
I was crying?
He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's solving.
"Round three?" he asks, and there's dark amusement in his voice now, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
I stare at him.
At this stranger.
This impossibly handsome stranger who just spent the last however-long knotting me into oblivion and apparently isn't done.
My brain finally catches up to my situation.
I'm naked in a stranger's bed, in a body that isn't mine, in a world that runs on ABO dynamics where I'm an omega and he's an alpha and we just…
And he's asking if I want to go again like we're discussing another round of drinks.
"I..." My voice is still hoarse and wrecked. "I need to go."
He raises an eyebrow.
That's it. No question, no protest, just that single raised eyebrow like my answer is mildly interesting but ultimately irrelevant.
Then he leans back, giving me space.
"Go ahead."
I scramble off the bed.
Bad idea. 'Terrible' idea. My legs are jelly, and I stumble immediately, barely catching myself on the nightstand, pain lances through my thighs, my hips, my ass.. the sweet ache of being thoroughly fucked.. and I bite down on a whimper.
He doesn't help.
He just watches with those cold gray eyes, head tilted, like he's cataloging exactly how broken I am.
I spot my clothes scattered across the floor and lunge for them, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely pull my pants on, the fabric hurts against my oversensitized skin, my shirt is wrinkled and smells like sex. I don't care.
The whole time, he watches.
Assessing.
When I'm finally dressed, barely, my shirt is buttoned wrong but I can't make my hands work properly… I risk one more glance at him.
He's still naked, lounging against the headboard like some kind of pornographic sculpture, completely comfortable in his skin. His cock is softening against his thigh, still impressive even at rest, and I can see the shine of slick on it.
My face burns.
I grab my shoes and run.
Out of the room, through what looks like an expensive hotel corridor, past the elevator, down the stairs because I can't wait, through the lobby where a few people turn to stare.
I must look insane, wrecked..and freshly fucked.
I don't stop running until I'm outside in the cool morning air.
Only then do I stop, bracing against a wall, trying to remember how to breathe.
What the hell just happened?
What the hell did Original Runze get me into?
And why does my body already miss the feeling of being full?