Alpha Song

by Nika Lucas

  I no one will ever love me again.

  I can still feel his lips like I’ve captured a piece of him in my memory.

  And of course, it's my fault. I'm the one who is afraid. Because I know what he'll see when he gets close. He'll see the scars, both emotional and physical. I will repulse him.

  The kiss was wonderful, and combined with his scent, I was nearly helpless. That means I have to be all the more careful. If he'd been attracted to Ben, everything would be so much simpler. I could be jealous and heartbroken in secret. Instead, he acts genuinely interested in me, and I seriously don’t know what to do.

  I'm scared to death.

  A little while later we arrive back at my apartment. He pulls over and does a smooth parallel park in the only available spot. He kills the engine and turns to me.

  "I had a great time with you," he says, "It was nice just to hang out and talk. Maybe in the future we could do something else."

  "Sure," I say, lying, "I'd like that." It's not really a lie, I'd love to spend more time with him. I have no intention of ever seeing him again. I will lock this date away as a taste of what I've lost, what I once could have had.

  I don't want to get out of the car. Something tugs at me, at my core. It's not just my attraction to him, it's something else, like I'm making a terrible mistake, like Trey has something I need, though I can't imagine what. I think if I'd never met Andrew, this could be so much more.

  When I stare at the apartment complex, I just can't make myself get out.

  Go Caleb, I tell myself, don't make yourself look like an idiot.

  But I'll have to walk through those dark hallways, where he would sometimes wait for me. Where he’d stand there angrily and ask where I’d been.

  I'll have to go back to my bedroom that we shared.

  I wish I could just move. but I can't. I'm not in a position to.

  "Hey," Trey says, "Are you alright?"

  I realize I’m hugging myself so tightly. I’m shivering.

  I force a laugh. This fear isn't very manly. I must be lowering what he thinks of me by the second.

  "Is there someone up there?" he asks.

  "No," I say. I shake my head to reemphasize that. "You just ever not want to go home? Do you ever just want to avoid the past, and everything that reminds you of it? Sorry, I can't believe I'm saying this. I sound so fucking stupid."

  "No, you don’t." He places a hand over mine and gives it a squeeze.

  This time I don't jerk away. I'm happy for his touch. He's an anchor.

  He stares at me, so intently, and I realize he is trying to see me, who I really am.

  Good luck, buddy, I'm never going to show you that. You'll run away as fast as you can.

  He starts the engine and drives away.

  "Wait, where are we going?"

  He glances at me and says, "How about you crash at my place? Just for tonight?"

  My heart leaps into my throat. I stare at him simultaneously fearing him and shockingly relieved. "It doesn't look like you're giving me a choice."

  "I’m not."

  We drive across Portland and into the suburbs. He pulls up in front of a modest house. There's no white picket fence, but there's a flower garden in the front, beneath the windows, along with a large shady oak tree.

  "Home sweet home," he says, pulling into the driveway.

  I exit and walk with him to the front door. He unlocks it and steps out of the way, inviting me in first, like that will keep me from running.

  With a deep breath, I steel myself and step over the entry.

  The place is typical of a single man, much like my apartment, really. His clothes are picked up at least, and there's no empty pizza boxes lying around, but there are a few empty beers cans placed decoratively around in a form of modern hipster chic.

  The main focus of the room though, are his guitars.

  One corner of the room is set up with four guitar stands, holding acoustics and electric acoustics, and four more electrics hang on the wall. Continuing with the music theme is a keyboard next to a small desk and plugged into a computer. A stack of amplifiers rises halfway up the wall, next to a mic stand, as though he holds private performances right here, in this room. The floor is a jumble of pedals and wires.

  "Sorry about the mess," he says, "But living alone, I do most of my songwriting right here."

  I walk over to an acoustic and brush my fingers along the strings.

  "You play at all?" he asks.

  "No, I can't even sing."

  "Nonsense. Everyone can sing. There's just different levels of ability."

  I chuckle. "I could prove you wrong."

  He sits down on a chair and grabs one of the acoustics. He strums it a few times, adjusts the tuning. I sit across from him.

  Despite my own lack of musical ability, I love watching. There's something sexy about a man who knows how to play a guitar. The greater the skill, the more amazing those hands are. The familiarity of his fingers moving along the neck are the kind of hands I would dream of in a lover.

  I can't begin to think about how jealous Ben would be if he knew I was here, with Trey. He's never going to forgive me. This makes me smile, because I'm going to rub it in to no end.

  Trey starts strumming, launching into a song, his thumb beating out a percussive rhythm on the soundboard every couple of notes.

  And then he starts to sing.

  I've seen him perform live, witnessed his addictive energy that mesmerizes the crowd, keeping them dancing and singing along. I'd enjoyed being a part of that mix, feeling a part of something larger than myself, that you can only get from a live show. I had felt as though I was part of a larger pack. In some ways, when I had gone to the sold-out Urban Howl show, it had been the same feeling as though my own identity had been absorbed into a giant living organism, my own identity no longer mattered, and neither did my past.

  As I sit here in this private show for one, the feeling is different. There is only me, vulnerable and in the spotlight. I do not have other faces to hide behind. His singing is a soft caress, and it is a direct assault. I am singled out because I cannot blend in. The wolf in me wants to slip away into the shadows.

  But I cannot.

  There's something to the lyrics that strikes a chord within me, a complimentary feeling that merges with his song. His velvet voice sings words about meeting someone new, wanting to know them, wanting to know the pain behind his eyes. The song feels so personal, and each time he sings the chorus, Pain Behind His Eyes, he looks directly at me.

  Almost as if this song is about me.

  As if it were directly to me, for me.

  But that's silly. he has no reason to write me a song. We just met. I'm nobody special, and I'm incapable of being loved anyway. It's coincidence, is all. The subject of his song is just really similar.

  Just the same, I have to bite my lower lip to hide the quiver of my lips.

  As he sings, he looks up at through half-lidded eyes, and his smooth words are a blatant seduction. His voice makes my body respond, and I see him as what he truly is – a music god.

  When he strikes the last chord, and lowers the guitar, I feel as though I've melted, and there is a strange feeling in my chest that I’ve never felt before. It is a culmination of all my sadness and longing and loneliness all squeezed together.

  "What do you think?" he asks.

  I have to swallow before I can answer him. I stare at his fingers where he gently clutches the guitar in fear that if I look him in the eyes I might fall too hard. I fear I will cry. "I loved it. It's great. You must have really liked the person you wrote that for. There's such a raw honesty."

  He smiles, ever so slightly. "I just finished it this morning," he says, "Though I need to polish it some. You did like it?"

  I nod.

  "Well, I wrote it for you."

  My face burns. I am thankful that I cannot tell how bad I'm blushing, it is bad enough that he sees it.

  He sets the guitar down and
leans forward, placing his hands on mine where I've tucked them away between my knees. That touch makes me warm inside. His musky scent is so overwhelming, I would cover myself in him. I hope he cannot see how attracted to him I suddenly am. I hope my desire is not obvious.

  I look up and meet his eyes. And then I know I am lost.

  Because his deep brown eyes are drawing me in, pulling me forward.

  There is no way that I want to kiss him, no way I am going to encourage him.

  And that is why I can hardly believe in my body's betrayal as I lean forward, bringing my lips toward his.

  His mouth is waiting for mine.

  The touch is soft, at first, and then I turn hungry, our mouths wet and exploring, tongues tangling. That moment of instant heat kindles a fire in my core. My cock is hard for him, desiring his attention. My slick – my omega juice – suddenly gushes, eager to take his cock. I want him inside me, suddenly, more than I've ever wanted anyone. But I don't want to be hurt again. I don't want that pain that comes with the sex, no matter the pleasure.

  I put my hands on his shoulders, and ever so gently, end the kiss.

  And he begrudgingly falls back.

  Trey stands, abruptly, and I can see the enormous bulge of his cock in his tight jeans.

  "I'll get you some blankets," he says.

  He goes to a closet at the end of the hall, grabbing spare blankets and pillows.

  I do not move. I dare not. I fear my body will betray me. I fear I will whimper my need for him, and then my resistance will be undone.

  So I settle for watching him, observing what a perfect specimen of alpha he is.

  I can't hardly believe that he hasn't kicked me out, as though I'm playing with his heart.

  He returns to the couch and lays everything out perfect.

  "Would you like me to tuck you in?" he asks, and he grins, almost a little suggestively. I can still see his desire for me through his pants. It hasn't relaxed. I want to take him, but I'm afraid. That fear overwhelms me.

  My last boyfriend, my only boyfriend, Andrew, never really gave me that option.

  "No thank you," I say, and my voice is barely audible. It comes out timid and weak, and I have to swallow after I've spoken. My throat is suddenly dry.

  Trey stands there as though unsure, as though he's going to press the issue. I'm an omega, and it's not uncommon for an alpha to take advantage of my position, especially now that he's got me alone. I know he can smell me, and how my slick must be driving his libido wild.

  Yet he is strangely a gentleman. "Good night," he says.

  "Good night."

  He walks out of the room, and before I can tell him not to, he hits the light switch plunging my unfamiliar surroundings into darkness.

  CHAPTER 10 - CALEB

  I try to sleep. I try to ignore the imagery that plays out in my mind when I close my eyes. I try to ignore the shadows of monsters that my imagination creates when I look around the dark room. I fear hiding under the sheets.

  This is a mistake. At least my own room is familiar. At least I know the shadows there, and I'm used to my fears. I try not to whimper.

  Worse, I think Trey triggered my heat. My underwear is so wet with need, I long to feel his cock inside of me, stretching me out. But I've sworn off ever being touched again, ever being loved. It's just not possible. I've been through too much.

  Even though all of my friends assure me a real lover doesn't bring pain, a real lover isn't cruel.

  I don't believe them. Sex has always been painful and cruel.

  Love hurts even worse.

  Because that's what Andrew called it - love.

  Sometimes, I hear Andrew’s voice, his cruel laughter, and can almost feel his cruel hands upon me as though he's right here with me.

  I can hear him whisper, “I’m sorry, Caleb. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you. I think if you ever left me, my lover, I… I don’t know what I’d do, honestly. I want you to have our baby.”

  He never learned I was on birth control, I somehow managed to hide it from a man who could smell every lie. The last thing I wanted was to bring a baby into this world of painful love.

  I cannot take it anymore. I throw off the sheets and spring from the couch. My eyesight is that of a predator, and I can see well in the dark, and combined with my sense of smell, I can navigate my way out of here.

  It's a long walk home, shorter if I shift. I reach the front door, my hand hesitating on the handle. I want to slip away, to run out of here, head back to home. As a wolf, nobody will mess with me. Maybe.

  If I'm in heat, then it might cause all sorts of problems with the nightlife.

  But I cannot sleep alone on this couch. I will never be able to sleep.

  So I do something completely foolish. I turn and walk back through his house following his scent. I walk past the dark shadows of guitars, down the hallway and past the bathroom, making my way to where he sleeps. The house is still, and I have to hug myself to keep from running.

  I come to his room, and I can see his form lying in bed. I can smell him, smell his delicious musky scent. I stand there, just staring, afraid to move.

  He stirs and sits up. "Can't sleep?" He asks.

  "No."

  "Neither can I. The bed's big enough for the both of us."

  I hesitate. I am not sure of his intentions. I am not sure of mine. If I go to his bed, where will it lead?

  I could still run. I want to feel his touch, to feel loved, so intently, that I cannot leave.

  Even though he will loath me in the morning.

  Tonight, I want to pretend otherwise.

  I walk through the room as he pulls down the covers. I slip in, still wearing all of my clothes. I am thankful that he cannot see me blush when I see that he has dressed down to just his boxers. Here, in his private lair, his den, his scent is so strong he makes my head swim. I want to drown in it. I can see his firm, developed chest quite clearly in the light of the large waning moon throwing it's light through the curtains.

  My god, he is so sexy.

  I should not crawl into bed with him, but I am.

  I should not turn my back to him so that he can hold me, but I do.

  "Sorry," I say, "I just don't think I can sleep alone tonight."

  His arm wraps about me, hand resting on my belly. His fingers are a few inches from my cock, lightly moving against my belly, though on top of my shirt. I almost want him to let those fingers move downward, to move down to find my cock, but I don't encourage him.

  Even innocent play will lead to more.

  I resist grinding my ass against him, and he is keeping his dick just far enough away from me that I cannot feel it. Is he still hard for me?

  Why do I do this to myself?

  I tell myself just being held is enough.

  It is enough.

  "It's okay," he says, and his breath is hot on the back of my neck.

  I am such a fool. I cannot resist him. I want him, even if there's pain, if only for tonight.

  I turn my head as far back as I can. It's not far enough. I would have to turn my body even further to face him, but I want to keep my ass near his cock.

  Just.

  In.

  Case.

  He rises on his elbow. When he leans in, he finds my mouth waiting.

  I cannot hide the moan. I whimper into his mouth. I grab the back of his head and pull his face tight against mine, kissing him with all the need, all of the pent-up loneliness that I've suffered with over the last couple of years. His hand on my belly pulls backward, and I feel his cock press against me, through our clothing. His hand slides to my dick, griping it, giving it a tight squeeze.

  I moan encouragement. I won't tell him no, even if there's a price to pay.

  We rise out of the bed and he opens my pants while I lift off my shirt. I almost tell him to leave it on, but the dark room will hide my scars. His attention is on my dick, anyway. I lift my ass as he slides me out of my pants, and he lowers his face bet
ween my legs, and I gasp as he takes my entire length into his wet and eager mouth.

  I fall back on the bed as he sucks me, strokes me, and it has been so long since I've felt the touch of another man. He strokes me eagerly, while one hand slides under my ass. I am so wet, I'm soaking his sheets. He slides a finger into me, banging my omega ass as he sucks my cock.

  It is too much. I grab his head, though I want to push him away. I find myself moving toward release, something I haven't experienced with another for a very long time.

  "Trey," I whisper, though it is hard to speak. "Careful, I'm going to cum."

  He's not listening. If anything, it only encourages him. The finger in my ass drives me crazy, he pushes me over the edge.

  All I can do is cry out, "Fuck, Trey, oh fuuuck..."

  My balls tighten, and then fireworks go off inside my head. I shoot my cum into his mouth, and he strokes every drop out, swallowing me.

  When he slides his finger from my ass, when he lifts his mouth from me, I can smell my cum on his breath, and my heart swells for him. That an alpha would do this for me defies my expectations. What kind of wonderful man have I found?

  He rises over me and presses his hot alpha body on top of mine. He lowers his face and I kiss him, I kiss him with a desperation, hoping that he understands me, hoping he sees just how much that little bit of attention means to me. The sweet taste of my cum makes me hungry for his.

  When he rises from me, I can see his mighty alpha cock jutting upward between his legs, precum running from the tip. I want to taste his cum.

  I ask, "Can I do the same for you?"

  He strokes my sweaty hair away from my face. His smile is gentle. "No," he says, "I want to make love to you."

  I wince, afraid that I'm going to ruin the moment. I don't want to tell him no, but I'm not ready for the pain. What if he's like Andrew? Will he be just as violent? I'm afraid to ask.

  So I don't say anything. I cannot deny him, yet neither can I offer encouragement.

  Trey grabs my ankles, spreading me wide. He's not rolling me over, he's going to take me like this, facing upward, looking me in the eyes.