I swore I wouldn’t come back. My body had other plans.
Five months ago, an alpha I didn’t know made me beg for things I couldn’t look at in daylight. Breeding. Humiliation. A version of myself I didn’t recognize and couldn’t stop wanting.
I walked out of Knot Club and promised myself that was the last time. Solo heats used to be survivable. Now they’re not. My hand isn’t his hand.
My voice in an empty apartment isn’t his voice telling me what I am. So tonight I walked back through the door, mask up, shame tucked somewhere deep — and he’s here. He’s not hiding what he is.
He wants me to know. The worst part isn’t what he does to me. The worst part is who I become when he does.
