Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

"Frankincense Burning"

CHAPTER 2

Fever

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Gojo wanted more. He always wanted more. And right now, he wanted more than ever to taste the slick of this Omega before his eyes. Gojo could ask his hungry alpha to cut the crap and not pounce at his prey like a maniac rather than holding this woman—his woman—up against the wall and kissing her mouth like he's doing right now. It's been two days since Gojo commanded her to bring her stuff and her stupid ass to his house, where she had left him empty the last time. And she had taken too much time to return that he had to chase her slippery scent to find her again. Here, in the bathroom of her so-called friend's house.

Kasumi squeaked into his mouth at the atrocity of a situation she had found herself in. "Careful. If you moan any louder, your friend Kamo will know I'm here, in his bathroom, about to rip your tiny skirt into smithereens." Gojo leans into her, too close for comfort. "Then you might slick even more, and I'll have to give you my knot." Slurring, his hands hiked up her skirt as they wrapped over her upper thighs.

"Why are you here?" Miwa's eyes were blown. Her breathing faltered into pants. Gojo was not wearing his scent blockers, and the potent alpha pheromones leaking out of him were not doing her any good. If she could drink the air, his pheromones were like an ecstatic party drug spiking it. But can you blame him? Can you blame him for not wearing any when he finds her in another man's—an alpha's—that asswipe called Kamo's house—getting too chummy with the asshole while she should be with him instead. By now, she is supposed to be in his house like they had agreed. She was late. Precisely two days and 7 and a half hours late. Would he let it slip that easily without getting back at her?

No. Seriously, when will this girl learn? "Why am I here? Didn't think I would find you here?" Gojo's hands grabbed hard, palms in her inner things, parting them forcefully and hungrily. "Don't you know what you are?" His knees lodged betwixt the parted space before his hands went to her face, one hand intently gripping her hair and bringing her face towards his. In the heat of the moment, he glances at her lips. Then madly, he directs his gaze to her eyes. "My Omega. That's what you are. Don't forget it. You may not like it when I remind you."

The chords on her neck were visible now, but Kasumi couldn't feel her knees. They were far too weak for him, aching to please. She abruptly turns her face away, resisting the urge to spit at him and, on the flip side, go down on him to lap at the thick precum dripping from his cock, submit to him in every way. No. No. No. Kasumi panics as she feels her coherence slipping out of her grasp. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Claiming what is mine." It was a simple statement, but the absurdity of it never failed to push the limit for her. Their lips are set on fire when Gojo slams his mouth into her. Kasumi stumbles, her head knocking against the bathroom door. Her hands clenched, crumbling the cotton dress shirt he had on as she uselessly tried to get his heavy frame off her. His tongue dances about her eager mouth, and only when she gets the bitter taste on him does she realise what is wrong.

Gojo Satoru was drunk—no, not the tipsy one. Wasted. Drunk as a skunk. His wobbly weight hefted onto her petite frame. A little more, and she may not be able to bear it. Why? He had once admitted that he hated alcohol. When did he start drinking? How in the hell is she supposed to deal with this—this man and the package of troubles he drags with him? Kasumi stifles a gasp, staggered when her ears register the first bang on the door from outside.

Oh, right. Miwa's been in the bathroom for much longer than she intended. She doesn't know—don't ask her—how this huge drunk ass man got inside the house, that too, inside Kamo's bathroom. Could you imagine the plain shock on her face when she finds this oncoming peril behind her, about to grab her from behind? Her limbs had scrabbled about for her imaginary katana—because, as of now, it is not the norm to bring a sword for a casual meetup with a friend. Eventually, they struck a wet, shiny soap that sent them both pitching to the ground. Thankfully, Gojo's body under hers saved her from a potential crack in the skull. However, she is clueless regarding how he managed to stay conscious after all this.

Outside the door, on the slim wood behind her head that separated Kamo and them, banging continued aggressively. "Miwa? Are you okay in there?"

"Y-Yes." She couldn't be sure if her high-pitched stutter convinced him. Sooner than later, she gets the answer to that question.

"Did you slip and fall?" Short rasps. "Did you hurt somewhere?" Maybe, it's the uncomfortable fact that Kamo is an Alpha, or it's just pure concern that one person has for another human being, but the tone of Kamo's voice was far too concerned to be "just affected."

It sounded hurt—like an alpha bothered about his Omega's well-being—like the guilt birthed from not protecting what one ought to. Bullshit. She doesn't need to be cared for that way. Miwa curses twice. Why did she even entertain the idea of coming to an alpha's—any alpha's—den to take down the notes she missed due to her fever? It was the rain. She had decided not to walk right out into a storm without an umbrella, never again. Being an Omega is unacceptable by itself—talk about being a sick, feverish Omega. Friend or not, she should've been mindful of what he was under all the layers of clothing—a volatile, warm-blooded Alpha. And alphas were dangerous and overpowering. How stupid was she to do this? Look at what she has gotten herself into!

Pretty sure Kamo was ready to knock the door down by now. If he is an alpha, then he'll feel the vehement presence of another this near without even blockers. He had been playing dumb for the time being. But she did not expect his patience to last long, judging by how he kept ramming his fists against the door until it rattled. Of course, she calls that patience. If that's the best he could do, then so be it.

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