Oxford Heat: A soft and steamy non-shifter omegaverse romance

by Hannah Haze

"Thank you," Noah mumbles.

  "You are very fortunate indeed, young man. Accident or not, you seem to find a way of attracting trouble. I strongly advise you to keep your head down and focused on your studies. Get through your finals without any more such trouble. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He doesn't check his phone as he leaves the university building, but slides his coat over his suit jacket, pulling up the hood and plugging in his earphones. Shoving his hands in his pocket, he keeps his eyes fixed on the pavement and heads in the direction of home, hoping he won't get accosted by anyone on campus. He doesn't know if anyone would start on him, but he's been keeping a low profile anyway, sticking to the house and to Rugby practice.

  The path around the back of the science labs is always quieter, just a few labs rats smoking hurried cigarettes in their five minute breaks. He hugs the building, tuning into the thud of his music and blocking out the world around him. Half way along the building's length, he turns the sharp corner of the path and walks straight into Cora.

  "Oh hi," she says, her face squirming with a mix of emotions. Shock, horror, shame? Her scent spirals in an equally confused concoction, and he swallows.

  "Hey." He scuffs at the ground with his shoe and peers over her shoulder, as if he's impatient to leave, like he doesn't want to stop and talk to her, when really there is nothing he'd rather do.

  "I'm sorry I didn't see you there."

  "No, no. Me neither."

  A tight crease forms between her eyebrows, and he recognises it means she's thinking hard. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, you're pretty small. No damage done."

  A hint of a sad smile passes over her face before she frowns again. "Well, good, but I didn't mean that. I meant about, you know." She shrugs and shoves her own hands deep inside her jacket.

  "It's…" He struggles to know what to say. "They're not kicking me out, so that's one thing."

  "Kick you out?" The colour drains from her face.

  "Yeah — I've just been to see the Dean."

  "Shit." Her hands twist in her pockets.

  "Your friend and her little gang of activists won't be very happy about it."

  "My friend? Rose? She's got nothing to do with this."

  His anger flashes. "Yes she has. She's been stirring that group up, the one who's always had a problem with us Alphas." He takes a deep inhale, twisting his head away from her. Then he stills, rubbing his temple. "You're going into heat."

  "Yes, next week." A door on the science building opens and a skinny man in a dirty lab coat steps out, already cupping a lighter to his lips. They wait for him to spot them and slink further down the building.

  An acidic sickly smell wafts towards them from the closing door, and the burnt singe of tobacco.

  They both wait for the other to speak. The weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier until he expects his knees to buckle under him. He wants to look at her and show her how much he's hurting, how much it's killed him not to have her to talk to while the world around him has been falling apart. But why would she care?

  "Will you come?" she says, her voice catching in her throat.

  He screws up his eyes, the pressure in his skull painful. "You want me to?"

  "Only if you want to, I mean, you don't have to."

  "I'll come." In the distance the smoker kicks at the scrub growing close up against the wall, and there are faint footsteps crunching on the path behind them.

  Her scent, so taut and on edge, relaxes, and his shoulders do the same. He peers at her. She's chewing her bottom lip.

  How did it get like this? His own stupidity, that's how. Is she giving him a second chance or is this just sex? An Omega in need of an Alpha. This hurt, already so unbearable, will only worsen if he does this, if he sleeps with her again, but when has he ever been able to say no to her.

  "I'll see you then," he says, "I've got to go."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rose hangs about the flat, seeming to take an age to pack her bag. She's spending the Easter break with her mum, who's over from the states visiting the sites around Britain. She was meant to leave this morning, but she's still here at lunchtime.

  Cora does her usual pre-heat prep. Waxing, shaving, washing the sheets and pulling out the extra comforter and pillows from the cupboard. Faffing about her room, rearranging stuff. Already she’s hot and irritable, wishing Rose would leave and Noah arrive, forcing herself not to glance at her watch every few minutes.

  At one o’clock, Rose knocks on her door. "I'm cooking pasta before I leave. You want some?"

  "No," Cora snaps, then pulls an apologetic smile. "I'm fine."

  "What are you doing in here?" Rose asks, surveying the strange array of pillows on the bed and Cora's neatly arranged belongings.

  "A bit of spring cleaning."

  "Right — well, maybe you'd like to do the kitchen. When was the last time you cleaned it? I always end up doing it — and the bathroom too."

  "Sure," Cora says, wanting her friend to leave.

  Noah is due to arrive at one thirty. He'd texted her the night before to confirm the arrangement; short, business-like messages that made her shiver. She picks nervously at the skin around her thumb, dithering about whether to try to sneak him into her room or whether to tell him to come later. She's not sure she can wait though; the pain in her abdomen has her wincing and hunching over. She rubs her nose, a sniffle building in her throat.

  She wants him. To hold her. To tell her everything will be alright. For things to be right between them.

  It's such a mess. In her head, and in her heart. And the sentimental and fragile Omega inside her is taking over.

  The sound of pots banging in the kitchen makes her want to scream. Get out, Rose! Just get out!

  How could she think like that about her best friend? She curls up on the bed, dragging the cover over her and tucking it under her arms, shivering despite the burning of her skin.

  She closes her eyes, moaning as a violent spasm pulsates in her stomach. She glances at her watch, five minutes. Wrapping the blanket around her, she decides to go wait on the doorstep where she can intercept him before he knocks on the door. On shaking legs she stumbles down the hallway and out of the door, climbing to sit on the low brick wall between their front garden and the neighbour's.

  After a few minutes she spots him at the end of the road, dressed in a dark t-shirt and jeans with his usual duffel bag. Her stomach does a little growl as if it's hungry and has sensed food. He's scrolling through his phone as he walks so he doesn't see her until he stops at the pavement outside her house and looks up.

  "Hey. You alright?" he says.

  She shakes her head, trembling. "Rose is still here."

  His shoulders tighten. "Right. What do you want to do?"

  "I... I don't know," she mumbles, wanting to breathe in his scent, knowing it will calm her aching body but unsure it's wise.

  "I assume she doesn’t know I'm coming then."

  "No, of course not."

  He huffs, his eyebrows twitching. "Wouldn’t want her to know you're fucking a violent thug."

  "Noah, you know it's not like that."

  "I do," he takes a step forward and stares down at her with cold, angry eyes. "I know it's exactly like that." He snorts out through his nose, the whole of his body as taut as his shoulders. "Go distract her, Omega, and I'll come inside."

  She nods and shuffles off the wall. Everything hurts, and her movements are laboured. Noah takes her elbow and guides her down. His touch is electric on her skin, and his grip tightens, his fingers sinking into her flesh.

  "Fuck, you smell good," he mutters and follows her cautiously into the hallway, hanging back to ensure the coast is clear.

  Motioning for him to wait, she shuffles along the hall and into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Rose sits at the table eating pasta, listening to the politics show on the radio.

  "Are you okay, Cora?" She says looking up. "You don't look so well
."

  "I'm fine. My heat's coming on."

  Rose screws up her nose. "Oh sorry, Cora. Can I get you anything?"

  "No, I'm sorted, but thanks." She goes to the kettle and flicks it on with her forefinger. "When you off?"

  "Hmmmm. Mom's plane got delayed a couple of hours. I pushed back my taxi but it should be here in 30." She twists some tagliatelle around her fork. "Will you be okay? You didn't say you were expecting your heat."

  Cora shrugs as the kettle bubbles noisily behind her and steam rises from the spout.

  "I'm going to make some tea and hopefully get some sleep. I hope you have a great trip Rose. Don't forget to send me photos, okay?"

  Rose smiles. "Sure. Message me if you need to, right?"

  "Yep." A loud click sounds and Cora pours the boiling water onto a waiting tea bag with a hiss. She mashes the bag against the bottom of the China mug until the water stains brown, then scoops it out and tops it up with a dash of cold milk.

  Clutching her tea, she hobbles out of the kitchen, stopping to give Rose a little hug.

  "Gosh, you're hot."

  "Yep."

  "Feel better!"

  She closes the door behind her again and hurries down the hallway to her room. He's waiting for her on her bed, sitting with his arms stretched out behind him, leaning back, his long legs dangling off the bed and towards the floor. He's in his socks, his trainers positioned in a corner of the room.

  Closing her eyes, she swallows up his scent, allowing it to sink into her like sun on skin, the warming effect the same. She takes a sip of the tea. Then offers it to him.

  "Want some?" she whispers.

  "What is it?" he whispers back, watching her.

  "Tea."

  He shakes his head. "Is she gone yet?"

  "In the next 30 minutes."

  "Come here," he says.

  "She's only down the hall."

  "Come here, Omega."

  The name tugs at her centre and her feet carry her towards him without thinking.

  "We can be quiet," he growls into her neck as his hands rest on her arse.

  "I don't think I can," she sighs as he tugs her onto his lap, sucking hard at her throat.

  He covers her mouth with his hand. "You'll be quiet for me, Omega."

  She can tell he's in rut. His tone is authoritative, overwhelming. She's his in this moment, to do with as he wants. Gone is his usual caution and concern. He's usually so careful with her, clearly considering every step and each word. But now it's like he can't hold back. He is going to take what he wants.

  The thought has slick dampening her underwear and his nostrils flare in response.

  "There it is," he smirks, unbuttoning her fly. "Already so wet for me, little Omega?"

  "Shhhh," she pleads, helping him to pull off her jeans. He doesn't bother removing her knickers, flipping her onto her back and tugging himself free, plunging into her in the next moment.

  "Alpha," she whimpers and he places his hand over her mouth.

  "Quiet little one," he hisses, his thrusts rough, showing her no mercy, taking her quickly to the brink until she's wriggling beneath him, biting his hand to stop herself from screaming.

  How does he do it? He always feels so perfect, his body knowing exactly what hers needs.

  He follows her soon after, pumping her full, clasping her tightly to him.

  "Fuck," he grunts, collapsing onto her as more hot spunk shoots from him. "I'm going to fill your belly with pups, little one. My pups."

  She looks at him, twisting her head to get a better view. His face is buried in the pillow, and he pants, his hair wet around his ears. "What?"

  He thrusts again with a fresh pulse of spunk. "Doesn't matter."

  "But?"

  "Alpha crap."

  "But do you...do you want to do that?" Ever since she came through puberty, her body has been longing for pups, babies she means. She's not a dog. The idea of being nestled in her strong Alpha’s arms with a growing stomach creeps up on her sometimes. And in heat, all she wants is to be fucked full of babies.

  It’s her dirty secret. To have these fantasies. And to learn he has them too. Unless he's serious that is?

  "Fuck, Cora! It's just the inner Alpha talking, you know. Of course, that's all I want to do right now, to you! Fuck, I probably want to do it to you every time I get a whiff of your scent. Do I want a bunch of screaming brats right now? I nearly got kicked out of university. No."

  There's a noise in the hallway, the grind of tiny wheels on the floorboards.

  "Is she going to stick her head around the door?" he whispers, lifting up onto his forearms.

  "No, I told her I was going to take a nap."

  The wheels continue to the end of the hallway, the door opens and the suitcase bumps down the steps and along the path. They hear a car door open and close and the engine starts up before the car pulls away.

  Cora lets out a long sigh and he shifts them onto their sides so that he's no longer squashing her.

  "Would it be so bad if she knew?" he asks earnestly.

  "Because the last time you spoke with Rose ended so well!"

  "She was being an aggressive bitch — and you know it. Why does she hate me so much, anyway? The club was the first time I ever spoke to her."

  "Do we have to spoil this by talking about that now?"

  He stares straight at her. "No."

  He snuggles in closer to her, burying his face into her neck until he finds her gland. He can never leave it alone during heat sex. She wishes she had the strength to tell him to stop, but she’s too weak for it. He nibbles at her and everything in her brain becomes a blur. Everything is just the scrape of his teeth over her tissue-thin gland, hot and throbbing. Spindles of electricity shoot from the base of her neck down her spine, smouldering out across her body, and she shudders with the glorious sensation. Her body responds to it, and she grinds into him, words flittering from her lips in a muddle of crazed thoughts.

  "Bite me, Alpha," she pleads as he kneads her breast with his palm and his fingers.

  "Omega!" The word vibrates on her gland and she comes so hard she sees stars.

  There's no rest to it. They can't get enough of each other's bodies and they only pause briefly to sleep and eat, Noah ensuring she eats the supplies he's brought and making her drink large glasses of water every hour.

  Soon the neatly arranged sheets are a mess of slick and come, sweat and spit, crumbs and stains; all twisted and pulled from the mattress. Their clothes are scattered across the floor, and there's the slightly sweet stink of their souring fluids penetrating the room.

  It goes on for three days. His hunger for her never seeming to lessen and his stamina never wavering. It's the same for her, her body exhausted and sore, her hips covered in tiny bruises and her chest scattered with the marks from his mouth, but the deep Omega longing is relentless.

  "I want a photo of you like this," he says on the fourth day, the final day of her heat when the fever has begun to wither away, his head between her thighs, lapping lazily at her. She's already peaked and he's teasing her, creeping the tip of his tongue around and around her clit, until she tips over, her cunt spasming with each shock wave. Then he starts all over, keeping her at this dizzying height.

  "Photo?" She tenses, pushing away his head with her hands, trying to hook her leg over his shoulder.

  He peers up at her, swiping his arm over his wet chin.

  "Yeah. You look amazing when you come."

  She scrambles up, tugging the dirty cover with her. "You're not taking my photo."

  "Why?" He bounds up the bed, coming to sit next to her. He's still hard, and he palms at himself as his gaze roams over her body.

  The way that makes her feel is perplexing. Desired and demeaned both at once.

  "You know why."

  "I really don’t."

  "There's no way I'd let you have a photo of me like that! I'm not that dumb."

  He frowns. "You think I'd do something bad wi
th it?"

  "You haven't exactly got a great track record." She takes a gulp of water from the glass by the bed.

  "Actually, I think I've got a pretty good track record. How long have we been doing this exactly? And how many people have I told about it? Zero!"

  "There's a reason you haven't told anyone else."

  "Yes," he says, "you asked me not to."

  "You don't want anyone else knowing too."

  "No, Cora. You are the one who doesn't want people to know. I couldn't give a shit."

  "You said you didn't want people to know you were sleeping with, I quote, a frigid Omega."

  "Fuck, Cora! I don't even remember saying that. Like I said, I don't have a problem with other people knowing. Why would I? And actually I don't understand why you do." He looks down at the space between them, his hands now limp by his sides, then his eyes travel to meet hers. "Scrap that. I do know why."

  "What do you want me to say, Noah? Half my friends would disown me if they knew I was... whatever this is…" she waves her hand through the air between them, "with you, and the other half would think I'd lost my mind."

  He twists his head away, one hand fisting the sheet. "Do you actually give a flying toss about me? About my feelings at all?"

  His voice is gruff, almost hurt.

  Noah hurt? Bullshit! Like he said, he doesn't give a shit about anything. Surely he has no feelings to hurt.

  She says that in her mind and instantly knows that it isn't true. There's another side she's seen to him; a more sensitive, kinder one.

  But she's also seen his anger. His big Alpha bravado.

  Who is the real Noah?

  "I don't … I don't know what I feel." She slumps against the headboard. "Except confused."

  The hormones from her heat are fading fast, but she remains fragile, on the edge of tears. The Omega in her would like him to gather her up in his arms and comfort her.

  "I thought you liked me," he says it to the carpet with its worn patches and frayed edges.

  She doesn't answer. What can she say? She does like him. And it’s a betrayal of everything she stands for, of everything she believes in, and ultimately of herself. Is liking him enough when you stack up everything else that matters too?