Visiting Hours (18+)

A follow request. Carrie just received a follow request on social media. And not just a normal follow request, one from the young technician she just took under her wing. 

Carrie tapped on the notification that had appeared on top of her mobile phone which led her to the person’s profile. 

Greg Noir stared at her from the screen, showcasing his white set of teeth, dimpled face, and sun-kissed skin. He was a good-looking young man, that, Carrie wouldn’t deny. 

She scrolled through his page. There wasn’t much to see. The few photos he had were taken at work, in a garage, or somewhere else with engines. Overalls and plain fitted tees seemed to be the only items in his wardrobe.

In a couple of photos, he was with a boy, maybe seven or eight. Carrie zoomed in on a photo with the boy. The two of them were on a swing, the child on Greg’s lap. Both were grinning from ear to ear.

Who was that child? His son? Was Greg mated after all? 

Carrie quickly turned off her phone. She didn’t care if he was mated or had a pup. 

Placing her phone on her bedside table, Carrie went on with her nighttime routine. By the time she was done, it was already 10:30 PM—her bedtime.

She removed her robe and slipped in between the sheets. 

Carrie slept naked sometimes. The feel of the satin sheets was soft on her skin. The warmth and heaviness of it was satisfying. Like a hug. Like she wasn’t alone. 

She fetched her phone from the nightstand to check her alarm. She had to visit her father tomorrow, and then help her brother-in-law with event preparations. 

When she opened her phone, a photo of Greg flashed on her screen. She must have forgotten to exit his social media page. She did now, tapping the small ‘X’ symbol on the right corner of her screen. Scrolling back to the top, she caught sight of the photo Winona had sent her. The one with a rusted car in the background.

For some reason, Carrie was compelled to tap on it to enlarge the image. She zoomed in to clearly see the face of the young man. 

A chiseled jawline framed his face, accentuated by the shadow of light stubble, giving him a rugged, effortless appeal. His eyes were piercing. They held a quiet intensity, the kind that lingered even after you looked away. 

He was an Alpha, all right. Carrie had no business with Alphas.

She turned her phone off and went to bed.

-----

Carrie couldn’t sleep. The clock at her bedside taunted her. It had been more than an hour since she decided to lie down. Her eyes grew heavy but never seemed to close. 

She was uneasy. Carrie had twisted and turned but she couldn’t seem to find the right position to get her mind to shut down. There was an inch somewhere in her body that she couldn’t pinpoint. 

Carrie rubbed random spots in her body, hoping to scratch the itch. In the process, she hit her nipple and a tingle ran down her body. Carrie paused in horror. What was that feeling? 

She did it again—ran her fingers over her breast. The touch was soft, but Gods, she was electrified. Carrie wasn’t a prude. She had touched herself before. She had someone else touched her before. None of that felt like this.

Was that what was happening? She was about to go in heat? Yes, she was infertile, but she still experienced heats, though rare and irregular. And painful. Not like this.

She had to talk to her doctor. Carrie reached out for her phone to set an appointment. Halfway through the process, she caught something in the corner of her eyes. She paused.

Greg was standing by her open door.

Carrie sat up. Clumsily, she held her bedsheet up to her chest. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Greg brushed his hair with his fingers. The raven strands looked darker in the dim light. Carrie’s fingers tingled at the sight. “Isn’t that what you want? I’m only doing what you want me to,” he drawled, a sly smirk painting his lips.

He walked inside her room until was on a chair in the corner. His safety shoes were loud on the hardwood floor. They tapped and thumped, the sound unsurprisingly aggressive, just like the Alpha that he was.

“You were on my social media. What were you doing? Did you enjoy looking at my pictures? Which one is your favorite?” He grinned. His new position was brighter, Carrie now clearly saw the sharpness of his jaw, the roughness of his gaze. “Never mind, I know which one.”

“You can’t be in here,” Carrie’s voice quivered, her heart racing. She could hear it in her ears. So loud. Louder than her voice. “It’s trespassing.”

“Is it when you want me to be here? Do you want to call the cops? Go on, your phone’s on the nightstand.” Greg offered. 

His gaze glazed over Carrie deliberately. So slow it felt like a touch—a caress.

His smell took over the space. It permeated the walls, the furniture, the sheets, and he hadn’t even been here long. Carrie smelt danger and desire.

“You could hurt me,” Carrie said, jutting her chin out. An intimidation tactic even when she was shaking under the sheets.

“Me? Hurt you?” Greg sat down comfortably on the chair. He leaned back and placed both his arms on the armrests like an eagle with its wings spread out. Big and dangerous. “Isn’t this a nice place for a chair? A good view of the bedroom, the bed. Has anyone sat here and watched, Carisa? Have you? Do you like to watch? Or do you like being watched?”