Chapter 4
Knox
The crazy fucking part, was the joke wasn’t even that bad. I’d heard worst shit when I’d done pee wee hockey as a kid. But the second that motherfucker Peterson’s mouth, had carved itself into that stupid ass smirk, talking about everything he wanted to do with the uptight doctor’s ass and mouth….
My Omega, the thought had rode itself down my spine like lightening.
Well that shit had sent me into a primal frenzy and red had taken over my vision. Even my skin seemed to be on fire and the Alpha instincts inside of me had hummed to life.
My gloves hit the ice first, then my stick. Peterson had about two seconds to realize his mistake before my fist connected with his stupid fucking jaw jaw.
"Knox, what the fuck man!" His eyes had gone wide when he realized what was going on.
I hit him again.
And again.
Then Chen tried to pull me off, so I dropped his ass too. Mitchell came at me from the left, and I welcomed it, welcomed the excuse to let the rage out that had been building since I'd driven Harper home three days ago.
Since I'd sat in my car outside her apartment for two hours to make sure she was okay.
Since I'd jerked off three times that night to the memory of her true scent. Since I squeezed my dick in my hand till I ached, before spill tight ropes of cum all over my steering wheel then driving home to do it all over again in the shower.
The bench cleared. Bodies crashed into me from all sides, but I kept swinging, kept fighting, the ice turning red under us. Someone's elbow caught my eye, splitting the skin.
Good.
Maybe the pain would drown out the need clawing at my insides.
"MADDOX!"
Sullivan's voice cut through the chaos. It took four players to hold me down, my chest heaving, knuckles split and bleeding. Peterson was curled on the ice, spitting blood. Chen was holding his ribs. Half the team looked ready to murder me.
"My office! Fucking now!"
Getting to my feet, I shrugged off the hands holding me and skated off, leaving bloody prints on the boards. The walk to Sullivan's office was a blur of adrenaline and barely controlled violence.
He didn't even wait for me to sit.
"You're suspended."
"Coach, what the fuck!"
"Two weeks. No pay. And you're not coming back until you complete mandatory therapy sessions."
"I don't need fucking therapy."
I need to fuck the Omega doctor down the hall, the intrusive thought
Sullivan slammed his hands on his desk. "You just injured two of your own teammates! You need something, and therapy's better than prison."
"Who's the therapist?" I snapped, already knowing I'd terrify them into signing whatever papers Sullivan wanted within one session.
"Dr. Graves."
My head snapped up. "What?"
"She's got a psychology degree along with her medical training. She's agreed to take you on as an emergency case." Sullivan's smile was sharp. "Three sessions with her and once you complete them, you can come back. You miss one, you're done for the season."
My brow raised of its own accord. "You can't be serious, Coach."
"Dead serious. First session's tomorrow, nine AM. Her office."
"This is bullshit."
"This is your last chance," Sullivan corrected. "Show up, shut up, and let her fix whatever's broken in that thick skull of yours. Or clean out your locker."
Twenty-four hours passed in the blink of an eye and I found myself outside of my little Omega’s office.
My Heart was drumming up a solo inside of my chest threatening to punch its way out.
Before knocking I studied the nameplate on her door.
Slowly I lifted my fingers to dance over it: Dr. H. Graves.
Finally I knocked only once, hard.
Harper’s voice sounded calm and controlled from the other side. "Come in."
She was sitting behind her desk, professional as always in a black blazer that did nothing to hide her curves. Her scent hit me immediately, suppressants back in full force, but I could still detect traces of what lay underneath. What I'd tasted three days ago.
"Knox, good morning. Have a seat."
Her actual office was small, intimate. A couch against one wall, two chairs facing her desk. I took the chair furthest from her, sprawling in it like I owned the place. On the wall behind her were all her degrees and I realized she’d graduated from somewhere out east, far away from Seattle.
"This is ridiculous," I said.
"Is it?" She rummaged around in her desk and before I knew it, a yellow notepad had appeared. "You attacked your teammates. That seems like something worth discussing."
"I don't need to be handled, Doc."
"I'm not handling you. I'm trying to help you keep your job." She clicked her pen. "Why did you attack Peterson?"
My jaw clenched. "Doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
"Why?" I leaned forward. "Why do you care if I hit him?"
"Because you've been in dozens of fights this season, but this is the first time you've gone after your own team." Her eyes met mine. "What changed?"
You, I thought. You changed every fucking thing.
I knew nothing good would come of admitting all that out loud, so I kept it to myself.
"Nothing has changed," I offered her those words with a quick shrug of my shoulders.
"Knox." The way she said my name made my chest tight and my dick twitched in the blue jeans I was wearing. "We can sit here for three sessions in silence, or you can talk to me. Your choice. But you're not getting reinstated without my signature."
"You'd bench me out of spite?"
She paused in making another note on her notepad. "I'd bench you out of concern for everyone's safety, including yours."
The worst part was, I believed her. Harper didn't do spite. She did logic, professionalism, everything I couldn't seem to manage around her.
"He said something," I admitted through gritted teeth.
"About?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It mattered enough to try and break his jaw."
I stood abruptly, unable to sit still, feeling caged. The office suddenly seemed entirely to small and it felt as if the walls were closing in. It also didn’t help that her scent too present despite the suppressants. "This was a mistake."
"Sit down."
"No."
"Knox, sit down."
There was something in her voice, an Omega command that shouldn't work on an Alpha but did anyway. I found myself sitting before I realized what I was doing.
"What did Peterson say?" she asked again, softer this time.
"He said some shit about you." The words ripped from my throat. "He said... things. About what he wanted to do to you. It was some shit I didn’t like."
The room went quiet except for the scratch of her pen on paper.
"And that made you angry enough to attack him?"
"It made me want to kill him." I met her eyes. "Still might."
She made another note on the yellow notepad and part of me wondered what it said. "Why?"
"You know why."
"I need you to say it."
I was on my feet again, but this time moving toward her desk. She should have backed up, should have called security. She didn't move.
"Because the thought of anyone else touching you makes me insane," I said, hands braced on her desk. "Because I can't sleep, can't think, can't fucking breathe without wondering if you're okay. Because you're under my skin in a way that should be impossible."
"Knox…"
"I know it's wrong. I know you don't want this, don't want me. But I can't turn it off." I leaned closer, close enough to see her pulse jumping in her throat. "Every instinct I have says you're mine to protect."
"I'm not yours," she said, but her voice shook.
"No? Then why did you smell like me? Like you were made for me?"
"That's just biology."
"Fuck biology." I rounded the desk, and she stood, backing against the wall. "This is more than that and you know it."
"Knox, you need to stop."
But I couldn't. Being this close to her, even with the suppressants, was like a drug. I caged her against the wall, hands on either side of her head, not touching but close enough to feel her warmth.
"Make me," I challenged. "Make me stop wanting you."
Her breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly. The professional mask was cracking, and underneath I could see heat, want, the same need that was eating me alive.
"I can't," she whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because I.." She cut herself off, jaw clenching with steel resolve. "This is inappropriate. I'm your doctor."
"You could be more than that." The words fell out before I could stop them. Raw. Honest. Pathetic. “You could be my everything…”
She made a sound, maybe a gasp, maybe a whimper. Her hand came up to my chest, and I thought she'd push me away. Instead, her fingers curled into my shirt.
"This can't happen," she said, but she was pulling me closer.
"Tell me to leave," I said against her ear. "Tell me to go and I will."
She shivered, and I felt it through my whole body. "Knox..."
"Tell me, Harper. Because I'm one wrong breath away from claiming you right here in this office."
Her other hand came up, fingers threading into my hair. The touch was electric, sending heat straight to my dick.
"Don't," she breathed, but her body was saying something else entirely. Her hips tilted toward mine, seeking friction. "We can't.”
"We can." I dropped my head to her neck, not touching, just breathing her in. "Let me take care of you. Let me inside of you."
The door opened.
We jumped apart like we'd been electrocuted. Morrison stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
"Dr. Graves, I’m sorry, I didn't realize…" He looked between us as the words died on his lips.
"It's fine," Harper said, voice impressively steady for someone who'd been seconds from letting me mark her. "Mr. Maddox was just leaving."
I looked at her, at the flush on her cheeks and the way her hands shook slightly as she smoothed her blazer.
"Tomorrow," I said. "Same time?"
She nodded, not meeting my eyes. "Don't be late."
I pushed past Morrison, who pressed himself against the door frame to avoid touching me.
Smart bastard.
But as I walked away, I could still feel Harper's fingers in my hair, could still smell the moment her suppressants had started to fail again.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
And I had a feeling it was going to be even harder to keep my hands to myself.