Chapter 11 Wes #2
The crowd erupts, but I only care about one voice in that crowd. There he is—on his feet, screaming my name like a lunatic. His face lit up with pride. That's the real win right there.
After the game—another victory—I find him waiting outside the locker room, his nose buried in a biochemistry textbook.
His planner sticks out of his bag, still meticulously organized, but now the rigid time-blocking has changed.
Tucked between 'Organic Chem Study Session' and 'Thesis Outline,' a new entry is scrawled in red ink, circled with a heart: '8 PM - Kiss my mate. '
"Hey, brainiac," I call. His head snaps up, a smile breaking across his face that still slams into me, a full-body impact.
"Hey, superstar." He tucks the book away and steps into my open arms, fitting against me where he was always meant to be. "Great game."
"Better now," I murmur against his hair, breathing him in. His scent is so familiar now—books and sweetness and home—but my heart still hammers against my ribs every time I breathe him in.
We walk back to our apartment hand in hand, talking about everything and nothing. His latest lab results. My upcoming final. The ongoing friendly war between our mothers over our summer wedding plans.
Braiden rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Your mom called mine again today. Apparently, blue hydrangeas are 'non-negotiable' for a summer wedding."
I laugh, swinging our joined hands between us. "Let them fight it out. As long as you show up, I don't care if the whole place is covered in weeds."
"Romantic," he teases.
"Practical," I correct, pulling him closer. "The only thing that matters is that you're mine. Forever."
His smile softens. "Forever," he breathes, the word both breathless and certain.
Back at our apartment, I close the door and immediately reach for him. Three months, and I still can't get enough. I don't think I ever will.
He laughs, pushing against my chest. "Shower first. You smell like the locker room."
"You love it," I tease, letting him go.
When I come out of the bathroom, skin still damp and hot from the shower, a towel hanging low on my hips, Braiden is waiting on the bed.
He's sitting up against the headboard, a textbook open in his lap, but he's not reading.
His dark eyes are tracking me, and there's an intensity in them that's entirely new. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
I move toward him, my own hunger coiling low in my gut, intent on showing him exactly how much I want him. But he holds up a hand, stopping me a few feet from the bed.
"Wait," he says, and there's something in his voice—a quiet authority—that makes me freeze.
He closes his book, setting it aside with a deliberate slowness. He stands, closing the distance between us. His hands come up to rest on my bare chest, small and warm against my damp skin. There's a look in his eyes I haven't seen before—determined, almost predatory.
"My turn," he says simply.
Before I can process the words, he places his hands flat on my chest and shoves.
I'm so surprised by the move, by the sheer audacity of it, that I go backward without resistance, landing on the mattress with a soft "oof.
" Braiden follows in a single, fluid motion, straddling my hips and pinning me beneath him.
His knees are on either side of my legs, his weight settling over me, and my world narrows to the sight of him above me, his face set with a purpose that sends a jolt of heat straight to my cock.
"My turn to claim you," he announces, his voice a husky promise.
Holy shit.
This is new. This is… fuck, this is hot. My hands instinctively move to grab his waist, to flip him, to take back control, but he catches my wrists.
His voice is soft but firm as he laces his fingers through mine. "No. Don't move. Just let me."
My hands fist in the sheets, every alpha instinct I have screaming to take over. But watching him above me, so focused and powerful, is a thousand times hotter than any dominance I could claim. I let the urge burn out, surrendering to something better.
"Anything," I breathe, my voice a raw whisper. "Everything. Whatever you want."
His lips curve into a small, wicked smile. He releases my hands, trusting me to obey. The towel falls away, and I'm naked beneath him, my dick already hard and aching. He's still fully clothed, and the contrast—me exposed, him covered—is a power trip I didn't know I needed.
He takes his time undressing, his eyes never leaving mine. He peels off his t-shirt with agonizing slowness, revealing inch by inch of smooth, pale skin. His sweatpants follow, then his boxers, until he's as naked as I am, his slim body gleaming in the soft light of our bedroom.
"Fucking look at you," I tell him, my voice thick.
A flush spreads across his cheeks, but he doesn't look away.
Instead, he leans down and kisses me, a slow, deep kiss that is a brand.
His hands are in my hair, on my chest, everywhere at once, touching me with a sureness that wasn't there before.
When he finally reaches down to wrap his hand around my cock, a groan rips from my chest. His touch is confident, knowing just how to stroke me, how to thumb over the sensitive head in a way that makes my hips buck.
"Easy," he murmurs, his free hand pressing down on my hip, holding me in place. "We're doing this my way."
Fuck. Who is this person, and what has he done with my shy, bookish omega? And why is it turning me on so goddamn much?
He shifts, rising up on his knees to hover over me.
I can see the slick already gathering between his legs, his body ready for mine.
He reaches back, his fingers wrapping around my thick shaft to guide me to his entrance.
When he finally, finally sinks down onto me, it's with a slow, deliberate control that has me seeing stars.
"Oh god," he gasps, his head falling back as he takes me fully inside. "You feel so good."
"Braiden," I groan, my knuckles white where I'm gripping the sheets. "Please, baby, I need—"
His voice is steady despite the way his body is trembling around mine. "I know what you need. And I'm going to give it to you. But slowly."
True to his word, he moves, setting a pace that's torturous in its restraint.
Each rise and fall of his hips is slow and deliberate, designed to drive me out of my mind.
He's not just riding me—he's using me, taking his pleasure.
And fuck, I feel both powerful and completely at his mercy.
He leans forward, bracing his hands on my chest, his eyes locking with mine.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice tight with pleasure. "Look at me while I ride you."
"Fuck, yes, omega," I groan, my head pressing back into the pillows as a particularly deep roll of his hips sends a bolt of pleasure up my spine.
A devastating smile touches his lips. "Yours. But you're just as much mine. Now say it."
The words are a blindside tackle, knocking the air from my lungs. "What?"
"Say it," he repeats, his hips stilling, holding us both on the brink. "Tell me you're mine."
He's flipping the script, taking my words, my claim, and making them his. And it feels fucking perfect.
"Yours," I groan, finally releasing the sheets to grab his hips, not to control but to support. "All yours. Take what's yours, Braiden."
Something in him breaks free at my words. His pace quickens, his movements becoming urgent, more demanding. He's chasing his pleasure now, using my body to get there, and it's a surrender more powerful than any conquest. My strong, brilliant omega, taking what he wants, what he needs.
"Wes," he gasps, his voice breaking on my name, his ass clenching around my dick. "I'm close. So close."
"Me too, baby," I groan, my hips thrust up to meet his downward motions. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
His release hits him hard, his body clenching around mine as his climax comes on a broken cry of my name.
The sight of him—head thrown back, body arched, utterly lost in pleasure—pushes me over the edge.
I follow him into oblivion, my own release tearing through me with a force that leaves me gasping his name like a prayer.
He collapses onto my chest, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat and release. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against mine.
"That was..." I start, but words fail me.
"Yeah," he agrees, a small, satisfied laugh escaping him. "It was."
We lie there in comfortable silence, tangled together in the aftermath of something that feels significant. A shifting of the balance. A new equilibrium.
"I love you," I tell him, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead. "All of you. The planner, the warrior, the boss in bed. Every version of you."
He laughs again, the sound muffled against my chest. "I love you too. Even when you're being an overprotective caveman."
"Especially when I'm being an overprotective caveman," I correct, and he pinches my side in retaliation.
We're still laughing when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans sleepily and rolls over to check it. I watch a look of pure, exasperated amusement cross his beautiful face.
"What is it?" I murmur, pulling him closer.
He sighs, a small laugh escaping him. "It's my old RA, Toby. A frantic text about 'flagrant housing violations,' 'unauthorized noise levels,' and a 'general state of chaos' from the room of that guitarist I told you about."
I smirk, nuzzling the still-sensitive mark on his neck. "Looks like your RA found his mate."
Braiden groans dramatically and flops back against the pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Poor Toby has no idea what he's in for."