Out Alpha’d

Chapter Thirteen #3

He looks up at me then, and for the first time since I met him, the boredom is gone. The arrogance is dialed down to a simmer. In its place is something that looks uncomfortably like an apology.

"I didn't mean to bond you, Hyung," he says, his voice steady but quiet. "I lost control. That wasn't the plan."

My lip curls back instinctively. It’s a reflex, a defense mechanism against the sudden sincerity that feels heavier than his insults ever did.

"Oh, you didn't mean to?" I snarl, leaning over the table. "Well, that makes me feel so much better. I guess I'll just tell my biology to chill out because Kang Donghwa didn't mean it."

He doesn't flinch at my tone. He just holds my gaze, dark eyes serious. "I can't undo it. What’s past is past." He takes a sip of his coffee, setting the cup down with a soft click. "But I intend to take full responsibility."

I blink. My brain stalls. "Responsibility?"

"Yes."

"And how the fuck do you plan to do that?" I ask, my voice rising an octave. "Are you going to pay for my laser removal surgery? Are you going to transfer schools? Better yet, are you going to move to Iceland and become a sheep farmer so I never have to see your stupid face again?"

Donghwa rolls his eyes, the moment of sincerity shattering instantly. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can drop the act already, Sihwan."

"It's not an act!" I slam my hand on the table, making the soup bowl jump. "I hate you. I genuinely, biologically hate you."

"If you really want me to leave you alone like you claim," he says, ignoring my outburst completely, "then who exactly is going to help you through your ruts?"

The question hangs in the air.

My face heats up. "I can handle it myself," I snap, looking away. "I don't need you. I have hands."

"It didn't look like you were handling it," he points out, his tone dry. "When I walked in here, you were a mess. You were clawing at the furniture."

"I was fine!" I lie through my teeth. "I was managing."

"You were crying."

"I was sweating!" I roar. "There's a difference!"

"And next time?" he challenges, tilting his head. "When the fever hits and your hands aren't enough? What then?"

"I'll take suppressants," I declare, lifting my chin. "Like a civilized human being. I'll double the dose. Triple it. I don't care."

Donghwa gives me a look that is equal parts pity and annoyance. "Didn't you already try that?"

I freeze. My mouth opens, then closes. I narrow my eyes at him, suspicion creeping up my spine. "How do you know that?"

I didn't tell him. I didn't tell anyone. I popped those pills in secret, praying they would work.

Donghwa shrugs, looking bored again. He picks at a piece of lint on his black sleeve. "I could smell it on you. When I walked in."

My stomach drops.

"Suppressants have a specific scent," he explains matter-of-factly.

"Chemical. Bitter. Like burning plastic.

It was all over you, mixed in with the rut sweat.

" He looks up, meeting my eyes with devastating clarity.

"You were practically radiating it. And clearly, it didn't do a damn thing to stop you from jumping me the second you opened the door. "

"I'll get stronger ones," I snap, slamming my hand onto the table again. The spoon jumps. "I'll get the black market shit. The stuff they give to elephants in musth. I don't care if it puts me in a coma for a week, I am not doing this again."

Donghwa sighs, peeling the lid off a side dish of kimchi with maddening slowness.

"You can take enough tranquilizers to kill a horse, Hyung.

It won't matter." He looks up, his expression bordering on pity.

"Everyone knows suppressants don't work on bonded pairs.

Your biology overrides the chemistry. The only thing that settles a bonded alpha in rut is their mate. Period."

"Don't call yourself that," I hiss, the word mate making my skin crawl like I’m covered in spiders. "And if biology is the problem, then I’ll fix the biology."

I glare at his crotch, then back up to his face, my eyes narrowing into slits.

"I’ll just cut it off," I say, my voice dropping to a low, deadly register. "I’ll chop your dick off. It’s the only part of you that’s actually useful to me right now anyway.

I can keep it in a jar of formaldehyde and use it when necessary, and I can dump the rest of your useless, annoying body in the Han River. "

Donghwa pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He looks at me, unimpressed.

"There's no need to be offensive," he says calmly, popping a piece of radish into his mouth.

He chews, swallows, and points his chopsticks at me.

"Look. We’re already in this predicament.

We might as well be realistic about dealing with it instead of plotting homicides you don't have the follow-through to commit. "

"I have plenty of follow-through," I mutter, though the heat in my voice is losing steam against his wall of logic.

"We’re bonded," he states, like he’s reading the weather report.

"It doesn't matter how we got here. It’s done. So here is the proposal: I spend your ruts with you. You spend my ruts with me. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. It’s a medical necessity.

It doesn't need to be any deeper than that. "

I gape at him. "A medical necessity? You're talking about us screwing like rabbits until we pass out!"

"Efficient screwing," he corrects. "To stabilize our pheromones."

"You are insane," I snarl, leaning back and gripping my hair.

"This isn't a business transaction! This is my life! You’re skipping over the part where I went from being a Top—the only Dominant Alpha in this department—to a bottom!

A bottom bonded to the most infuriating, arrogant, pretentious freshman in the entire class! "

I gesture wildly between us. "Do you have any idea what this does to my reputation? To my psyche? I’m supposed to be the one doing the knotting, not taking it!"

Donghwa shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. "You didn't seem to have a problem with the logistics last night."

I freeze. "Excuse me?"

He leans forward, a wicked glint entering his dark eyes. "I seem to recall you waking me up. What was it? Nine? Ten times?"

"I did not," I lie instantly, my face flaming.

"You did," he counters smoothly. "You were pawing at my lap like a starving animal. I was half-asleep, my dick was barely semi-hard, and you were climbing on top of me, trying to impale yourself on it like some kind of deranged sex demon."

I gape at him, my mouth hanging open so wide I’m probably catching flies. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, leaving me feeling hollowed out and horrifyingly exposed.

"I did not do that," I whisper. The horror in my voice is genuine, vibrating through the words. "That is slander. That is libel. That is a hallucination brought on by your obvious lack of stamina."

Donghwa doesn't even blink. He just picks up a piece of kimchi with his chopsticks, calm as a monk.

"It happened, Hyung. Vividly." He pops the kimchi into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, and swallows.

"I barely got any sleep because every time I drifted off, you were waking me up by grinding against my thigh or trying to climb me like a tree. I’m going to have to call in sick today.

If I walk onto campus looking like a zombie with hickeys on my neck, the rumors will be out of control by lunch. "

I drop my face into my hands, my elbows hitting the table with a thud. A long, agonized groan tears out of my throat, muffled against my palms.

"Kill me," I mumble into my hands. "Just end it now. Put poison in the soup. I’ll sign a waiver."

I am the King of Campus. I am the heir to the Oh! Paradise empire. I have a fan club. And apparently, when left to the mercy of my own biology, I turn into a desperate, insatiable sex pest who terrorizes freshmen for cock in the middle of the night.

"Stop being dramatic," Donghwa says, his voice cutting through my wall of self-pity. I hear the clink of his spoon against the bowl. "The point is, look at how you were last night. You were frantic. You were in pain."

I peek through my fingers, glaring at him, though the effect is ruined by the fact that I’m hiding behind my hands like a child.

"So?"

"So," he counters, pointing his spoon at me. "Do you really think you can afford to refuse my help? If I walk out that door right now and the next wave hits you in an hour, are you going to call your mommy? Or are you going to end up in the ER because you tried to fuck a shampoo bottle?"

I choke on my own spit. "I would not—"

"You might," he interrupts, deadpan. "Desperate times, Hyung. You can hate me all you want. You can plot my murder. But right now, your body wants me. And frankly, I’m too tired to fight you off if you decide to break into my apartment later."

"Fine!"

I slam my fist onto the table hard enough to make the silverware jump.

The bowl of soup sloshes dangerously, threatening to spill over the rim, but I don’t care.

I need to hit something, and since hitting Donghwa apparently results in me getting flipped like a pancake and pinned to a mattress, the table will have to suffer.

"Fine," I repeat, the word tasting like ash and bile in my mouth.

I glare at him, channeling every ounce of intimidation I have left, which, admittedly, isn't much when I'm wearing sweatpants that are two sizes too big and smelling like a walking pheromone disaster.

"But let’s get one thing straight right now.

This? Us? It stays under wraps. Deep underground. Buried next to nuclear waste."

I jab a finger at his face, leaning over the takeout containers.

"Outside of our ruts, we are nothing," I hiss, my eyes narrowing. "We aren't friends. We aren't 'mates.' We aren't even acquaintances. You are just the annoying freshman I tolerate, and I am the upperclassman you respect from a distance."

Donghwa just watches me, that infuriatingly calm expression not wavering for a second. He takes another sip of his coffee, looking at me over the rim of the cup like I’m a toddler throwing a fit in a supermarket.

"Are we clear?" I demand, my voice rising.

"Because if anyone—and I mean anyone, from the Dean down to the janitor who mops the third-floor bathroom—gets even the slightest wind of this arrangement, you are dead. I will bury you. I will ruin your social life so thoroughly you’ll have to transfer to a community college in Antarctica. "

I’m breathing hard by the time I finish, my chest heaving. I mean every word. My reputation is the only thing I have left. If the school finds out the top alpha in the department is getting knotted by a freshman during ruts, I might as well just drop out and live in a cave.

Donghwa slowly lowers his cup. He sets it down with a deliberate, soft click. Then, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over that broad, tattooed chest. A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his face, one that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Understood," he says, his voice smooth and deep, vibrating through the table. "Have it your way, Hyung. If keeping it a secret is what it takes to preserve that precious, fragile pride of yours, then you have my word."

He pauses, tilting his head to the side, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, terrifying intensity. The amusement in his gaze sharpens into something possessive. Something primal.

"No one will know," he promises, his voice dropping an octave. "But don't get confused. Out there, you can pretend to be the King all you want. But behind closed doors?"

His gaze rakes over me, heavy and tangible, lingering on the bite mark hidden beneath my hoodie before snapping back to my eyes.

" behind closed doors, you're mine."

The air leaves the room. My heart does a traitorous, violent slam against my ribs, and heat flares instantly in my stomach—hot, shameful, and immediate.

I scramble to my feet, the chair legs screeching against the floor as I shove it back. I need to get away from him. I need to get away from that look and the way it makes my knees feel like water.

"In your dreams," I spit, turning my back on him before he can see the flush creeping up my neck. "Clean up this mess when you leave."

I stalk down the hallway toward my bedroom, trying to walk with purpose, trying to ignore the low, dark laugh that follows me all the way to the door.