Chapter Twenty
Connor
Practice winds down the way it always does, but the noise drains out faster than usual. By the time I finish showering, most of the guys are already gone, footsteps echoing down the hallway toward the parking lot and laughter fading into the cold outside.
Even Coach is gone.
That’s when the Icebox changes.
Without the bodies, without the noise, it feels bigger, and emptier. Every sound carries—the scrape of my boots on concrete, the hum of the lights overhead, even the distant tick of old pipes cooling down. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you aware of yourself in it.
I should head out.
Instead, I circle back.
The PT room door is half-open, a stripe of warm light spilling across the hallway floor.
Inside, Emery moves with that same controlled efficiency she brings to everything—wiping down the table, lining up resistance bands by color, and stacking her clipboard and notes like she’s corralling the day into something manageable. The thought makes me smile a little.
Her jacket’s already on, and her bag slung over one shoulder. Every detail says leaving, but I stop at the threshold anyway.
I knock once, even though the sound feels unnecessary in the quiet.
“Oh.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something thin under it as she looks up at me. “Connor.”
“Hey.” I lean against the doorframe. “Was just leaving, but wanted to check in. Everything okay?”
For a second, she looks like she’s deciding how honest she can afford to be.
“Yeah,” she says finally. “Just packing up.”
“Long day?” I ask, stepping inside.
The door clicks shut behind me, and her gaze flicks over me automatically; analyzing my posture, stance, and breathing. She catches herself a beat too late, just as I lean back against the counter, arms folding loosely.
It’s all innocent enough. I’m not here for anything. Not really.
But then it hits me.
Her scent is everywhere—soaked into the table, clinging to the air, and threaded through the room like it’s been building all day with nowhere to go. It’s sweet, and clean, and unmistakably omega; but it’s louder than it should be. Frayed at the edges.
Strained.
My chest tightens before my brain catches up.
“My ribs are fine,” I say quickly, giving her the answer before she can ask. “Promise.”
“Good.” She zips her bag, a touch too sharply. “So… what’s up?”
I should keep it light. I meant to keep it light.
Instead, I breathe in again.
Slow. Deep.
And fuck, has something stirred her up.
The shift inside me is immediate; alpha instinct snapping awake, attention narrowing, the room suddenly feeling too small for the space between us.
“Still riding high from the win?” I ask. “You smell like adrenaline.”
Her shoulders tense slightly.
“And something else,” I add before I can stop myself.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not—” I lift a hand, placating, though my pulse has started to kick. “Not saying it’s a bad thing. Just… noticing.”
I push off the counter, closing some of the distance—not crowding her, not touching. Just enough that my presence registers.
Her scent spikes.
There it is.
I breathe in again, even deeper this time.
“You’ve been trying to keep it in check, haven’t you?”
“Connor—”
“You’ve been surrounded by alphas all day,” I say quietly. “All week, even. With no break, or backup, or an alpha of your own to go home to for reprieve. No real downtime.”
“That’s part of the job,” she says, but her voice has gone tight.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Doesn’t mean your instincts don’t notice.”
Her pupils dilate, and the air between us turned charged in that unmistakable way that has nothing to do with intention and everything to do with biology.
“You’re imagining things,” she says, turning slightly toward the door.
But she doesn’t move her feet.
“You’re not hiding it,” I say softly. “It’s all over this room.”
I take one slow step closer, then another, giving her every chance to stop me.
She doesn’t.
Her breath catches—just a little—and that’s when I know this isn’t one-sided. She’s fighting it, sure, but she’s not shutting it down.
Neither am I.
The quiet presses in around us, heavy and intimate, and for the first time all day I’m acutely aware that this isn’t just Beau’s tension anymore. This is bigger.
Pack-deep, and dangerous.
Her hand tightens around the strap of her bag, knuckles white.
“I… I should go.”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to.”
She swallows as her scent spikes again, rich and honeyed and sharp-edged. Her thighs shift minutely, almost like she’s trying to squeeze the ache away.
I’m at the edge of her space now, close enough to feel the hum of her instinct meeting mine.
“You’re not in heat,” I say, low and quiet, reminding myself just as much. “But you’re close to the edge of something.”
Her breath shudders as her scent curls tighter, tugging hard at mine.
“You want me to back off?” I ask.
“No,” she whispers. “And… I think that’s the problem.”
Fuck.
I can’t resist it anymore: not now that she’s said that.
The tension snaps like a cord stretched too far, and I reach for her bag, pulling the strap gently off her shoulder and setting it on the floor without breaking eye contact. She doesn’t stop me, nor does she look away, and when I touch her waist, she exhales deeply.
I tug her closer. She lets me.
“You’ve been holding this in since day one,” I murmur, my mouth close to her ear now. “Haven’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to,” she breathes. “But you… you smell like victory. And heat. And I can’t—”
“You don’t have to,” I cut in. “Not anymore.”
I press her gently against the padded treatment table, hands bracketing her hips, letting her feel the heat rolling off me.
She looks up at me, lips parted and hazel eyes glazed. I groan as she grabs my jersey, fists it, and pulls me close.
I don’t hesitate: my mouth crashes into hers, claiming and hungry, our teeth clicking and lips sliding as instinct takes the reins.
She tastes like want, like desperation and something sweeter underneath.
Her hands dive into my hair, tugging hard, and when I grind against her, I feel the slick already soaking through her panties.
“Fuck,” I groan, breaking the kiss. “You’re drenched.”
Her head tips back. “I told you. I couldn’t stop it.”
She’s half-seated on the edge of the treatment table now, her jacket shoved off her shoulders, thighs parted wide as I step between them and crowd her space. Her lips are already kiss-swollen, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my life.
And then I drop to my knees.
The floor’s cold under me, and the edge of the vinyl digs into my chest as I grip her thighs. I drag her leggings and panties down in one swift, desperate motion, cotton scraping over her flushed skin, catching on her sneakers.
The moment I get her bare, I freeze.
Because her scent hits me like a brick wall—raw and sweet and slick-drunk, dripping with omega need—and my cock throbs in my sweats so hard it hurts.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, voice already wrecked.
She’s flushed and swollen, glistening in the overhead light, her cunt slick and begging. Her thighs tremble under my hands, muscles twitching with need.
“You gonna let me taste you?”
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Connor—please—”
My grip tightens, and I groan as I drag her forward to the edge.
“Yeah? Been walking around all day with your slick on your thighs and no one fucking you? That what you wanted, baby?”
Her hips twitch forward like she’s answering with her body.
“You smell like a fucking dream,” I mutter, nose brushing the crease of her thigh as I breathe her in again. “You know that? All sweet and wet and ready to be fucked. Bet the whole team’s been walking around half-hard without even realizing why.”
“Connor—”
“Oh, I know,” I croon, teasing her slit with the flat of my tongue. “You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you? Sitting in here like a good girl while your pussy begged for an alpha’s cock.”
And then I’m on her.
Her taste explodes across my tongue; salty and sweet, slick and perfect, and I groan like I’ve finally come home.
My tongue licks a long stripe up her soaked slit, then circles her clit until her thighs start to tremble and her fingers dive into my hair, clutching tight.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her. “Hold on. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Gonna eat you until you can’t remember your own name.”
I place my palms on the back of her thighs and spread them wider as my mouth continues to cover her cunt. My tongue drags slow and heavy through her slick, and I groan again when her hips twitch against my face.
Her scent is everywhere, making my vision blur and my cock pulse against the seam of my sweats.
She lets out a ragged moan, legs locking around my shoulders. Her heels dig into my back, anchoring me to her.
“This pussy,” I whisper, dragging my tongue over her again, slower this time, just to feel her shudder. “Fuck, Emery. You don’t even know what this does to me.”
Her only answer is a gasping whimper as her hips rock forward, riding my mouth without shame.
I suck her clit into my mouth and swirl my tongue over it in firm, deliberate strokes.
Her whole body tightens, and I hear the table squeak as she tries to keep herself upright.
She braces one hand behind her, the other still tangled in my hair, and her moans start to crack apart into little breathless sobs.
“Already shaking?” I mutter, lips brushing soaked skin. “You that needy, baby? That desperate for someone to get on his fucking knees and devour you?”
“Connor, I—fuck—”
I laugh softly, darkly, and press two fingers inside her—slow and deep.
“Oh fuck, look at that,” I hiss, watching slick coat my knuckles as I pump gently. “You’re drenched, baby. Been holding this in all damn day, haven’t you?”
She nods helplessly, eyes wild.
“You’re perfect,” I growl. “Fucking perfect. You taste like you’re made for me.”