Chapter 4 Jude #2
He starts talking. I don't hear a single word.
I'm watching his mouth move and remembering what that mouth felt like on my skin, between my legs, pressed against my pulse point while his knot locked inside me.
I'm watching his hands gesture and remembering those fingers curling inside me while I begged for more.
I'm watching him pace behind the podium with that controlled, measured stride and remembering the way his control shattered when my scent hit him.
His sleeves are rolled up. I can see the edge of ink peeking out from under the cuff on his right arm. Nobody else in this room knows what's under that shirt. The black geometric lines, the full sleeve, the ink across his collarbones. I know. I traced those tattoos with my tongue.
He glances at me. Just for a second. Our eyes lock and the bond yanks tight in my chest like a fishhook and my thighs press together involuntarily and I have to look away before I do something insane like climb over three rows of desks and put my mouth on him.
Benji kicks my ankle. "Breathe," he whispers. "You look like you're having a stroke."
"I might be having a stroke."
"Is his scent really that strong? I can kind of smell something but—"
"Benji. Please stop talking to me."
He raises both hands in surrender but he's already pulling out his phone. Under his desk, his thumbs start flying.
I glance at my phone. The group chat has already lost its mind.
Benji: CODE RED CODE RED JUDE'S HAND GUY IS THE HOT TA
Benji: I AM SITTING IN THE CLASSROOM RIGHT NOW WATCHING THIS HAPPEN IN REAL TIME
Benji: JUDE LOOKS LIKE HE'S GOING TO PASS OUT OR COME OR BOTH
Milo: WHAT
Shay: I'm sorry what
Soren: wait the anonymous hookup guy?? the one who claimed him???
Benji: YES THE ONE WHO CLAIMED HIM. THE TA. THE HOT TA WITH THE GLASSES. THE ONE JUDE SAID HAS NICE HANDS.
Benji: THE HANDS ARE RIGHT THERE. ON THE PODIUM. I CAN CONFIRM THEY ARE NICE.
Shay: This is the funniest thing that has ever happened to anyone I know
Milo: Is Jude okay???
Benji: He's gripping his desk like he's on a roller coaster and his scarf is slipping and I think the TA can see the bite mark
Soren: oh my god
Benji: HE JUST LOOKED AT JUDE AND JUDE MADE A NOISE. AN AUDIBLE NOISE. IN CLASS.
Shay: I wish I was there
Benji: Trust me it's UNHINGED in here their scents are so strong I can smell it from three seats away
I shove my phone under my thigh and stare at my blank notebook and try to remember how to be a person.
The section is fifty minutes. I have to sit here for forty-three more of them, breathing my mate's scent while he talks about environmental policy in the voice that told me he'd take me apart so slowly I'd forget my own name.
He asks the class a discussion question. Someone in the front row answers. He nods, makes a comment, writes something on the board. Normal TA things. Except his handwriting is shaky and he keeps tugging at his collar and every thirty seconds his eyes drift back to me like he can't help it.
I know the feeling.
At the twenty-minute mark, he walks down the aisle between the seats to hand back last week's response papers.
He passes my row and the full force of his scent hits me from three feet away and I nearly choke.
Mahogany and warmth and that dark, smoky undertone that makes my omega want to roll over and present.
My hand shoots out and grabs the edge of my desk so hard it squeaks against the floor.
Benji leans over. "Your eyes are literally glazed over. Like a donut."
"Shut up."
"Like a Krispy Kreme. A horny Krispy Kreme."
"I will end your life."
Rhys sets my paper on the desk without looking at me.
His fingers are close enough to touch. The ink on his forearm is close enough to trace.
He smells like everything I've been trying not to think about since the hotel and my body is done pretending it doesn't care.
I'm slicking. In class. In a plastic chair in Henderson Hall room 204. This is rock bottom.
He moves past and I exhale like I've been holding my breath underwater.
Thirty minutes left. Twenty. Fifteen. My scarf has slipped completely and I can't fix it without drawing more attention.
The bite is visible, dark and damning above my collarbone.
Rhys sees it from across the room. I watch his throat bob when he swallows.
His hand grips the podium hard enough that his knuckles go pale.
Five minutes.
"Okay," he says, and his voice is rougher than it was at the start of class.
"That's all for today. Remember, response papers are due Thursday.
" A pause. He's looking at his notes but he's not reading them.
"Mr. Park, could you stay after class for a moment?
I have a question about your last submission. "
My last submission. That's the excuse. That's his cover story and it's transparent and terrible and everyone is going to see right through it.
Benji grabs my arm under the desk. "Go talk to him," he hisses.
I can't. If I stay in this room alone with him and that scent and those hands and no audience, I don't know what I'll do. I don't trust myself. I don't trust my omega, who is currently screaming at me to get on my knees and crawl to the podium.
I grab my bag. "Sorry, I have another class," I say, too loud, already standing. "I'll email you."
I don't look at his face. I can't look at his face. If I look at him I won't leave.
I walk out of the classroom. Fast. Benji is half a step behind me, his phone already in his hand.
"Jude, wait—"
"Not now."
"You can't just leave, he's your mate—"
"I said not now, Benji."
I push through the doors into the bright September air and walk until I can't smell him anymore. It takes three buildings and a parking lot. The bond aches in my chest the entire way, pulling back toward Henderson Hall, toward him, and I ignore it the way I've been ignoring it all week.
Behind me, Benji has stopped chasing. Smart.
He knows when to push and when to let me run.
He's definitely in the group chat right now narrating my breakdown in all caps, and in an hour the whole squad will be sitting on our couch waiting for me to come home, and I'll have to look at their faces and explain that the anonymous alpha I let claim me in a hotel room is the same person who's going to be grading my discussion posts for the rest of the semester.
Fun, not forever. That was the plan. That's always been the plan.
My phone buzzes.
Not the group chat this time. KnotMe.
I shouldn't look. I look.
A message from the anonymous profile. Those hands in the photo. That three-word bio that started all of this.
I know it's you. Please don't run.
I stare at the screen until it blurs. The bite throbs on my neck. My omega whines.
I close the app and keep walking.