Chapter 7 Rhys #2
"I have been someone's secret before, Rhys.
" His chin lifts. His eyes are bright and hard and dry.
"I have been the fun hookup that nobody takes seriously.
The loud omega who's good for a story but not good enough to keep around when it actually counts.
I promised myself I would never be that again.
And you're asking me to be exactly that.
For six weeks. While you figure out if your career can afford me. "
I open my mouth. Close it. "That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?"
"It's me trying to protect us."
"It's you trying to protect your career. Which is fine. That's your right. But don't stand there and call it protecting us when what you mean is protecting yourself." He pauses, exhaling through his nose. "I think you should go."
"This is my apartment."
"You gave me a key and told me it was ours. So right now it's mine and I need you to not be in it." His voice cracks on the last word. Just barely. Just enough for me to hear the hurt underneath the anger. "Go, Rhys. Please."
I go.
I grab my jacket and my keys and I walk out of my own apartment and the door closes behind me and the hallway smells like nothing at all.
I sit in my car in the parking lot. The engine is off. The streetlight above me flickers in a pattern that would be annoying if I could feel anything other than the bond in my chest pulling so hard it aches. Pulling toward the apartment where my mate is alone in a nest I'm not allowed in.
I did this. I told the person I claimed to be invisible.
I told the omega who built a home in my bed to stay away from it.
Because someone at a party made me nervous.
Because my old programming kicked in and told me the rules matter more than the person and I listened to it instead of the bond screaming the opposite.
An hour passes. Maybe more. I don't check the clock.
My phone lights up. Not a call. A text. From Jude.
I'm so pissed at you.
I stare at it. Type back: I know.
I'm pissed at you and I can't sleep and the nest smells like you and I can't turn it off. I can't turn any of it off. Do you know how infuriating that is?
Yes. I'm in the parking lot and I can feel you through the bond and it's killing me.
Good. You deserve it.
I do.
A pause. Then: Are you really just sitting in the parking lot?
Yeah.
That's pathetic.
I know.
Another pause. Longer. I watch the screen, my thumb hovering. Then:
Tell me what you'd do if you were here right now.
I'd get on my knees the second I walked through the door. I wouldn't even take my jacket off. I'd just drop and put my face against your stomach and breathe you in and tell you I'm sorry until you believed me.
And then?
I'd put my mouth on you. Wherever you wanted. However you wanted. I'd let you use me until you weren't angry anymore or until you were more angry, whichever you needed.
That's convenient. Offering your mouth to fix things.
I'm not trying to fix things. I'm trying to tell you I'd give you anything right now. Anything you asked for. I'd do whatever you said.
Anything?
Anything.
Are you hard?
I am. I've been half hard since his first message because my body doesn't care that we're fighting. My body knows my mate is a building away, furious and wanting, and it responds to that like a compass pointing north.
Yes.
Good. Touch yourself. And tell me exactly what you're thinking about.
I close my eyes. Lean the seat back. Undo my belt.
I'm thinking about the way you taste. The way you get when I'm inside you, the sounds you make, the way your thighs shake. I'm thinking about your slick on my tongue and the way you said my name in the nest like it was the only word you knew.
Keep going.
My hand is around my cock, stroking slow in the dark of my car like a teenager, and I don't care because his messages keep coming and each one is a command and a punishment and a lifeline all at once.
I'm thinking about knotting you. How tight you get around me, how your whole body locks up when it catches, how you came on my knot without me even touching your cock. I think about that every day. Every single day, Jude.
Are you stroking yourself right now?
Yes.
Good. Don't stop. Tell me more.
I'm thinking about the way you grab my hair and hold me there like you'll die if I stop.
Fuck. Keep going.
I'm thinking about being inside you. How perfect you feel around my cock. How wet you get for me. How you pull me deeper like you can't stand any space between us.
There shouldn't be any space between us. That's the whole point, Rhys. There shouldn't be any space and you put it there.
I keep stroking because stopping won't fix anything and my body is too far gone to listen to the guilt.
You're right. I put it there and I'm going to take it away. I swear.
You don't get to knot me right now. You don't get to be in this nest. You made that choice. So you're going to sit in your car and stroke your cock and think about what you gave up tonight.
It hurts. It's supposed to hurt. I grip myself tighter and keep going.
I know what I gave up. I'm looking at the window right now and I know you're in there and I can feel you through the bond and I would burn my entire career to the ground to be next to you.
Would you?
Yes.
Say it again.
I would give up everything. The program, the references, Albright, all of it. None of it matters. You matter. You're the only thing that matters and I told you to be invisible and that's the worst thing I've ever done.
A long pause. I'm close. My hand is moving faster, my breathing ragged, the bond thrumming hot and desperate in my chest.
I'm so wet right now and you're not here. I'm in our nest and I'm dripping onto our sheets and my hand isn't enough. It's not enough without your cock inside me and your knot filling me up. I hate you for making me feel like this alone.
I come in my fist with his name caught behind my teeth.
Hard and aching and hollow, because he's right.
It's not enough. Getting off alone in a parking lot while my mate is upstairs, slick and angry and untouched by my hands, is the loneliest orgasm of my life.
The relief lasts about ten seconds and then the emptiness rushes back in, worse than before, like scratching a wound open instead of letting it heal.
I clean up with a napkin from the glove box. My hand is shaking.
My phone buzzes.
I came. It wasn't good enough. Nothing is good enough without you. Fix this, Rhys.
I stare at the ceiling of my car. The apartment building is a dark shape against the streetlight. Second floor. Our window. He's in there right now, in the nest, alone, and I'm out here because I asked him to be invisible so I wouldn't get in trouble at school.
When I think about it that simply, I feel sick.
I've been so scared of becoming the professor who ruined his career over an affair that I forgot the actual lesson of that story. That guy didn't fail because he fell for someone. He failed because he lied about it. He hid it. He treated the person like a secret until the secret blew up.
I'm doing the same thing. I just told my mate to hide.
I pick up my phone.
I'll fix it. Tomorrow morning. I promise.
He reads it. The typing indicator appears and disappears. Appears again.
You better.
I sit in the car for a while longer. Then I start the engine and drive to my office.
The email to Dr. Albright takes a long time to write and about one second to decide to send.
I tell her the truth. Jude Park is my fated mate.
I should have disclosed it immediately. I'm prepared to accept whatever professional consequences follow, but I will not hide this bond and I will not ask my mate to be invisible.
I hit send and close my laptop and my hands are still shaking but the sick feeling is gone.
Then I drive to my parents' house, an hour away, because I don't deserve to sleep in the nest tonight, and because tomorrow morning I need to show up as someone who does.