Page 11 of Take All of Me

Dakota doesn’t answer, just stares back, lips parted like he’s trying to find words that won’t come. Then his knees buckle, which nearly takes us all down, and I nix the question, swallowing it back. “Alright, easy,” I mutter, tightening my grip as we maneuver him toward the bed.

I pull off his sneakers, tossing them aside, as he falls back onto the mattress, Roman pulling the blanket over him. “We’ll come check on you later when your meds are ready,” I tell him, smoothing his damp hair back. He lets out another little whine before his eyes flutter shut and he passes out.

I turn to Roman, who’s standing there, looking more terrified than I feel. His blue eyes are wide, dark brown hair a mess from running his hands through it. “None of this is normal. You know that, right? It’s not a damn stomach bug or something antibiotics can fix.”

“Ro…” I start, trying to keep my tone steady, but he cuts me off, stepping closer, his citrus scent sharp with agitation.

“No! You don’t understand, I’ve been hard since yesterday, even after you fucked me and I fucked Kota. I wanted to bite his goddamn shoulder, Holt. I wanted to claim him.” He pauses, chest heaving, then barrels on. “If we’re Betas, that makes no goddamn sense. But if he’s…” He catches himself, letting out a heavy sigh, and mutters, “We were always a bit of a fucked-up pack. This is just par for the course, I suppose.”

I let out a bitter laugh as Roman stalks over to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The shower kicks on and I turn back to Dakota sprawled across the bed, that syrupy lavender scent rolling off him in waves. Roman’s right. I’ve been hard most of the weekend too, cock straining every time I got close to Dakota, but I’ve been too terrified to act on it. Scared of what might happen if I fucked him, scared of what it’d mean. That need’s shifted now, sharper, more primal, and his scent screams late-presenting Omega. The pieces have been piling up forweeks: the fever, the whining, the goddamn stockpile of pillows he’s been hoarding in the closet. When I asked about them, he just shrugged, mumbling, “I like them,” like that explained it.

But there’s something else that’s off. I glance toward the bathroom, replaying Roman’s words in my head. He wanted toclaimDakota. Betas don’t claim each other—not like that, not with that visceral gut-pull. Even if Dakota’s an Omega, Roman shouldn’t feel that need, that instinct to mark him.

Unless… I growl at myself, a low rumble in my throat, and shake my head hard, refusing to go down that path.Nope. Not touching it.I need a minute to untangle the mess in my head before I even think about what’s going on in my hands, my pack, my fucking life. Because of course this shitstorm hits right at the end of the season, when we’re clawing for the playoffs.

“One problem at a time,” I mumble to myself, gaze flicking over Dakota before I exit the room to grab his meds. I know he won’t need them, not now that it’s obvious what’s happening but the few minutes of solace is something I need all the same.

Maya

Binders and pamphlets are fanned out across my mattress as I flip through the pages. I’ve been freaking out all day, my head a mess of Dakota—texting him after dodging lunch, assuring him I wasn’t brushing him off—and wondering what to say to Brogan the next time I see him.

Then the dean’s meeting came out of nowhere. I’d walked in braced for a lecture, convinced I’d already fucked something up but instead he dropped an opportunity I never saw coming: assistant coach for the Northvale Hawks. My heart’s been racing ever since, torn between panic and a flicker of something I haven’t felt in years.

He’d leaned back in his chair, explaining it like it was a given that I had been a consideration. “I knew your father personally, Maya. Not just acquaintances—we were good friends. Went toschool together, hell, we were roommates at one point. We kept talking even after he left coaching, and you were all he could brag about—how proud he was of you.”

I’d blinked at him, stunned, and confused by my father in all his stories hadn’t really given names to go with the faces. “How could you possibly know what I’d bring to the table?”

“He showed me your first hockey plays, Maya. Some were wild, others damn smart—plays that’d work. He told me you’d do great things, and I want to fulfill his wishes. He gave me a chance on that ice, so now it’s my turn to give you yours.”

His words echo in my head as I dig through the journals I hauled to Northvale—my father’s cramped handwriting, my old sketches of plays scribbled in the margins. Stuff I haven’t touched since Nox swallowed my life whole. I trace a faded diagram—a breakout play with a stretch pass to the weak side—and excitement bubbles up in my chess like it used to.

I can see it: players gliding over the ice, sticks cracking against the puck, the loud chaos of a game in full swing. I’ve watched enough games to see everything in my head, my plays being used on the ice, games being won because of my expertise and guidance. For a moment, I imagine standing in the same place my father did, grinning as the Northvale Hawks won the championship.

The fantasy is shattered as a thud against my door jolts me upright. I glance at my phone—8:07 p.m. No texts, no party noise filtering through the walls, no chatter from the other girls in the dorm who’ve mostly left me alone the past few days. Another knock lands, harder this time, and a flood of pheromones slams into me, lighting my body up like a live wire. The floral scent immediately puts my body on edge because it’s not just a whiff like before. It’s overwhelming, wrapping around me, tugging at instincts that I’ve left neglected.

I scramble off the bed, binders sliding to the floor, and yank the door open to see Dakota leaning against the frame, sweat glistening on his forehead, his eyes glazed over. He’s in sweats and a loose tee, hair a damp mess as he sways like he’s about to collapse. “Aya,” he rasps. He’s a mess—delirious, stumbling over the threshold, tugging his sweatshirt over his head in a frantic jerk. The fabric catches on his arms before falling, and then he’s on me, crashing his lips against mine.

His hands settle on my neck, before mumbling a ‘sorry’ against my lips, his arms then sliding around my back, yanking me flush against his chest. My hands press into him, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. “What’s wrong?”

I guide him to the edge of my bed, easing him down as I cup his face, thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks, and realize how unfocused his eyes are, pupils blown wide. He’s burning up, a moan slipping from his throat as he clings to my waist. “I’m so fucking uncomfortable,” he groans, “and I’m leaking.”

My brows knit in confusion until I glance down and see the obscene bulge straining against his sweats, a small wet spot darkening the fabric between his thighs. “Kota,” I urge, tilting his chin up, “where did you come from? Look at me. I need you here with me for a second. Where did you come from?” My nostrils flare as his scent boldens, that lavender twisting into something syrupy and overwhelming, flooding the room.

He groans louder, pulling me closer between his spread knees, and licks a stripe up my neck. I shudder beneath the movement, torn between hating it and wanting to lean into it. “Fuck,” he rasps against my skin, “I think I’m slicking.”

Slicking? I can’t smell him like I should, not fully, but the pheromones hit me hard, a tidal wave threatening to drag me under. Especially with how he’s handling me, possessive and needy, like he can’t stop himself.

His mouth moves lower, lips brushing my chest, and then he sucks my tit into his mouth through my tank top, fabric pulling taut. An involuntary cry pulls from my lips as I dig my fingers into his shoulder to snap him back. “Kota!” I gasp, shoving at him, but he’s lost in some kind of haze that I don’t understand. “Let me call the nurse.”

“No, fuck, I shouldn’t have come here.” His words slur, heavy with regret, but I lean in, cupping his face again. “But you did because you found me safe. Who do I call?”

He doesn’t answer, just lets out a low growl and latches onto my tit again, sucking harder through the thin cotton, a wet spot blooming under his mouth. My body arches, heat pooling between my thighs despite the panic. God, this is bad. This is so fucking bad. I reach down, fumbling in his pockets for his phone, my fingers finally closing around the device. Seconds later, I hold down the number two, a number under the name of Holt coming up on the screen. Dakota’s still sucking on my tit, his hands moving down my back, past my ass , and then wrapping around the back of my thighs.

With a rough tug, he pulls me onto his lap, straddling him, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side. I string my free hand to his long, damp hair as he buries his face against my shoulder, whining, “It hurts so fucking bad.”

The phone rings in my ear, Dakota’s breath hot and ragged against my skin, my beautiful tortured Beta trembling beneath me.

Dakota digs his fingers into my hips, hard enough to bruise, and starts pumping up against my pussy, both of us still fully clothed. The friction’s rough, desperate, his sweats grinding into my shorts as the dial tone continues to ring in my ear. I bite my lip, trying to keep my own sounds quiet, a shaky whimper slipping out as a low baritone voice finally answers, “Hey, sweetheart, where are you? We came back to the room…”

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