Page 2 of Take All of Me

And yet, it still sets me on fire like it did four years ago in all the ways I shouldn’t be fantasizing about.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawls, voice rumbling through his chest. A boyish grin plays on his lips as he crosses the room in three long strides, his arms wrapping around me. He drags me into his chest, warmth flooding my system as I sag into the embrace. It’s been too damn long since someone hugged me like this—no expectations, nothing but wanting to hold me.

His hands splay across my back like he thinks I’ll disappear, his nose dipping to drag along my cheek and jaw. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s scent marking me, coating me, a possessive side that wasn’t present the last time.

Four years ago, I spent most of my time tangled in his sheets, his body loving mine with every fiber of his being. Back then, he was my anchor—my sweet, clingy Dakota, a Beta who made me laugh and held me like I was something precious. Before Nox swooped in and fucked it all up, Dakota was my everything, and right here, right now, it’s like I never left. That thought is terrifying and sweet all at once, because it’s too damn comfortable—too easy to fall back into him when I’m still picking shrapnel out of my heart.

A low hum comes from Dakota, something akin to a purr, one of his hands sliding up to cradle the back of my head, fingersthreading through my curls. The other moves farther around my back to grip my waist, pressing me tighter against him. “He’s gone, right?” He asks, his voice rough with a twinge of hope, maybe even relief.

I gave him the abbreviated version of everything that happened and that I was coming back. It’s then that I remember I’m not wearing my hoodie, my scar on display. I try to untangle myself from Dakota, embarrassed and a little terrified of what he’ll say but he just holds me tighter.

“Nope, already saw it. Don’t care, Aya.” His lips fan the length of my cheek before nibbling at the edge of my jaw. “You’re not his and that’s all that matters to me. Tell me he’s gone.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Gone.”

“Thank fuck,” he mutters, and then his lips crash to mine. It’s not gentle—it’s hungry, desperate, like he’s been waiting four years to taste me again. I gasp against his lips, and he takes it as an invitation, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing mine with a heat that lights me up from the inside.

I kiss him back, hard, pouring every ounce of longing I didn’t know I still had into it. The hand at the base of my neck tightens, fingers digging in ever so slightly, his hips moving against mine, showing me just how much he missed me. I thought for sure after Nox that romance was a thing of the past, that feelings wouldn’t guide me. But Dakota’s proving me wrong, and it’s terrifying how much I want this, how much I’ve missed it. Missedhim.

He breaks the kiss, forehead pressed to mine. “Jesus Christ, I’ve been waiting four fucking years to do that. Every time you texted, I thought it’d be you telling me you were coming back. This time, I didn’t want to get my hopes up but fuck, you’re right here.” His lips slot over mine again, softer this time, an emotional distress flowing from him before he lets me go again. I open my mouth to speak but he just shakes his head. “I knowwhere I stand, babe. I know you’re not ready to jump into anything but I would regret not telling you that four years is nothing, that I would wait until the end of eternity for you to come back to me.”

I frown at his declaration, confused on what changed. We were best friends with benefits, lovers, confidants, a shoulder to lean on when the world got too loud. But Dakota’s words feel like something heavier, something way different than I’m used to. “What are you saying, Kota?” My voice is breathier than I intend as I push against his chest, needing a little space.

Dakota just shakes his head, offering me that boyish grin he uses to cover up his true emotions. “I’m saying that you were missed. I’ll see you at the rink, later, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, scooting out of the room faster than I can put all my thoughts together.

He definitely just told me he loved me in his weird Dakota type way, right?

Dakota

Trudging across campus, my fingers keep drifting to my lips, tracing where Maya’s mouth was just minutes ago. Her taste lingers there—vanilla sugar, sweet like always, but there’s a scorched edge to it now, like Nox tried to ruin everything beautiful about her and failed. It’s still her, though, still that scent that used to fill my sheets, and it’s dragging up every damn memory I’ve tried to bury.

Her in my bed, curls splayed across my pillow, her body tight and warm around me when I was inside her, her gasps in my ear like a song I’d kill to hear again. A groan slips out as I scrub a hand over my face, trying to shake off thoughts of picking up where we started. She’s not ready for that, not yet, but god, I’m hoping she will be.

My feet take me toward the dorm hall by the rink—the one everyone calls Frostbite Hall because it’s always so damn cold. At least the heat works. I hopped up the steps to the second floor, my dorm toward the back corner, my head still in that kiss, the way she melted into me, then stiffened like she remembered she’s not supposed to want this. I was maybe a little too eager when she texted she was coming back. Couldn’t wait, couldn’t think straight. I just had to be there, had to hold her, kiss her, tell her she’s mine. Almost slipped and said I love her, too, but the fear in her eyes stopped me cold.

Not because she’s not ready—fuck, I get that—but because Nox ruined her. Ruined us. Four years ago, I was so close to spilling everything; how she was it for me, how I’d fight the world for her. Then she was gone. No texts, no calls, just a goddamn note.

I wish things were different.

Like that explained shit.

Granted, part of it was my fault, even if I knew something was off. We had been drifting apart in that last semester we were together, my attention stolen by the ice and her focus on something more, on something real. I kept delaying my confession because I wasn’t ready and I wish I had spilled it all months earlier. She would have never left my arms.

I regret it every damn day, even more so when she called me drunk a year ago, blubbering apologies through tears and slurred words about whatever hell Nox dragged her through. I couldn’t make sense of half of it—just her broken voice, begging me to forgive her for leaving. I did. Always will. And now she’s back, standing in that shitty dorm room like a miracle I don’t deserve and that’s all that matters.

A heavy sigh falls from my lips as I push inside to my dorm, not at all surprised when my men are tucked in my space—Roman sprawled out on my bed on his stomach and Holt propped against the headboard, a mass of bare skin andtattoos. Holt’s scrolling something on his phone, probably some new hockey bullshit he’ll reveal during practice, while Roman’s got his face buried in my pillow. The room smells like them—mahogany and citrus, a mingled aroma that I’ve come to love over the last year since we formed a little pack of our own.

Leaning against the doorframe, I take a few moments to take in the beauty of my men, all muscles and bare skin, the stark contrast of Holt’s golden brown to Roman’s cream. Roman lets out a little grunt, spreading further out on my bed, Holt glaring down at him before I clear my throat to acknowledge my presence. “Having fun without me, I see?” I murmur, Holt looking up, a slow easy grin on his face that makes my pulse kick.

“Thought you’d be longer playing welcome wagon,” Holt drawls, tossing his phone aside. His dark hair’s a mess, sticking up where Roman’s probably been tugging at it, and those brown eyes glint with something that’s half mischief, half promise. “What’s got my Kota Bug all wrapped up in his head?”

“Don’t call me that, you ass.” But there’s no heat in it and my Alpha knows it. Holt’s been worried for weeks, those sharp eyes catching every twitch and sigh I’ve tried to hide. He’s got every right to be, too, because I’ve been off and it’s got fuck-all to do with Maya coming back. Something’s been gnawing at me, a restlessness I can’t shake, but I shove it down, same as always because I don’t have time for anything to be wrong. I’ll just take comfort in this weird little pack we’ve carved out between the three of us

Roman the right wing, me the goalie, Holt the coaching assistant—it’s strange as hell, but it works. Holt would still be on the ice if not for that accident three years back, a shattered knee that ended his playing days. But when he came back to assist, he turned our dying streak into a goddamn dynasty. We haven’t lost a game since he started barking orders from the bench and he’s one of the best things to happen to this team—to me, to Roman. Ishuffle over to the bed, shrugging off my coat and letting it fall to the ground, before plopping down on the side of the bed, nearly landing on Roman. Hovering over his back, I press a soft kiss to the back of his neck, tasting salt, citrus, and mahogany on my lips.

Roman squirms beneath me, a whine slipping out. “I’m sore,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow. “Holt fucked me good.” I grin against his neck, nipping lightly, and the room goes quiet for a beat—just the sound of our breathing, Holt’s steady gaze still on me. Then Roman lifts his head, sniffing the air, his voice perking up. “Damn, you smell delicious. Who is that?”

I kiss his ear this time, lips brushing the shell as I murmur, “Maya.” It’s barely out of my mouth before Roman bolts upright, so fast I lose my balance and tumble off the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thump.

---