Page 5 of The Cheerleader

Surrender.

Chapter Four

Abel

She’s shaking. She hides it well, chin up, eyes defiant, voice sharp, but her body trembles like it knows what I am now. What we are.

Mates.

Fated.

Fucked.

The moment her patch hit the floor and her scent broke free, I knew. The world tilted. My wolf surged up like a wave, snarling, hungry, ready to claim the single thing he has never had. I could’ve torn every male in the building apart without blinking. And I almost did.

Now we’re in my locked office, and I’ve got her naked breasts pressed against my chest where she is sitting on my desk, her thighs cradling my hips. I’m not touching her, not quite. But my left hand is keeping her in place, and my whole body aches to close the last gap between us.

Her throat is flushed. Her eyes wild. She smells like heat and defiance and caramelized sugar. But she still lied to me and I won’t stand for that.

“You should’ve told me.”

She scoffs, like it’s a joke. “And say what? ‘Hi, I’m your best friend’s daughter and secretly an unclaimed omega working in a club full of Alphas?’ Does that sound like a smart plan to you?”

“Smarter than this,” I admonish.

Her lip curls. “You’re not pissed because I lied. You’re pissed because you felt it.”

I flinch. She’s not wrong. The mate bond hit me like a freight train the moment her scent reached me. That primal snap of mine buried deep in my chest. I’ve fought every instinct in my body to keep my hands off her since she showed up. Turns out it didn’t matter. Fate always wins.

“I kept it hidden for a reason,” she says, low and bitter. “I didn’t want this.”

“Too late.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think I want to belong to you?” The words hit harder than they should.

“No,” I grit. “But you do.”

She gasps like I struck her, then slaps me again. I have no idea how she slipped from my grip but her slap is harder this time. She’s not weak. She never has been. And fuck me, that scent, even angry, is wrecking me. My cock is harder than it ever has been in my entire life.

I take a step back. I need distance. Space. Oxygen. Sanity. But she slips off my desk and steps forward, pushing into the space I just gained.

“I’m not yours,” she says, fierce and broken and so beautiful it kills me.

“You are. I felt it. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

She looks away. That’s all I need.

“You did feel it,” I whisper.

“I didn’t.” There are tears swimming in her gaze. “I won’t until the effects of my patch wear off.”

“What?” My voice roughens, raw and cracking. “You can’t be serious.”

Silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy. Loaded with everything we can’t say and everything we’ve already said.

Then she does the most dangerous thing she could do. She leans in. Not much. Just a fraction of an inch. But it’s enough. Enough to make my self-control snap.

I lunge.

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