Page 46 of The Heart of Winter

From the very beginning, our sexual chemistry had been nothing but a power struggle. We both wanted to top. It always ended the same way:

"So? Who’s going to bottom this time, huh?"

It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it at all. I just didn’t feel like bottoming… for Finn. It was in my head. Was I 50/50? Or maybe 70/30, leaning toward top? Who the hell knew. I could imagine myself in different roles, but with Finn, I just never felt like being flexible.

Ironically, he was the only person I’d ever bottomed for, because he kept insisting. In every other relationship I’d been in, I was always the top.

There were days when I kind of missed it, that feeling of surrendering to someone. But deep down, I knew I could only bottom for the right person, someone with the right energy. I’d have to want it, feel it, not force it.

Sometimes, I had these days where I just wanted to let go, to give up control entirely, to let someone else take over—dominate me—and actually enjoy that loss of control.

But then the feeling would pass, and the need to be the one in charge would come rushing back. The urge to press someone down beneath me, to pin his slim body in place and sink into him.

I knew plenty of betas struggled with this same contradiction—wanting to be both top and bottom at the same time. Most didn’t overthink it. They just found someone they were compatible with and made it work.

But with Finn, there was something about our chemistry, something in the dynamic between us, that turned it into a constant battle.

I went back to the window, my fingers touching the glass, hoping once again I could open it and feel the gust of wind on my face, a touch of sun.

Damn, I wanted my life to change, to feel more… alive.

To drop the fucking mask that, over the years, had started to feel almost like my true face. Almost.

Under it—raw meat, naked.

Something nobody had ever seen.

My eyes settled on the cars parked around DevApp. Most of the parking was underground, but a few lucky ones got spots in the small lot outside.

That’s when I saw him.

Sariel.

Even though it was drizzling, he strolled across the lot like he didn’t have a care in the world, dressed in a black T-shirt, probably with some new drawing, and skinny black jeans. That whole emo aesthetic.

Pfft… I felt an immediate flicker of irritation. And something else. Something unnerving. That guy just got under my skin, and I couldn’t explain why, and he was digging deep.

Trying to pry off my mask…?

Even from a distance, I could see his absurdly mint-green hair, almost magical, yet somehow completely real.

Since he started working here, I’d constantly struggled with myself. This fucking wild, beautiful kid.

Unfortunately, my type. How bizarre.

But of course, he was also my enemy, a distracting, disturbing force planted in my quiet department. Seeing him in those corridors, walking like he belonged here…

Sometimes, I had this ridiculous urge to grab a fistful of his hair, to yank his head forward, force him to bend over my desk, to hmm… to run my hands down his slender sides, his narrow hips, feeling the mint-freckled skin under my fingers… setting off sparks in the air.

Spoiled brat. Maybe I’d even give him a little slap. Or two.

I exhaled sharply, annoyed at myself. Why the fuck did he piss me off and excite me at the same time?

His pretty face… Those soft, sensitive lips, just as easily pulled into a smirk as they were into a nervous tremble. His lean, svelte body, moving with such grace.

But what stood out the most were his eyes. That same unreal, vibrant mint as his hair. Too saturated, almost unnatural. Just like the rest of him.

Those three weeks were like walking a tightrope. Wherever I turned, he was popping up, offering me a ride, helping with my car, complimenting my lecture. It was like a constant buzz I wasn’t sure I hated… or weirdly liked.

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