Page 19 of My Freshman Mate
"I want to ride you," he pants, his voice breathless but determined. "Is that... is that okay?"
A possessive, guttural sound rips from my chest. "More than okay," I manage, my hands gripping his hips hard enough toleave marks. "Show me what you want, Braiden. Take what's yours."
He shivers at that, his own cock jumping against his stomach. Slowly, with careful concentration, he positions himself over me, one hand reaching back to guide my thick cock to his entrance. The blunt head presses against him, meeting resistance for just a moment before his body yields, his slick entrance opening for me.
Braiden sinks down with a sharp gasp, taking me inch by agonizing inch. His face is a study in pleasure-pain, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut as he adjusts to the stretch. I hold still, letting him set the pace, though it's fucking killing me not to just slam up into that tight, perfect heat.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice strained.
His eyes flutter open, dark and blown wide. "Yes," he breathes. "It's… it's a lot. But good. So good."
When he's fully seated, my cock buried to the hilt inside him, we both groan. This position lets me go deeper than before, the head of my dick pressing against something inside him that makes his whole body shudder and clench around me like a fist.
"Move when you're ready," I tell him, my hands sliding up to his waist, supporting but not controlling.
Braiden braces his hands on my shoulders and lifts himself up slowly, then sinks back down with a soft cry. The drag of his inner walls around my cock is exquisite torture. He does it again, and again, finding a slow, grinding rhythm that has us both panting.
"Look at you," I marvel, my voice rough with awe, watching him move above me. The afternoon light hits the sweat shining on his back, tracing the line of his spine. "Riding me like you were made for it. So fucking beautiful."
He flushes at the praise, a pleased, confident smile touching his lips. His movements become more deliberate, his hips rocking with a certainty that wasn't there an hour ago. He's taking what he needs from me, using my body for his pleasure, and I've never felt more owned. More claimed. And fuck if that doesn't make me feel like the king of the whole damn world.
"Wes," he gasps, his pace faltering as he gets close, his eyes going wide and unfocused. "I need—I can't—"
"I've got you," I promise, my hand wrapping around his neglected cock, slick with his pre-come. He cries out at the touch, his whole body jerking. "Come for me. Show me you're mine."
His rhythm stutters, his thighs trembling with effort. I take over, my hips thrusting up into him as I stroke him in time with my movements, pushing him higher.
"That's it," I encourage, feeling him tighten around me, his inner muscles clenching and unclenching. "Let go. I've got you."
"Yours," he gasps, his entire soul bare in that one look. "I'm yours."
"And I'm yours," I growl back, the words ripped from some primal place inside me. "Fuck, yes, omega. Claim your alpha."
That does it. Braiden shatters with a broken cry of my name, his release painting my chest and stomach in hot stripes. His inner muscles clamp down on me like a vice, milking me so hard my vision whites out. I follow him over the edge with a roar, my hips slamming up one last time as I flood him, sealing my claim deep inside him.
We lie tangled for a long moment, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine. Our heartbeats slow, syncing up until they're beating in perfect time.
"That was..." he starts, then laughs softly, a breathless, happy sound. "I don't even have words."
"Yeah," I agree, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. "Me neither."
I shift us carefully, laying him down on the couch and stretching out beside him. He curls against my chest immediately, his body fitting perfectly against mine like it was made to be there. I pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch to cover us, not wanting him to get cold.
"So I fit," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep. "In your world."
"You are my world," I correct, stroking his hair, my voice a low rumble against his ear. "Everything else is just details."
He makes a small, contented sound and nestles closer. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, and I know he's asleep. I hold him, watching the way the afternoon light plays across his face, highlighting the delicate sweep of his lashes against his cheeks.
The static in my head is gone. In its place, a peace so deep it aches. This is it. What all those empty wins, all those meaningless hookups were missing. Him.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, a harsh, intrusive sound in our quiet bubble. I reach for it, careful not to disturb Braiden. It's a text from Coach.
Practice tomorrow, 6 AM. No excuses, Chambers. I need my star QB focused.
The message is ordinary, mundane even. But it's enough to bring Nash's threat rushing back to the forefront of my mind. My peace doesn't vanish—it hardens. Gets sharp. Dangerous. The warmth in my gut turns to ice and steel. Ready.
I tighten my hold on Braiden, careful not to wake him. His face is peaceful in sleep, trusting and vulnerable. He has no idea about the threat hanging over us. And if I have my way, he never will.
