Page 6 of My Freshman Mate
He gives a small, humorless laugh. "I had a schedule," he says, the laugh dying in his throat. "I was supposed to check into my dorm, go to orientation, meet my advisor... I have study groups to set up."
"Boring," I grunt.
His eyes flash with indignation, and fuck, it's hot. "It's my life. My future."
"Our future," I correct him, my voice firm again.
The elevator doors open with a soft chime before he can respond. I lead him down the short, private hallway to my door—our door now. The key slides in smoothly, and I push it open, gesturing for him to enter.
He hesitates on the threshold, just for a moment. I can see the war behind his eyes—that logical, planning brain of his fighting against the primal, undeniable pull between us. Then he takes a deep, shaky breath and steps inside.
Something in me roars with triumph.Home.
My apartment is spacious but minimally furnished. An open-concept living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the campus. A big kitchen with granite countertops that I rarely use. A hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom. It's always felt too big, too empty, like I was rattling around in a space meant for more. Now, with him in it, it finally feels right. It feels like a den.
Braiden stands in the center of the living room, his arms wrapped around himself like a shield. His scent fills the space, tangling with mine, changing the air from mine to ours. The sensation is intoxicating, more real than anything I've ever experienced.
"This is insane," he whispers, but there's less conviction in his voice now. His body is catching up with what his soul already knows. "We can't just—people don't just—"
"My parents did," I say, dropping his satchel on the couch and moving toward him. He watches me, his eyes tracking my every step. "Dad saw Mom across a lecture hall. Said it was like getting hit by lightning. That was it. Twenty-three years later, they're still obsessed with each other."
His eyes widen. "That's—that's just a story. A romantic myth."
"It's not a myth." I'm circling him now, unable to stop myself. My body moves on instinct, a predator ensuring his prey has nowhere to run. I love the way his eyes follow me, the way hisbreath hitches every time I get a little closer. "It's our bloodline. It's how we're made. The moment you know, you know."
"But—"
"You feel it too," I say again, stopping directly in front of him, crowding his space until he has to tilt his head back to look at me. "Don't lie to me, Braiden. Don't lie to yourself."
He swallows, his throat working. "I don't even know you."
"You will." I reach out, my hand moving slowly so I don't spook him, and brush that wayward strand of black hair from his forehead. His skin is soft, warm. He shivers at my touch, and a tremor rocks through him that makes my cock jump. "We have forever to learn each other."
"Forever," he echoes, the word sounding both terrified and awed.
"Yes." I step closer, until our bodies are flush, chest to chest. I can feel the frantic beat of his heart against my ribs. I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the sweet scent of his surrender finally winning out over the anxiety. "Forever."
His breath catches. His pupils are so dilated those brown eyes are nearly black. His lips part slightly, a silent invitation, and it takes every last shred of my self-control not to crush my mouth to his.
"I should call my parents," he says weakly, a last gasp of his old life. "They'll be worried."
"Later."
"My advisor—"
"Later."
"Wes, please, I need to—"
I've reached my limit. The need to claim, to mark, to possess is a physical ache in my chest, a fire in my blood. I close the final, infinitesimal distance between us, my hands finding his waist, feeling how perfectly they span it, how easily I could lift him, break him, own him.
"The only thing you need," I growl, my voice dropping to a register I barely recognize, a sound ripped from the most primitive part of me, "is me."
I back him up, one step, two, his feet stumbling until his shoulders hit the solid wood of the front door. His eyes are wide, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants. Fear and arousal war in his scent, churning together into something so sweet I could drown in it. The fear makes me want to protect him. The arousal makes me want to devour him. Both make me want to claim him right fucking now.
As the door clicks shut behind us, locking us in, I pin him against it with my body, burying my face in the warm, fragrant curve of his neck and breathing him in deep. His scent floods my senses, and I finally, finally feel like I can breathe.
"I've been waiting for you my whole fucking life," I growl against his skin, the words a vow ripped from my very core, a promise sealed in this moment. "And I'm not waiting another second."
