Page 3 of My Defiant Mate
"You're shaking," he says, his voice a low murmur.
"This isn't in the handbook," is the only thing I can think to say.
A real laugh escapes him, surprised and genuine. "No," he says, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. "I don't imagine it is. What does the handbook say about this, Toby?" He tugs gently, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. I feel my pulse racing in my neck, and his eyes track the spot with predatory focus.
"It says…" My voice catches as his thumb brushes over the frantic beat. "It says relationships between RAs and residents are strictly prohibited."
"Relationships," he repeats, leaning in so close I can feel his warm breath on my skin, smell the coffee on it. "Is that what this is?"
"I don't know what this is," I admit, the most honest words I've ever spoken.
His smile is slow, dangerous, and full of a certainty I've never felt in my life. "Yes, you do." He dips his head, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin just below my ear. He inhales deeply, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Mine."
The word isn't a suggestion. It's a fact. A declaration that burns my life's rulebook to ash.
I make one last, pathetic attempt to grab the controls of my life as it spirals into oblivion. "I should go. This is… I came here about a noise complaint."
"A noise complaint," he echoes, his smile widening. He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. "Right. Let's talk about that."
But there's no discussion in his eyes. Only hunger. Only the promise of a claim.
"Problem, RA?"
Before I can answer, before I can even think, his hand shoots out, grabbing the front of my crisp polo shirt in a tight fist. He yanks me forward, pulling me off the wall and over the threshold.
The door slams shut behind us, sealing us in. Sealing my fate.
Jionni
The door slams shut, the sound echoing the final click of a lock falling into place inside my chest. The world narrows to this small, messy room, to the man pinned against the wood, and to the single, undeniable truth that's clawing its way up my throat.
"Forget the rules," I growl. "You're mine now."
His back is flat against the door, his eyes wide and unfocused behind those smart-ass glasses. He's still trying to play by rules that don't exist anymore. He's talking about procedures, about noise violations, like we're having some kind of normal, bullshit conversation.
"You can't just—we need to discuss the—there are procedures for—"
I don't give a shit about his procedures. I don't care about his clipboard lying abandoned in the hall, or his perfectly pressed polo shirt, or the goddamn student handbook that is now, officially, my enemy. All I care about is the frantic pulse hammering in his throat and the scent—fuck, that scent—that'sfilling my lungs and short-circuiting every rational thought in my brain.
"Stop talking." My hand shoots out, palm flat against the door next to his head, caging him in. "Just... stop talking."
He does, his mouth closing with an audible click. His eyes are huge, dark and terrified and hungry all at once. I see myself reflected in his lenses, a stranger with wild eyes and a predatory stance.
This isn't me. I don't do this. I don't feel this. A cold, familiar dread snakes around my gut, a ghost of a thousand shouting matches.'We're fated mates!'my mother would scream through tears that never changed anything.'Then why does it hurt so fucking much?'my father would roar back, his fist putting another hole in the drywall. This destroyed them. Their 'fated' love became nothing but broken promises and shattered glass. This feeling, this primal certainty, is a trap. I've watched alphas on this campus claim their omegas, parading them around like trophies, and I've always felt a cold, hard knot of contempt.Not me. Never me.But my body doesn't give a shit about my history. All it knows is him, standing right in front of me, smelling like clean linen and fresh paper and something so uniquelyTobythat it feels like home. The instinct I've spent my life suppressing doesn't just wake up; it explodes. It screamsMINE.
"This is inappropriate," he whispers, but his body is a fucking traitor to his words. His scent spikes, a wave of sweet desperation that makes my teeth ache. "I'm your RA. This is a violation of—"
I kiss him.
I slam my mouth against his, swallowing whatever rule he was about to quote. His lips are soft, yielding instantly. They part with a small, helpless sound, and my tongue is inside, tasting him. He tastes like coffee and anxiety and the sweetest surrender I've ever known.
His hands come up, pressing against my bare chest like he's going to push me away, but they just… stay there. His fingers splay across my skin, trembling.
"Stop fighting it," I mutter against his mouth. "You know what this is."
"I can't," he gasps when I finally let him breathe. "My job—my scholarship—"
His words trigger something wild in me. My hand fists in the front of his shirt. The fabric gives way with a satisfyingrrrrip. Buttons skitter across the floor. I don't care.
