Page 30 of My Defiant Mate
"The board has reached a decision. Mr. Song-Gi, you will be transferred to Westbrook Hall, effective immediately. You will maintain your position as an RA, with all associated benefits and responsibilities. Mr. Henderson, you will facilitate this transfer without delay."
My knees nearly buckle with relief. Jionni squeezes my hand so hard it almost hurts—our silent celebration.
"However," Dr. Lawson continues, her gaze sharpening, "let me be clear. This accommodation is being made in recognition of a legitimate mate bond. If at any point it becomes evident thatthis bond does not exist, there will be serious consequences for both of you. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal clear," Jionni says.
"Yes, ma'am," I add. "Thank you."
Henderson stands abruptly, gathering his papers with jerky, angry movements. "This isn't over," he mutters as he passes us.
But his threat rings hollow now that the board has ruled in our favor. It's over. We won.
"This meeting is adjourned," Dr. Lawson taps her gavel once.
The room erupts into movement, board members gathering their things, chairs scraping against the floor. For a split second, before he pulls me away, our eyes lock. The feral light from a moment ago is still there, but underneath it is something else—a raw, unguarded relief so profound it makes my own knees weak. We didn't just win. We survived.
I turn to him, words of gratitude and amazement on my lips, but before I can speak, his hand tightens around mine. His eyes are dark with an intensity that steals my breath.
Without a word, he pulls me from the room. We move through the hallway in silence, his stride purposeful, his grip on my hand unbreakable. There are questions I need to ask, logistics to plan, a thousand practical things to consider. But none of that matters right now.
All I can think about is the heat of his skin against mine, the coiled tension in his body, the electric certainty that whatever happens next, it will consume us both.
We step out into the bright morning sunlight, and he finally speaks, his voice a low, rough command that sends a shiver down my spine.
"My room. Now."
***
The door to Jionni's room has barely clicked shut behind us when his control shatters. He doesn't just slam me against it; he cages me there, one hand braced by my head, the other fisting in the front of my shirt. He presses his forehead to mine, his whole body trembling with a violent, contained energy.
"Toby," he breathes, and my name is a ragged, broken thing. "Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again."
The raw fear in his voice breaks something inside me. All the rules, all the pride, it all turns to dust. "I'm sorry," I sob, the words tearing from my throat. "Jionni, I'm so sorry. I was so stupid."
"No," he growls, shaking his head. "No. Just... stay. Just promise me you'll stay."
"I promise," I whisper, my hands coming up to cup his face, my thumbs stroking the sharp line of his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever."
That's all it takes. The dam breaks. He kisses me, and it's nothing like our first time. That was a storm, a primal claiming. This is a homecoming. It's desperate, yes, but it's also searching, demanding reassurance. His lips are soft and bruising all at once, tasting of relief and the bitter coffee he must have chugged before the meeting.
My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, my leg hooking around his waist in an instinctual move to get all of him against all of me. He tears his mouth from mine, his breathing ragged against my skin as he buries his face in my neck, inhaling my scent like a drowning man finding air.
His teeth scrape against my scent gland, not with the sharp shock of possession, but with a desperate need to re-mark his territory, to erase any trace of our separation. His scent floods my senses—ink, ozone, and the overwhelming, protective musk of an alpha who just fought for his mate and won.
"You smell like fear," he murmurs against my skin, his voice thick with anger at the world, not at me. "I'm going to drive it out of you. I'm going to fill you up with us until there's no room for anything else."
My answer is a choked sound of assent. His fingers find the buttons of my shirt, fumbling in their urgency. With a frustrated growl, he gives up and just rips it open. Buttons scatter across the floor like tiny, discarded rules. The cool air hits my skin, but his hands are there a second later, mapping my chest, his palms hot and possessive.
"I thought I'd lost you," he confesses, his hips grinding into me, a frantic rhythm against the unyielding door. "I had this whole speech planned for the board, all the legal stuff I looked up... and none of it mattered. The only thing I could think was, he's not here."
"I'm here," I gasp, my own hands working at his belt buckle, needing the friction of skin on skin. "I'm yours. I'm so sorry I made you think I wasn't."
He helps me, shucking his jeans down his narrow hips while I fumble with my own. He's already hard, his cock flushed and thick against his stomach. There's no preamble, no gentle build. He lifts me, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs, and positions himself at my entrance. I'm already slick, my body weeping for him, for this reunion.
With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside me. My back arches against the door, my head falling back with a thud. The stretch is intense, but it's a feeling of rightness, of a missing piece slotting perfectly into place.
"There," he groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "You feel it? This is real. Not some job. Not some rule."
