Chapter One
I slid my credit card back into my wallet, pushing open the—now unlocked—door to the university's gym. The automatic locks were heavy duty, but I'd been breaking into places since I was a wee little tiger. I'd left a fifth of bourbon in my locker and I'd be damned if I would attend my asshole father's weekly dinner without a little chemical help.
He'd always wished I would go into a more serious field, like business or science. I was a scientist. It was just that my compounds were normally alcohol and my lab was my mouth.
I didn't bother to turn on the light since I could see better in the dark and it would only send a blinking fucking sign to anyone outside that I was on campus after hours. Tiptoeing the long hallway, I hunched down when I passed by Coach's window. It was fucking stupid since he wasn't there—it was the middle of the night on a weekend—but habits died hard. I'd paid off most the janitors and security guards way back at the beginning of spring term to let me do what I wanted, but not Coach. And for some reason, I actually cared if Coach knew how many laws I was breaking. Maybe because he was the only adult in my life who treated me like I wasn't an idiot. I was nineteen, coming up on twenty in a few weeks. Not old enough to legally drink the bourbon in my locker, but old enough to have a fucking opinion that mattered.
Though, while they might have mattered, I couldn't be sure if any of my ideas or opinions were good. People usually agreed with me no matter what, like they had strings tied to their head and some fucking puppeteer was yanking them up and down, up and down. Not Coach though. He did both, agreed and disagreed. Most importantly, he listened.
Unlike I did when I broke into this damn gym, I thought, dropping to a crouch. I'd passed Coach's office, the door shut as expected, but when I walked by, I heard something.
The campus security didn't patrol the insides of the buildings unless there was a disturbance, but whoever was making noise in Coach's office had been in there since before I'd broken in. I stalked closer, feeling as close to my animal as I could without shifting into a Siberian tiger. Being silent, sneaking out—both were things I excelled at. Not just because of my animal counterpart, but because I'd needed an escape growing up. I didn't know how the hundreds of walls in a mansion could feel so small, while sitting on a bench in the university's locker room could feel like I was finally in a space large enough to breathe, but that was the way it was.
Which was why I found myself getting royally pissed off at the thought of someone rummaging around Coach's office without his permission. Who fucking dared to go through my Coach's things? Were they trying to rob him? Steal equipment from the school? I gave two fucks what they took from the school, but from Coach? Un-fucking-acceptable.
I snarled, using the tip of a claw to scratch down the door.
Something crashed from inside the room, like I'd startled the intruder. Good.
"Who-who's there?" Coach asked, but he didn't sound like his regular calm self. Panic made his tone reedy, high-pitched.
"Coach?" Now that I knew it wasn't an intruder, curiosity burned. What would Coach be doing, locked in his office in the middle of the night?
If I hadn't been a tiger shifter and practically obsessed with everything Coach did, I might not have heard the tiny whimper that was so soft the sound got stuck in the door. He sounded hurt, in pain. My reaction was instant. I slammed my shoulder into the barrier between us, splintering the frame. The door pushed inward with some resistance but the second it did, I stumbled nearly falling back on my ass.
Coach's office, normally a cluttered neutral place—a safe space—was sweltering hot. All the lights were off but a single lamp. I sucked in my next breath and let it out in a growl as testosterone fueled my limbs and had me staggering forward into the blistering heat.
My inner beast told me that in this room there was happiness. My dick grew impossibly hard, straining against the zipper of my slacks, making it difficult for me to walk.
My other limbs filled with power, telling me to act. The scent coming from the office was like the olfactory version of the crack of a starting pistol—the blaring tone of an alarm. It filled my nose, throat, and lungs urging me to do something. But I still couldn't see Coach.
"Coach?" I said, amazed I could still speak with all the adrenaline pumping through me. The longer I remained in that enclosed space, the stronger I felt. Already, I was invincible.
"Maddox...dammit, just go... Please. Shut the door!"
How could I when he sounded like that? I walked around the desk. That was when I spotted his...nest. There was no other word that better described the jumbling pile of blankets he'd used to pad the floor and cover himself. His naked, tan chest shone with sweat and his glossy black hair was plastered in clumps against his face and neck. He wore it a few inches past his ears and normally, had the front held back with a band. But right now, it looked like he'd run his fingers through it several times. My fingers twitched. I wondered what his hair would feel like? It seemed like it would be soft and long with more than enough to grab onto while I stood behind him, feeding him my dick—
I think my mind must've short circuited because the next thing I knew, I was only feet from him. I could reach out and touch his body if I wanted to and holy fucking hell how I wanted to. But, his face, normally easy with a smile was pinched into an expression of humiliated misery.
"Are you in pain?" I asked stupidly, because he clearly was. My beast told me he was in pain—that he ached for my cock. As warm as it was in this room, sinking into his tight hole would feel even hotter.
"Just...go..." he panted through labored breaths. "You shouldn't...be here." He kept his gaze down to his lap, the floor, anywhere but up to look at my face.
Seeing his eyes became the most important thing in the world. It was like I needed him to look up at me, to acknowledge me. Not just always, but in this moment in particular. "Coach?" I dropped down to see into his face, but he curled his legs up and shied away. "Coach." I swear my voice deepened as I realized what it was that swirled around my body making me tense. Pheromones. Coach's omega mating pheromones.
He was in heat.
My dick twitched, and my fingers curled like they were claws. I looked around. Had I interrupted something?
If there was another alpha here, I'd tear his fucking cock off.
"Don't touch me, Maddox. I'm not myself," he mumbled, shying away from my outstretched hand. Normally, Coach stood tall, proud. He was an omega, but with the toned, muscular body of an alpha—thanks to his gorilla shifter status. He joked about how he was the runt in his family, but I'd always thought he was perfect.
Perfect and...at this moment...in pain.
I gritted my teeth, forcing my hands to relax. Since I couldn't touch him, I let my body slide to the floor in front of him where I spotted a water bottle laying on its side under his desk. That must've been what I'd heard falling. I reached for it, twisting off the cap and handing it to Coach. "Here," I told him, my voice rumbling, but the fact that I got words out at all should've won me an award. Still, he just looked at the bottle like I'd spit in it. "Take it," I ordered, my voice deepening, and amazingly, he did.
His hand shot out, careful not to touch my skin as he took the bottle and pressed the opening to his lips. I watched his neck move, transfixed by the bob of each swallow.
"What happened?" I asked. It was no secret that Coach was an omega. He took suppressors though, to curb his heats and because he'd never settled down with anyone—a fact I'd found soothing. Like, he didn't have anyone at home, so he could pay more attention to me. Yeah, it was fucking selfish, but I was selfish, so it worked.
I knew that some omegas tried to time sexual encounters with their heats. They'd skip a suppressor right before a big night to make the evening more fun. I snarled at the thought of Coach preparing himself for some asshole alpha. But, that thought didn't really line up with the scene in front of me.
Coach was in heat, experiencing a pain that would only be eased by an alpha's dick.
That was something I had.
"Family...fucking with...my prescription," he managed to say.
In a town like Morningwood, where a third of the population relied on heat suppressors to function, they were widely available. A shifter needed a prescription but only so they could regulate how much was out there. Denying an omega his or her suppressor was illegal.
"Your family? How? Do you need me to steal you some?"
He smiled, and I felt like I'd just climbed Mt. Everest. "Parents set me up...on a date," he admitted. "Wanted to make sure I...enjoyed...it."
Ice made my veins solid and for a fraction of a second I didn't have to fight the urge to fuck my coach, instead I had to fight the urge to murder his family. "They wanted you to go into heat during your date?"
I knew Coach was in his thirties but still had to deal with a meddling family. Some days, he'd come to practice grumbling under his breath about how annoyed he was by them. I never imagined they'd fuck him over like this though. Anything could've happened.
"Not important," he said, sounding a little clearer. It didn't last long. He closed his eyes as his body trembled. "My responsibility...should've had...back-ups."
I got to say, it was fucking difficult to hear Coach blame himself for his situation, especially when it sounded like his family were a bunch of twat-juggling wank monsters. "Who?" I barked.
"Who what?"
"The fucker they were trying to sabotage you with." That person wasn't here, I would've scented another shifter by now. Granted, my senses were mostly full of Coach-pheromones but that only made me hyper alert. If my own brother tried to walk in that room with me and Coach, I think I would've attacked him.
Coach groaned. "Also, not important." He took in several gasping breaths. Hunched over like he was in a pile of blankets, I felt horrible. Horrible and useless. "No!" Coach cried out as he saw me lean closer. He launched his body back, hitting the wall behind him hard. "You...of all people...can't touch me."
The fuck? What did that mean, me of all people? Did he think that I would try to push him? "Okay, but, you're obviously in pain, Coach—"
"Don't call me...that...right now," he wheezed through another grimace. "Wes, Wesley...call me Wesley."
"Okay, Wes," I tried it out on my tongue. I liked it there. "Your face is red, and you are sweating badly. You're burning up." I'd had dates in the past play around with their heat. The sex was good—if you remembered to wear a condom. And I never forgot. I was nineteen but not stupid. There was nothing more appreciative than an omega in heat. Except for this one in front of me. He didn't want me anywhere near him. "If your fever doesn't go down, you're going to need to make it go down," I warned him. No one—but my father and brother—knew how sickly I'd been as a child. I'd grown out of it, but I remembered how careful I'd had to be.
Throughout all this, my tiger roared. It scratched at me, fighting to break free. To him, it was simple. There was an omega in need. I was an alpha. And honestly, if this had been any other person in the world, I might have let the cards fall as they may. But this was Coach, Wesley. He'd been fucked over by his family—something I understood all too well—and he needed my help.
"I thought I'd...be alone here," he said though I didn't know if it was to himself or me. "Needed a safe place...to ride this out. My home wasn't an option, Clay...knows where I live."
Clay? Good, now I had a name for the man I was going to murder.
"Can you stand? I'll help you to the showers. I really think you need some water. I could roast a marshmallow from here," I told him, pretending to warm my hands on the heat that radiated off him.
"I'm f-f-f-ine," he tried to say. "J-j-j-just go." He rolled over, as if dismissing me and the subject.
I would allow neither.
My legs didn't want to take me in any direction that was away from Wesley, but I was only going to the corner where there was a pile of random gear.
I slipped on the shin pads, the elbow pads, and grabbed two huge catcher mitts. Wesley watched me suit up, his head tilting to the side as I put on a helmet and face mask. "You need to cool down," I told him, my voice muffled through the mask. "I'm going to carry you to the showers, but I won't touch you, okay? I know this isn't you, you're not yourself, and I'm not your fucking family. I won't take advantage of you, Wesley."
I honestly didn't know where this calm, assured alpha male was coming from. An hour ago, I was an asshole nineteen-year-old, breaking and entering onto school property to retrieve alcohol I'd planned on illegally drinking. Literally seconds earlier, I'd been ready to punch a hole through my pants with my dick.
Now, I ignored his half-hearted protests to simply leave him alone—yeah, fucking, right—and lifted him stiffly.
I wanted to squeeze tight.
Fuck, what I wanted was to turn him over on that ridiculous heap of blankets and fuck him until his throat was sore from screaming out his pleasure. Instead, I was careful to keep the blanket wrapped around his body as I carried him easily out of the office.
For anyone else, his athletic build might've been too heavy to carry. Not only did he have the natural physique that most shifters had, but he worked out. That was one of the things I loved about Coach, he didn't ask you to do anything on the field that he wasn't capable of doing himself. Even when we messed up and had to run laps as punishment, he was right along with us, as if he had also failed somehow.
I carried him down to the locker room showers and waited for the water to reach a temperature that was cool, but not freezing. I could've set him down, but I didn't like the way he shook so I sat down under the spray—managing in the most awkward way possible with all the gear I wore to hold him in my lap.
Wesley turned his face toward the spray and sighed. The warm water washed back his sweaty hair, running in rivulets down his neck and soaking us both. A few moments later, he turned his face toward me, pressing it into my covered chest. I didn't know if he was taking a moment's rest or thanking me, but I didn't care because for the first time in my chaotic, fucked up life, I was complete. Whole.
I didn't feel fractured or frenzied. I was calm, doing exactly what I was meant to do with exactly who I was meant to do it with.
He let out a contented sigh and turned his face back toward the water. This time, he opened his mouth, swirled the water in his mouth and then spit it out so it would swirl down the drain. This man even looked hot when he was spitting.
He'd look good swallowing too.
"What are you doing here, Maddox?" he asked. Someone was feeling better already.
Then I remembered what I'd been doing here. "I...uh...heard you moving. Came to check it out?"
"No, you didn't. You were on your way somewhere..."
"Shhh, Wesley, the fever has addled your mind," I told him as I rocked us both gently.
Now that he could speak in complete sentences, I expected him to try to wiggle out of my lap. He didn't.
"You can call the cops on your family, you know," I told him. "My brother is with the Elite Force, I can tell him and—"
"No," Wesley said, shaking his head. "They... I think they mean well. They think I'm wasting my life here at Morningwood University. Clay is the son of my parents' friends and it's become a running thing between our families."
"What has?" I asked, certain that I wouldn't like the answer.
"That Clay and I will eventually end up together. They don't get it. I didn't want him in my twenties, and I don't want him now."
"Why won't they get the fucking point then? You're thirty-seven now, old enough to make your own goddamn choices—"
"Language," Wesley admonished, but his heart wasn't in it. "And how do you know exactly how old I am?"
I readjusted our bodies so I could lean more comfortably against the tiled wall. My arms remained tight around Wesley's middle. "Your birthday is in three weeks, a week after mine," I told him.
"Huh, yeah, you're right," he said like the thought had just come to him.
With most people, I gave fuck-all about them. I couldn't be bothered to learn their names, much less intimate details of their lives. But not with Coach—Wesley. With him, I couldn't get enough. If he came into practice with a bruise, I needed to know where he got it from. If he came in happier than normal I—hated it and—needed to know why. I was abnormally consumed by Wes. At times, I thought it was because he reminded me of my brother. But my brother never made me want to do the things I wanted to do to Wes.
"Thank you, Maddox," Wesley said then with a note of goodbye that I didn't like.
"That's it? Your heat is done?" I asked gruffly.
"I've been here since before dawn," he confessed. "The worst of the physical symptoms, while painful, are relatively brief. It's mostly mental from here on out."
"So, you're like, mentally pleading for cock?"
"Maddox," he admonished.
Usually I hated that tone coming out of anyone's mouth, most of all my fucking blow hard father. With Wes, I just squeezed him tighter for a brief second. I wouldn't say I let him go after that. I did loosen my hold so that he could slip out of my arms if he wanted to. But, I was making him decide because I was exactly where I wanted to be.
An amazing thing happened then. He could've stood, or scooted out of my lap even, instead, he settled in, unknowingly pressing onto my dick from over the padding I wore. He didn't seem to notice that fact and I suspected he was still too exhausted to move properly, but I didn't care about the reasons. "I do need to talk to my family though," he said as if we were in the middle of that conversation. "This was going way too far. And I can't imagine Clay would want me tricked into his bed."
I growled. "If this chode—"
"—Maddox..."
"...doesn't care about how your family is fucking with you, then he doesn't deserve you."
Wes blinked like he couldn't believe I'd said something true. "I can't say you're wrong."
"Too many fucking omegas settle down with the first alpha who will care for them."
"Well, I think it's safe to say I don't have that problem," Wes said half under his breath.
"Exactly, you've stayed free for this long, why even bother with this Clay guy? Honestly, I've known of him for less than an hour and I already think he's a dick."
"You think everyone is a dick," Wesley countered.
"Except you."
Wesley looked at my face and smiled. His bourbon brown eyes reminded me of home. Not the place I lived—that place was a torture chamber—but the feeling of home. I felt safe in his gaze, no one was disappointed with me here, no one had ulterior motives, or wanted more from me than I wanted to give. He had easy dimples that deepened with the slightest smirk. He'd joke that because he was the runt, people could actually see his cheekbones. Most gorillas were rounder in the face, but Wes had these amazing cheekbones that complemented his sharp chin perfectly. Everything about him was perfect.
"I should thank you," he murmured. "But it feels weird doing it while you wear that ridiculous mask."
I'd forgotten I was covered from head to toe with mismatched sporting goods. I pulled a glove off and lifted the mask off my face, tossing it to the side as I did. I didn't realize until taking it off how sweaty I'd gotten. Now, the water felt good rushing over my head. I let it go for a second before reaching up and turning the stream off. "You don't have to thank me," I told him, my cheeks warming. "That's like thanking me for not kicking a puppy or something. Anyone who isn't a jerk would've done the same."
Wes shook his head. "That's not true. Most alphas, especially ones your age, would've taken advantage of the situation."
I narrowed my eyes, hating the reference to my age. "A bunch of immature see-you-next-Tuesday's."
I watched him work out what I'd said. "Is that you trying not to cuss?" he asked.
"You told me to watch my language," I replied, smiling. I never smiled. Unless it was just me and Coach.
"Thank you, Maddox. I was in a tough spot. I'd probably still be burning up, soaked through with sweat if it wasn't for your suspicious arrival."
I tossed my other glove off and waved my hands in front of my face. "Don't worry about it, really. In fact, next time you're in heat, just call me up. I'll come over, guard you from your family, make you a nice cake—"
"A cake?"
"Yeah, like a sorry-your-body-is-aggressively-making-you-want-to-fuck sort of number."
"So, like a carrot cake?" he asked, smirking.
"Pshaw," I told him. "That's definitely a chocolate with raspberry filling situation."
He laughed which made me laugh and then we were both laughing, soaked through while Wesley wore nothing but a sopping wet blanket and I was one hundred pounds heavier in my wet clothes and gear.
Then, the laughter quieted. The air in the room grew thicker the longer Wes looked at me. I wanted to believe the desire in his eyes was for me and not some biological imperative to fuck. But, when he licked his bottom lip while looking at my mouth, I didn't care why I could smell his pheromones again, I only cared that I did. I held my body still, pretending I was a statue so I wouldn't leap on top of him and prove his earlier age crack correct.
Watching his face slowly loom closer was torture. I didn't want to do anything that would make him veer off course but at the same time, I knew that because of his recent state, this had to be his choice. I managed to sit frozen until his lips brushed against mine. He may have planned for a gentle kiss, but I was at my limit.
I opened my mouth, growling as I thrust my tongue forward, passed his teeth and into the warm heat that waited. Burying my hands in his hair—the strands were soft, if not also wet—and I grabbed hold, urging his head back and his face up so that he would be completely open to me. He complied with a whimper and my dick twitched so hard, I swore I could hear it thump against the backside of the gear. I traced my tongue along the inside of his mouth, imprinting it all to memory.
Then, my lips were on his neck, my teeth grazed against the soft skin there as I burst forward, managing to lay him down on top of the sodden blanket while I covered him with my body.
"Ouch!"
I immediately pulled back, looking for where I'd hurt him.
"You're uh, gear," he said, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. His lips were red and swollen from our kisses and I wished he could always look this way.
There was only one thing to do to make sure the gear didn't hurt him. I yanked it off my body, flinging the pieces right and left. My shirt went with it. I can't say I didn't enjoy the appreciative stare from Wesley. I knew I was fit, I mean, obviously. I was nineteen, did every sport imaginable and was a tiger, my ridges had ridges, but I'd never cared until I knew Wesley liked it.
"Get over here," I grunted, even though we were still pretty close. I lifted Wesley up so that he could meet my kisses. His body felt solid and firm in my grasp—strong enough to fight back. But the fact that he didn't choose to, that he was allowing me to manhandle him, made my blood pump like racehorses through my veins.
My hands rubbed over his body, finding his cock as hard as mine. The moment I touched him, he bucked forward, shouting my name. I snarled, stroking him how I liked to be stroked. Sure, fast movements that went from root to tip. A firm, but not too firm grasp. I toyed with his balls with my other hand squeezing softly before letting go and caressing the sack. His balls tightened, but I wasn't ready for the magic to end so I let go, enjoying his desperate cry for me to continue.
I let his body lay back and replaced my hands with my mouth. I knew I wouldn't have long to taste him. He was too close, and I was beginning to lose control. I licked him with my tongue lazily, enjoying his responding shudder to hurry this part too much. The way his warm brown eyes watched me, tracking every minute movement, I felt like a fucking conqueror. On top of the world. Not the king of the world since kings had thousands of people they were responsible for. I only wanted to be responsible for one man, the one that gave me respect from our first meeting, that treated me like I was worth more than my money, looks, or name.
I swallowed him down, jacking myself off as I did, and he howled. Up and down I bobbed my head in time with my hand, bringing us both to the edge before pulling back and crashing us both back down.
"Maddox!" Wesley cried, and I smiled.
His dick glistened now with my saliva. As I watched, a pearl of moisture beaded on the tip. I used my finger to scoop it up and put it in my mouth, growling out my rumbling pleasure.
"Fuck that's hot," he uttered, his lids hooded. He lunged upward as if going for my dick.
"Next time," I told him with my hand on his shoulder. "I need inside you before I explode."
He returned to his back easily and I lifted his knees, getting a look at his puckered hole. It quivered as if it were waving, saying hello, beckoning me to please come inside and make myself comfortable. I spit in my hand, it wasn't the best lube, but that, plus his natural lubricant from the heat, was enough. I lined us up, but hesitated. All the sex I'd had before this moment had been about me getting off. For the first time, I worried more about how he felt. Would it hurt if I plunged in with one stroke? Should I work myself in slowly like a gentle jackhammer?
What the fuck was a gentle jackhammer?
"Here," Wesley said, reaching down to grab my cock. The sight of him holding my dick nearly made me come, but I hissed and managed to hold off as he guided me inside of his body. He puckered his lips, blowing a thin stream of air out as he lifted his hips to accept my length.
I liked that I was maybe just a little too big, that he had to work at accepting me. I knew I was rough around the edges, was naturally abrasive. I guess it made sense that my cock was too.
Then, our bodies joined at the groin. My balls squished against soft flesh and I felt home. "Fuck, shit, fuck!" I could only curse, but that in its own was torture. I wanted to tell Wesley how much this meant to me, how many nights I'd spent imagining this very moment while jacking off. Other than my brother, Wesley was the only person in this world that I actually gave a fuck about and although I was going to be in a heap of shit for missing my father's dinner, I couldn't care less because I was where I belonged.
Buried inside of my coach.
My instinct took over, rutting deep, bringing my length to the very limits of what his body could accept before drawing back and doing it again. And again.
And again.
Wesley howled. His cock erupted with a jet of cum that splashed over his chest, smearing into my skin and his. I brought my face down to one of his nipples and lapped at the milky fluid. He groaned, still watching me, but just barely able to keep his eyes open. My lips nibbled up to his pec and as my own dick swelled, I bit down.
I sucked on his flesh in my mouth, printing him with my mark as the mating barb in my cock extended, locking me inside his body as I filled him with cum.
I lost track of time, emptying myself into him as I licked and sucked that spot on his chest. He came again, his cry barely loud enough to be called a cry. His voice sounded hoarse, I smiled. I'd wanted to fuck him until his throat was raw from crying out my name and now that I had, I only wanted to do it again. Being deep inside his wet heat, no barriers—
No barriers.
* * * * *
Maddox stiffened, and I figured we'd both realized the same thing at the same time.
How had I let this go so far out of control? When my sister refused my prescription, saying the pharmacy was out—despite the fact that I knew they weren't—I'd gone into panic mode, going to the one place I felt safe.
Not my home.
My family all had keys.
I'd thought I'd just hunker down and spend the weekend riding out the waves of my heat. I guessed that wouldn't be happening anymore. My body, traitorous little slut, had gotten what it wanted. My symptoms would be manageable now until my next full cycle. Unless I was already pregnant. And then there would be no cycle. There also wouldn't be a job. Getting knocked up by a student was a no-no all across the country, it didn't matter that we were in a town of shifters that lived isolated on protected land.
Despite the turmoil in my mind, my thighs still cradled Maddox's hard body. The guy was literally hard all over, like one of those pictures in a men's magazine that you swore to yourself was photoshopped because the alternative—that someone could look that good on their own—was just too depressing. He pulled out, making my body spasm greedily, but remained a solid weight on top of me.
I would not say comforting. Even though I knew I'd never been as comfortable in my life.
My attraction to Maddox had begun innocently enough, with me having the best of intentions. But then, I guessed that was always how these things started. With the best of intentions.
Nevertheless, I was the person in a position of authority here, so it was up to me to set this all straight.
"Are you okay?" I asked him, still worried how he was taking this despite my own guilt.
He frowned down at me and lifted his body away. Cool air rushed into the space between our bodies and I was aware of how naked I was. He was naked too, but I still couldn't come to a place where I regretted that.
Sue me.
"Why would you ask me if I am okay?" he grunted. From the moment he spotted me writhing in pain on my office floor he'd used a gentle tone with me, that was gone now, and he spoke in his normal, gruff, Maddox way.
"Well, because..." I gestured to his body and then my own, still decorated with cum.
"Wesley," he replied sharply. "Are you about to say that everything that just happened was because of your heat? That's fucking bullshit. I know that that's what you were going through at first, but you were fine once I brought you in the shower. Don't fucking trivialize what we just did because now you feel bad about it."
Jesus, this kid could cut right to the heart of an issue. Except, he wasn't a kid. Maybe a few years ago he had been, but now, he had the body of an adult, and the mind of a wolverine. Or a tiger. Both were just as full of frenzied, angry energy.
I was losing the upper hand. More likely, I'd never had it. But that changed nothing.
"I meant what I said, Maddox. Thank you for helping me earlier." Even if my heat ended up winning after all. "I'd intended on just suffering through alone."
He grunted.
"But, I should probably clean up around here and then head home."
"Will you be safe there?" he asked as if it was his responsibility to make sure that I was.
I couldn't help my soft smile. In a different world, where a relationship between us wasn't so frowned upon, I might've cuddled in instead of pushing him away. We would've gone back into my office to have round two and three. My eyes fell to his dick that was already rock hard again.
Maybe round four and five too.
"I'm only ever in trouble when I'm not in full faculty of my urges. I am now."
Thanks to you.
His sharp green eyes looked troubled, but, he blinked it away. "Sure, yeah. Okay. I'll walk you home."
"That won't be necessary," I told him gently, but firmly. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I also didn't want him getting the wrong idea. This had been a mistake. He'd realize that eventually.
"So that's it?" he asked, getting to his feet and finding his clothes.
Now that he was getting dressed, I couldn't remain naked. Clothes hurt during the throes of a full heat, so I'd discarded them back in my office. I lifted the soaking wet blanket and bunched it around my hips.
I looked ridiculous.
"It's Saturday night, surely you have plans?"
He made a face like I'd hurt him somehow. I had to fight the urge to hold him.
"Yeah, I guess I do." He sauntered out of the showers and to his locker. Spinning the dial, he unlocked it and reached inside, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid.
"Maddox!" I jerked forward but stopped. I wasn't acting in an authoritative capacity right now and pushing the issue would simply blur the already out of focus lines between us.
"See ya Monday, Coach," Maddox said, saluting me with two fingers while taking a drink of whiskey.
He walked out of the locker room, his footsteps nearly soundless down the hall. Just like when he'd broken into the place. I knew the code to get into the side door, which I'd used earlier when I knew my family was trying to set me up. Maddox didn't need a code. Or permission. He did what he wanted. Now, that included me.
I looked around at the mess we'd made. Gear and padding were strewn about, the blanket was ruined. I ran down to my office, quickly changing into a pair of warm, dry clothes. I made sure the main doors were locked before slipping out the side entrance, promising that I'd show up on Monday early enough to clean up the clutter before anyone else got there.
All I could see was Maddox's pained expression though. The readiness with which he went to the bottle unnerved me and I began to wonder just what he'd had planned for the night that required him to break into a place to retrieve alcohol.
Outside, I found his scent easily enough. The warm days of summer were long forgotten and the wind carried a frosty bite. I pulled up the hood of my sweater, following Maddox's scent through the streets of Morningwood. If I couldn't tell him not to drink, then I could at least make sure he got to where he was going safely.
I followed him through the town, up the hill to Predator Point and even further to the very top. I knew his family was wealthy but seeing the proof of it was a lesson in extravagance. I watched the double gates swing closed behind Maddox as he paused just inside and took a shot so large, I expected him to throw it all back up. He swallowed it down with a grimace and turned away from me, up the winding drive and out of sight.
I knew he was safe at home now, so why didn't that make me feel any better?
I turned away, going back down the hill toward the main part of town. I lived next door to my childhood home in a little bungalow in a part of town we ironically referred to as "the mountain." More specifically, Troop Terrace. The lights were on in my family's home, so I went around the back, not really wanting to deal with any of their shit.
As I approached my back door, I noticed a note taped onto the window, the letters were short and untidy.
Sorry I missed you. Maybe next time. -Clay
I shivered. I knew he'd gotten my text about canceling our date. He'd shown up at my house anyway? Did that mean he was in on my families' plan to trap me in a heat? I let out a short, barking laugh. Little did they all know, I'd satisfied my heat anyway.
My stomach turned as the reality of the moment settled on my shoulders. I barely turned in time to throw up into the grass.