And again.
Then Chen tried to pull me off, so I dropped his ass too. Mitchell came at me from the left, and I welcomed it, welcomed the excuse to let the rage out that had been building since I'd driven Harper home three days ago.
Since I'd sat in my car outside her apartment for two hours to make sure she was okay.
Since I'd jerked off three times that night to the memory of her true scent. Since I squeezed my dick in my hand till I ached, before spill tight ropes of cum all over my steering wheel then driving home to do it all over again in the shower.
The bench cleared. Bodies crashed into me from all sides, but I kept swinging, kept fighting, the ice turning red under us. Someone's elbow caught my eye, splitting the skin.
Good.
Maybe the pain would drown out the need clawing at my insides.
"MADDOX!"
Sullivan's voice cut through the chaos. It took four players to hold me down, my chest heaving, knuckles split and bleeding. Peterson was curled on the ice, spitting blood. Chen was holding his ribs. Half the team looked ready to murder me.
"My office! Fucking now!"
Getting to my feet, I shrugged off the hands holding me and skated off, leaving bloody prints on the boards. The walk to Sullivan's office was a blur of adrenaline and barely controlled violence.
He didn't even wait for me to sit.
"You're suspended."
"Coach, what the fuck!"
"Two weeks. No pay. And you're not coming back until you complete mandatory therapy sessions."
"I don't need fucking therapy."
I need to fuck the Omega doctor down the hall,the intrusive thought
Sullivan slammed his hands on his desk. "You just injured two of your own teammates! You need something, and therapy's better than prison."
"Who's the therapist?" I snapped, already knowing I'd terrify them into signing whatever papers Sullivan wanted within one session.
"Dr. Graves."
My head snapped up. "What?"
"She's got a psychology degree along with her medical training. She's agreed to take you on as an emergency case." Sullivan's smile was sharp. "Three sessions with her and once you complete them, you can come back. You miss one, you're done for the season."
My brow raised of its own accord. "You can't be serious, Coach."
"Dead serious. First session's tomorrow, nine AM. Her office."
"This is bullshit."
"This is your last chance," Sullivan corrected. "Show up, shut up, and let her fix whatever's broken in that thick skull of yours. Or clean out your locker."
Twenty-four hours passed in the blink of an eye and I found myself outside of my little Omega’s office. My Heart was drumming up a solo inside of my chest threatening to punch its way out. Before knocking I studied the nameplate on her door. Slowly I lifted my fingers to dance over it: Dr. H. Graves.
Finally I knocked only once, hard.
Harper’s voice sounded calm and controlled from the other side. "Come in."
She was sitting behind her desk, professional as always in a black blazer that did nothing to hide her curves. Her scent hit me immediately, suppressants back in full force, but I could still detect traces of what lay underneath. What I'd tasted three days ago.
