I shake my head. “You don’t want to.”
She swallows as her scent spikes again, rich and honeyed and sharp-edged. Her thighs shift minutely, almost like she’s trying to squeeze the ache away.
I’m at the edge of her space now, close enough to feel the hum of her instinct meeting mine.
“You’re not in heat,” I say, low and quiet, reminding myself just as much. “But you’re close to the edge of something.”
Her breath shudders as her scent curls tighter, tugging hard at mine.
“You want me to back off?” I ask.
“No,” she whispers. “And… I think that’s the problem.”
Fuck.
I can’t resist it anymore: not now that she’s said that.
The tension snaps like a cord stretched too far, and I reach for her bag, pulling the strap gently off her shoulder and setting it on the floor without breaking eye contact. She doesn’t stop me, nor does she look away, and when I touch her waist, she exhales deeply.
I tug her closer. She lets me.
“You’ve been holding this in since day one,” I murmur, my mouth close to her ear now. “Haven’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to,” she breathes. “But you… you smell like victory. And heat. And I can’t—”
“You don’t have to,” I cut in. “Not anymore.”
I press her gently against the padded treatment table, hands bracketing her hips, letting her feel the heat rolling off me.
She looks up at me, lips parted and hazel eyes glazed. I groan as she grabs my jersey, fists it, and pulls me close.
I don’t hesitate: my mouth crashes into hers, claiming and hungry, our teeth clicking and lips sliding as instinct takes the reins. She tastes like want, like desperation and something sweeter underneath. Her hands dive into my hair, tugging hard, and when I grind against her, I feel the slick already soaking through her panties.
“Fuck,” I groan, breaking the kiss. “You’redrenched.”
Her head tips back. “I told you. I couldn’t stop it.”
She’s half-seated on the edge of the treatment table now, her jacket shoved off her shoulders, thighs parted wide as I step between them and crowd her space. Her lips are already kiss-swollen, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my life.
And then I drop to my knees.
The floor’s cold under me, and the edge of the vinyl digs into my chest as I grip her thighs. I drag her leggings and panties down in one swift, desperate motion, cotton scraping over her flushed skin, catching on her sneakers.
The moment I get her bare, I freeze.
Because her scent hits me like a brick wall—raw and sweet and slick-drunk, dripping with omega need—and my cock throbs in my sweats so hard it hurts.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, voice already wrecked.
She’s flushed and swollen, glistening in the overhead light, her cunt slick and begging. Her thighs tremble under my hands, muscles twitching with need.
“You gonna let me taste you?”
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Connor—please—”
My grip tightens, and I groan as I drag her forward to the edge.
“Yeah? Been walking around all day with your slick on your thighs and no one fucking you? That what you wanted, baby?”
