I stand there, chest heaving, face burning hot. I stare at the back of Donghwa’s head as he jogs back toward the center line. He didn't even look at me. He just... turned it on. Like a light switch.
"You cheating bastard," I wheeze, the words tasting like bile.
He’s weaponizing it. He’s actually using our bond to cheat at intramural soccer.
"You okay, Sihwan?" Seungchan jogs past, clapping me on the shoulder. "You looked like you tripped over your own feet there."
"I slipped," I snarl, shaking him off. "Just give me the ball."
I’m furious now. The embarrassment burns hotter than the exertion. I’m going to end him. I don’t care about the bond. I don’t care about the pheromones. I am an Alpha, and I am not going to be housebroken on a soccer field.
Ten minutes later, I get my chance.
Donghwa has the ball again, dribbling near the sideline. I come at him from an angle, cutting off his route. I stay low, center of gravity dropped, eyes locked on the ball.Don't breathe,I tell myself.Just don't breathe in.
I lunge for the steal, my foot hooking around the ball. I have him. I’m stronger, I’m heavier, and I have the leverage.
Then he leans in.
He presses his chest against my shoulder, locking us together for a split second of friction. And he does it again. He flareshis scent, pushing it out in a thick, suffocating wave that wraps around me like a chokehold.
It’s worse this time because we’re touching. The scent of ginseng and musk hits me, and a jolt of electricity zings straight to my groin. My hips twitch, an involuntary, shameful reaction to the proximity of my mate. My vision goes fuzzy at the edges, the roar of the game fading into a dull buzz.
Submit.
The word isn't spoken, but I feel it vibrate through my bones. My muscles go slack. My foot, which was seconds away from stealing the ball, falters. I freeze, paralyzed by the sudden, overwhelming need to let him take what he wants.
Donghwa chuckles. It’s a low, dark sound right in my ear.
"Good boy," he whispers.
The shame hits me harder than a fist.
While I’m standing there, dazed and flushed, fighting the urge to drop to my knees in the middle of the field, he spins away. He takes the ball, leaves me in the dust, and crosses it perfectly to one of his teammates for another easy goal.
I’m left panting, my hands trembling at my sides. My skin feels too tight, my face is on fire, and there’s a distinct, uncomfortable throbbing in my shorts that has absolutely no place in a soccer game.
I look up to see him high-fiving a teammate, looking cool and unbothered, not a drop of sweat on him. Then his eyes slide over to me. He smirks—a sharp, predatory thing—and taps his temple.
He’s playing me. He’s not playing soccer; he’s playingme. And the worst part is, my traitorous body is letting him win.
I kick the door to the locker room restroom open so hard it bounces off the stopper with a deafeningbang.
The noise echoes off the tile, satisfyingly violent, but the target of my rage doesn't even flinch. Kang Donghwa is standing at the sink, splashing cold water on his face like he didn't just commit a war crime on the soccer field. He looks up into the mirror, water dripping from his chin, and meets my eyes with that infuriatingly calm, dead-eyed stare.
"You're loud," he says, reaching for a paper towel.
I see red.
I cross the distance in three strides, grabbing a fistful of his sweaty jersey and slamming him back against the tiled wall. The impact knocks the wind out of him—or at least, I hope it does—but he barely reacts. He just lets his head thump back against the ceramic, his hands coming up to grip my wrists, not to push me away, but to steady himself.
"You cheated," I snarl, getting right in his face. "You dirty, underhanded, cheating little snake."
Donghwa blinks, water droplets catching in his long lashes. "Pretty sure the score was 4-1, Hyung. That’s not cheating. That’s a massacre."
"Don't play dumb with me!" I shake him, ignoring the way the contact sends a zing of static electricity up my arms. "You know exactly what you did out there. You weaponized it. You usedyour pheromones to mess with my head every time I got near the ball."
He has the audacity to smirk. A slow, lazy curling of his lips that makes me want to punch him and bite him at the same time. "Did I? I must have just been working up a sweat. You know how it is."
