I hold back a grin as he approaches, the air between us thick enough to choke on. I let him come to me, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
Lakelyn steps back, her presence lingering just at the edge of my awareness. I catch the look in her eyes—curiosity, not jealousy. It’s not what I expected. There’s something almost knowing in her gaze, like she’s waiting to see where this goes. Like she’s already figured out something I’m just starting to piece together.
Dean steps closer, and I stay rooted in place, my pulse racing. His hands slide over mine, firm but not rough, adjusting my grip on the racket without a word. Then he shifts, stepping in until his chest brushes my back. The contact sends a spark zipping through me, straight to the center of my chest. It’s better than I imagined. Hell, it’s everything.
“You need to loosen up,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with something raw. The words skim over my ear, igniting a trail of heat that pools low in my stomach. I force myself tobreathe, to stay still, even as every nerve ending in my body comes alive.
Dean’s hands guide mine, angling the racket, adjusting my stance. But all I can focus on is the warmth radiating from him, his steady, grounding presence. His scent washes over me—earthy, woodsy, and heady enough to make my knees feel unsteady.
I shift, just slightly, leaning back to test the waters. My movement is subtle, deliberate—just enough to feel the solid press of his thighs against me. A whisper of a touch, but enough to leave me burning.
His fingers falter for the barest moment, his grip tightening just slightly, betraying that he felt it too. My lips twitch into a faint smile, satisfaction curling in my chest. But there’s more than that. A thrill, electric and wild, like I’ve found the edge of something dangerous and leaned right over it.
Dean doesn’t step away. Instead, he adjusts my grip one final time, his hands lingering a moment longer than necessary. Neither of us speaks, the tension between us stretching thin but refusing to snap. The air feels heavy, charged, like a storm waiting to break. And for once, I’m not sure which of us will make the first move.
“Lakelyn, can you switch the launcher back on?” Dean calls, his breath ghosting along the side of my neck. The low rasp of his voice sends a jolt straight through me, and I have to swallow hard as she moves across the court to press the button.
The first ball shoots out, and Dean swings our arms together, guiding the racket. His chest presses against my back with every movement, his body a solid, consuming presence. The ball bounces off the racket, but I barely register it. My focus is entirely on him—on the firm grip of his fingers over mine, the heat radiating from his body.
“Loosen your stance,” he mutters, his hands nudging mine just enough to widen my grip. Then he steps closer, his legs shifting between mine, his body aligning perfectly against me. I feel everything—the hard line of his thighs, the press of his cock against me. My pulse stutters, slick pooling low in my body, and I can’t stop the way I harden in my shorts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Lakelyn’s gaze. Her eyes flick over us, lingering on the space between our bodies, and there’s no mistaking the interest glimmering there.
Another ball launches, and Dean swings our arms again. The motion sends me brushing back into him, and this time, a soft, involuntary moan escapes my lips. His grip tightens, his breath hitching against my skin. The air between us thickens with pheromones, a potent mix of his and mine, clouding my thoughts.
Dean’s nose skims along my neck, and a shiver races down my spine. His hands slide from the racket, one gripping my upper arm while the other wraps lightly around my throat. The pressure is gentle, but the intent behind it isn’t. A low growl rumbles from him, vibrating against my back.
My body reacts instinctively, arching into him, surrendering. My head tilts to the side, baring my neck as his fingers tighten slightly. My breath catches, the thrill coursing through me undeniable. For a moment, I let myself sink into it.
Then a ball ricochets off the racket and smacks into my stomach, snapping me back to reality. The haze shatters.
I jerk away from his grip, stumbling forward as my breath comes in ragged gasps. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I clutch the racket like a lifeline.
No alphas.
I force the words into my mind like a mantra, a shield against the pull of him. My chest heaves as I straighten, forcing myself toturn back to the court. To ignore the way his eyes burn into me, the way my body still hums with the memory of his touch.
Damn, I’m bad at this rule. Put me near an alpha, and it’s like my body takes over, dragging me into dangerous territory. Bed? Who needs one? Just bend me over a desk, a bench, hell, even the net right here on the court would do. The worst part is, I’m pretty sure Dean knows it.
I can’t meet his gaze, so I turn to Lakelyn instead. Her wide eyes and flushed cheeks tell me everything I need to know—she saw it all. My sweet virgin, Lakelyn. Getting far more than a tennis lesson today.
Crossing the space between us, I stop at the net, reaching for her. She steps closer without hesitation, pressing against me as her arms wind tightly around my back. Her head tucks into my chest, and I cling to her, letting the solidness of her presence anchor me.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, her voice low enough that Dean can’t hear.
I swallow hard, trying to find words as I wet my lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at me. Her soft, curious gaze meets mine. “What are you sorry for?”
“I like you,” I admit, my voice trembling. “A lot. There’s this connection between us, and I don’t want to ruin it over some alpha.”
Her lips curve into a gentle smile, and she raises a hand to cup my cheek. The warmth of her touch steadies me.
“I’m a beta,” she says softly. “I know you’ll need alphas for your heats. I’m okay with that. Someday, maybe even a pack.” She glances past me, her gaze lingering over my shoulder. Dean. Of course. Then, lowering her voice even further, she adds, “And if Dean’s one of them?—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to. The meaning is clear, her acceptance radiating off her like a balm.
If only it were that simple.
