Her cheeks flush a deeper pink, and she fidgets with her hands like she’s bracing herself.
“He kissed me,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “He was on the edge when I went into the office... I caught him in a position I shouldn’t have. And?—”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Did you enjoy it?”
She presses her lips together, guilt flickering across her face. “If I say I did, will you hate me?”
My mouth curves into a self-deprecating smile, and I lift my eyebrows at her. “I pushed you into it. And I could never hate you.”
Her gaze searches mine, cautious but curious. “What happened between you two?”
Her question yanks me backward, the past rushing in like a tidal wave. Hazy memories of that night crash over me—painful, raw, and impossible to forget.
My legs tremble as I stumble outside toward the tennis courts, each step harder than the last. The steady thwomp of a ball meeting a racket reaches my ears long before he comes into view. My stomach twists painfully, heat pooling low and relentless, a need I don’t know how to name punishing me with every breath.
What’s wrong with me?
Getting here was a struggle. My hands had barely stayed steady on the wheel, and now my body feels like it’s betraying me, caught in something I can’t control.
When I finally see him, his shirt clings to his chest, damp from sweat, and his muscles flex with each precise swing of the racket. My knees buckle, and I sag against the fence. The twang of metal reverberates through the air, catching his attention.
“Chad?” His voice cuts through my haze, layered with concern, grounding and soothing all at once. He drops his racket and strides toward me, each step deliberate. “What’s wrong?”
“Dean—” My voice cracks as I whimper, barely able to form the words. “Help me.”
“Shit.” He inhales sharply as he gets closer, his nostrils flaring. His expression shifts, his eyes darkening as understanding flickers through them. “Heat… Chad…”
I don’t fully process what he’s saying. His touch—just his hand brushing against my arm—sends a shockwave through me, igniting every nerve. My body burns, every atom alive with an intensity I can’t handle. My cock swells, straining against my shorts, and my slick pools uncontrollably, seeping through the fabric.
I tug at his waistband, desperate, my fingers fumbling. My mind’s drowning in a haze of need. I manage to push his shorts down, getting momentarily caught on the hard, swollen length of him. A needy, pitiful sound escapes me, something I’ve never heard myself make before.
“Chad, you’re not thinking straight,” Dean says, voice strained, as if he’s battling his own instincts. But I’m too far gone, too consumed by the ache tearing through me.
I grab the hem of his shirt, dragging the damp material upward. It clings stubbornly to his skin, but I don’t stop,yanking until it’s free and tossing it to the ground. His scent—strong, grounding, and so completely him—floods my senses. It settles something deep inside me for a split second before flaring my need to an unbearable level.
I press against him, my body begging for relief. My lips find his collarbone, then trail along his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. It’s intoxicating, better than any fantasy I’ve ever let myself have.
When my lips finally reach his, something snaps.
Dean growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me as he grabs my hips and pushes me back against the fence. It rattles under our combined weight. His mouth claims mine, urgent and demanding, and I lose myself in the kiss. It’s savage, unrestrained—pure alpha—and I can’t get enough.
His hand tangles in my hair, gripping tightly, angling my head the way he wants as he deepens the kiss. His other hand wraps gently around my throat, not squeezing but holding me in place, asserting control without hurting me.
It’s everything. Everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever dreamed I could have.
It’s in the past.
I pull myself out of the memory and shake my head, trying to dispel the lingering ache. Hindsight’s supposed to be twenty-twenty, but all I can see is the image of a clueless teenage omega stumbling into their first heat. They don’t teach you about it in school, and my parents sure as hell didn’t prepare me for it.
But that wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part is the version I’ve rewritten in my head—the one where it wasn’t my pheromones that made him act the way he did.
“My first heat,” I finally admit, the words heavy on my tongue. “Not exactly what you’re thinking. I can promise you that.”
Lakelyn’s eyes widen slightly, and she leans in closer, waiting for me to continue.
I swallow hard and force myself to say it. “I threw myself at him. He was a young alpha with no control, so of course he responded. I don’t blame him for that. But… I was already half in love with him before it even happened. And?—”
She places a hand gently on my leg, her touch grounding me. “And?”
