"Make me."
Kit's bottom lip drops open on a sharp intake of breath and the retort I was bracing for doesn't come. The anger drains out of his expression, and what replaces it is something raw and starving that Kit has probably been fighting longer than he's been fighting me.
His pupils widen, his chest rising faster beneath that cream sweater, and for one unguarded second he's not the sharp-tongued Omega who hates me. He's someone who wants something so badly it terrifies him.
I watch the awareness bloom across his face the moment he realizes I've seen it. His jaw snaps shut, his scent goes acidic with embarrassment, and his fingers curl into fists against the tabletop. Ah, but there’s no taking it back and I think I have something Kit actually wants.
Me.
KIT
Thesilenceafter"makeme" lasts four seconds. I know because I count them, each one stretching long enough for Easton to watch the hunger drain out of my expression and the horror flood in behind it. My face is doing something I didn't authorize and I can feel the heat of it burning across my cheeks, my neck, and the tips of my ears where the blush always goes last and stays longest.
He saw it. He saw the whole thing, and now he's sitting three feet away from me with his elbows on the table and his eyes locked on mine and I need to do something before this moment calcifies into something he can use against me in every hallway for the rest of the semester.
I pull every scrap of composure I have left and when I open my mouth, what comes out is cold and clipped and nothing like the sound I almost made five seconds ago. "Get me a coffee. Black, no sugar. And whatever the most expensive pastry is." The word‘please’ sits on the edge of my tongue but I swallow it back. This evening is about making my bully do whatever I tell him until I’m ready to go to bed.
Easton holds my gaze for a beat, then settles back in his chair with his legs stretched out beneath the table, one arm draped over the back of the empty chair beside him. "Please," he says.
"Excuse me?"
"You forgot to say please. Didn't your mother teach you manners, Kit?"
This is the kind of banter I’m used to with Easton and I grab onto it with both hands. "My mother taught me not to waste thirty-five hundred dollars on lost causes, and yet here I am. Get the coffee.Now." Part of the Omega in me bristles at the command, my body trying to relent and submit to the Alpha in front of me but I shoved that down so I can see this play out.
He stands, the motion slow enough to be insulting. I have to tip my head back to follow his face and the size difference registers in my body before my brain can intercept it, heat pooling in my stomach as I cross my legs tighter.
"Black, no sugar," he repeats, looking down at me. "Most expensive pastry. Anything else?"
"Your dignity, if you can find it."
The corner of his mouth twitches before he turns toward the cafe counter. The barista straightens up when Easton approaches, their expression shifting from half-asleep to fully alert, the movement so immediate it's almost funny.Almost. It would be funnier if I didn't do the exact same thing every time he walks into a room.
He takes his time, leaning against the counter while waiting for the order, saying something to the barista that makes them laugh, and I sit here watching him charm a stranger while I'm supposed to be the one in control of this evening. My revenge plan has a timeline and a structure and itemized tasks, andEaston is treating the whole thing like a coffee date he showed up to voluntarily.
He comes back with two cups and a slice of chocolate cake that looks like it costs more than my weekly grocery budget. He sets the coffee in front of me and his fingers brush the back of my hand as he pulls away. The contact lasts maybe a quarter of a second but my skin lights up and I yank my hand into my lap before the rest of me can respond.
"You got yourself one too," I observe, staring at his cup.
"You said for me to use my money. I figured I'd get my money's worth." He drops into the chair directly to my left instead of the one across from me, angling his body so his knee almost touches mine beneath the table. By the time I register that the distance between us has halved, protesting would make it obvious that the proximity bothers me. "What's next on the list? You mentioned carrying your bag. I'm assuming that's metaphorical."
"It's literal. My backpack is in the coat check at the gym. You're going to go get it, carry it across campus, and bring it to my dorm."
"Okay."
The lack of resistance throws me. I had scripts prepared for this, retorts for every argument he might make, escalation plans for every refusal. Easton just sips his coffee and watches me with those dark eyes behind his gold frames, giving me absolutely nothing to push against.
He's supposed to snap back so I can snap forward and we can do the thing we always do. Without it, I'm just a person sitting next to another person, and that’s not what I paid for.
"You're supposed to be annoyed," I tell him before I can stop myself.
"Am I?" He sets his cup down and leans forward, which brings his face closer to mine than the seating arrangement alreadydemanded. His scent thickens in the space between us, bourbon and cedar curling through my lungs until my Omega purrs so loud I'm surprised he can't hear it. "Is that what this is about? You wanted to piss me off?"
"I wanted to humiliate you." The honesty slips out, my voice a little hoarse as I clench my fists in my lap. "The way you humiliate me. Every day, in front of everyone. I wanted you to know what it feels like to be at someone else's mercy while they smile about it."
Easton goes quiet. His jaw works once, the muscle jumping beneath his beard, before his fingers tighten around his coffee cup and then relaxing. "And is it working?" he asks, his voice lower than before. "Do I look humiliated to you?"
He looks like a man sitting in a chair, drinking coffee, and watching me come apart with him having to do absolutely nothing. "You look like you think this is a joke," I tell him, hating how thin my voice sounds.
