Page 9 of Want It All
He huffed. ‘I’m annoyed at you, too. You might have asked first, Tris, instead of refusing her straight away. I’d like to make friends here, if that’s all right with you,alpha.’
‘She didn’t want to befriends, baby.’
He glared at me. ‘I’m not a glass vase. I am perfectly capable of finding that shit out for myself.’
I took up his hand and rubbed my cheek along his knuckles. If I’d not been on blockers, my scent would have covered his skin, marking him. ‘I know you are. I’ll do better next time. I’m sorry.’
He deflated. ‘Urgh. I can never stay angry at you. My instincts love when you do the wholeminething.’
‘Maybe you could use your signal next time.’ We had a long-running sign for when Sebastian wanted my help: he tapped his fingers on his thigh. ‘If I don’t see the signal, I’ll leave you to handle it.’
‘Deal.’ He shot me a smile that made my stomach go tight, then peered at my laptop screen. ‘Find anything interesting?’
All anybody talked about for the next few days was the omega, who sensibly stayed barricaded in her apartment. Someone was delivering food; we’d seen a tray in the corridor outside her room. The administration was clearly aware of what had happened, evidenced by a worried-looking woman we’d seen knocking on her door, a woman I knew from the Banksia website to be the new Dean. Though I suspected that personal visits to students probably didn’t fall within her job description, as it had been her son who’d caused the problem, she probably felt a measure of responsibility for the situation.
The son in question had also been mostly absent, emerging from his lair at mealtimes only, wearing a fierce scowl, his monitors, and clean-but-identical black shirts and black jeans each day. He was handsome as fuck, even with his face twisted into a frown. He wasn’t someone who could fly underanyradar, so as much as he tried to avoid attention, he simply didn’t.
I mean,six-foot-six. He took up most of whichever room he happened to be in. It didn’t help that he was textbook alpha: huge, muscled, and oh-so-savage looking. Whenever I saw him, I couldn’t shake the feeling of a storm on the horizon, the clouds just waiting to roll in and electricity thick in the air.
I’d already stalked his socials, which consisted of erratic posts about music gigs and the occasional annotation of a quote he particularly liked; his profiles all hosted a tiny bisexual flag next to his name.
‘If we were looking for a pack …’ Sebastian said, his blue eyes darkening a little as he stared dreamily at Griffiths one lunchtime. ‘But we’re not, are we?’ He’d patted me on the shoulder in a manner that was supposed to be comforting. ‘We have everything we need.’
I certainly felt that way, but I was less convinced about Sebastian. He brought up the idea of a pack so regularly that he must have thought about it often. I wasn’t completely opposedto it, but the problem was finding someone good enough. I’d never metanyoneI’d considered being even close to deserving Sebastian.
I certainly didn’t deserve him; I was simply selfish.
He’d already shared rumours of an upcoming scent party, where students would stop taking their blockers for twenty-four hours and shower without reapplying cancellers, then head into the gardens with alcohol and a determination to make bad decisions. Stopping blockers for a day wouldn’t reveal a person’s full scent profile – the blockers worked cumulatively – but it would give potential partners a taste of someone’s scent, which could be enough to cement an offer to join a pack, or to pair with others who had complementary scents.
Scent parties were illegal in every Australian state and territory but the ACT, where they were thrown by the local government and strictly monitored by police. It was convention instead for students on blockers to exchange scent cards with potential partners. Scent cards were pieces of fabric, worn on the skin until they were imbued with scent, then fixed to a cardboard or thin wood backing. They were usually the catalyst which determined whether a relationship would be pursued or not; it was difficult for romantic relationships to succeed long-term if the scents involved weren’t complementary.
At Banksia, I’d taken to sleeping with Sebastian’s scent card beneath my pillow; it settled my alpha down when he became frantic about Sebastian’s missing scent. It wasn’t against the rules to have scent cards here, but university guidelines specifically mentioned that they advised against it.
Scent parties were a much wilder way to determine complementary scents, which didn’t deter Sebastian, who was all but bouncing at the notion. ‘Who knows,’ he’d said, his lips curving into the smile I loved so much. ‘Maybe you’ll find your scent match.’
It was a nice thought – whowouldn’twant to find their perfect match? – but statistically, it was more than unlikely that in a world with over nine billion people, a scent match would justhappento be here. In reality, if a match even existed in the first place, they were probably on the opposite side of the globe, living a life that would never weave into mine. It was why packs were usually founded on complementary scents, which were more common; research showed an individual’s scent would be complementary with around ten percent of the wider population. A head alpha would bring complementary packmates together and keep them that way, taking on responsibility for the pack’s physical and emotional wellbeing.
Sebastian’s scent was certainly complementary to mine, but we’d been on blockers since we’d met, so I’d never felt its full force. I didn’t care that we weren’t a scent match – I loved him so deeply it was almost a madness anyway – and he didn’t seem to mind, either. He’d been begging me to bite and bond him since our early twenties, but I’d gently resisted, wanting him to meet others with complementary scents first, to be absolutely sure it was me he wanted to bond.
I’d die if he chose not to, but at least I’d know I hadn’t taken the option from him.
And if he chose me … How could I ever want anything more?
‘Oh,fuck.’Myheadfell back as my arms began to shake, my fingers curling around the edge of the desk so tightly I was surprised the wood didn’t splinter. ‘Oh, fuck.Alpha.’
Tristan swirled his tongue, then took me all the way to the base in one graceful swallow.
I almost blacked out, my vision flickering with pleasure. ‘Tris, I can’t –’
I wasn’t sure what I couldn’t do: take it, perhaps, or hold on. Tristan always sucked my cock as if he were dying of thirst and only a mouthful of cum could save him; it was dirty and desperate, and I could never get enough. He didn’t have a gag reflex, and the sensation of his lips wrapped around me while my head brushed his throat made the world turn white.
It wasn’t just about the physical sensations. My alpha was on his knees for me, and my fingers were tangled in his beautiful curls, giving me the illusion of control; the notion made me squirm. We were in a study room because the thought of getting caught turned us both on, but Tristan wouldn’t take his pleasurehere. Instead, he’d break me into pieces and put me back together again, then later, tonight, in the safety of our bed, he’d recount every detail in a series of filthy whispers until we were both writhing, panting messes.
I couldn’t wait.
He moved his lips up and down my shaft, then came off me with an obscene wet sound before dipping down to mouth gently over my sac. I gave a strangled groan, needy and desperate. Tristan answered the sound with a filthy chuckle. If there was one thing in the world that Tristan Grace loved almost as much as me, it was power. He loved knowing that he could make me beg, make me squirm, make me lose my mind – andIloved knowing that he’d do it, and then wrap me safely in his arms until I was ready to find myself again.
‘Fucking love you, alpha,’ I panted; he swallowed me once more and my hips kicked up of their own accord as I came without warning straight down his throat.
