Page 21 of Begrudgingly Yours
“Says my alpha instincts, actually.” He gets closer, and I hate to admit that his dirty blond hair looks really good in this lighting.
The words reach me, but he keeps talking before I can respond. “But that’s not why I came over here. I thought you might want some help. It didn’t seem like you were having a good time with my frat brother.”
I scoff. “First off, how many fucking frat boys go to this school? And second, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was perfectly content.”
The lie feels like ash on my tongue, but whatever. He’s being a dominant ass.
“Your scent said otherwise,” he states while tilting his head.
I huff, once again feeling betrayed by my omega nature. “It doesn’t matter what my scent was doing. I think that’s for me to decide, don’t you?” I reply, holding my head up higher.
Dax holds my gaze, entrapping me in his intensity. “So, youwereinto it? You wanted to take him home?”
“Maybe he would have takenmehome.”
He tsks. “Maybe, but that wouldn’t have been the smartest idea.”
I raise a brow at him. “Why?”
His head closes in, tilting slightly so his lips nearly touch my ear. “Because his room is right next to ours… and I don’t think either one of us would have been able to sit there and smell your delicious scent while you fuck a guy that wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”
There’s a flip in my stomach, one that I hate but am way too aware of. The evidence of it appears in my scent, causing an irritated curse to almost leave my lips.
Dax’s proximity is doing things to me that I really don’t want to acknowledge or admit, but I also can’t walk away. Something is cementing my feet to the floor and I havea sickly suspicion that it’s a certain omega traitor that lives beneath my skin.
It’s not only my scent that responds though, his does as well. Dark cherries fill the very small space between us, and makes me feel headier than I was from the liquor. I remember that scent in the confines of their bedroom at Alpha Xi, when they pushed their two beds together and worshiped me in a way I never knew a person could be worshiped. Just the memory of that night leaves me in shambles, because unless I give in to it, I know I’ll never feel that cherished ever again.
Dax stifles a groan in his throat, causing it to sound more like a growl that hits me all the way to my toes. His eyes return to mine, and whatever he sees in them makes his light up with curiosity.
“Do you think about it, too?” he asks, his nostrils flaring to catch more of my scent as it flourishes. “How you trusted us to make you feel good? How you surrendered to us completely?”
I swallow down a whine. We haven’t spoken about that night. We have barely seen each other, but something about his gaze makes me want to rehash the entire thing, hear every detail played back to me from his point of view.
“Because I do,” he continues. “I think about it all the time. I can’t touch myself or others without thinking about you. I’ve tried and it’s pointless without your scent there to pull me under.”
The confession hits me right in the chest. Both panic and arousal swell inside me at his words. His hand gently touches my elbow, keeping me in place. I look at his lips, and—for the first time since last year—I think about kissing him. I think about how he tasted like the best dark cherries, tart and bitter and better than any bottle of cherry coke I’ve ever had.
“Rory?” he says when he sees the look of discomfort on my face. Something harsh hits me in the pit on my stomach. I feel arush of something violent, and I stumble on my feet. I look up and realize we’re still in the middle of the dance floor, and at the corner of the room, Everett’s eyes zero in on us, his own face contorted with worry.
I take a step back, far enough that Dax can’t reach out and help me, and excuse myself in a rushed murmur. I work my way through the sea of bodies, suddenly feeling overheated in this crowded mansion. I bump into a few people, apologizing under my breath as I hurry out the first door I can find. I feel better for a few seconds when the cool blast of September air hits my skin, but then I lean over and heave up everything I’ve ingested in the past few hours.
The violent sickness leaves me blurry eyed. When everything seems to quiet, my vision clears and I see a bush in front of me. It takes me a second to feel someone’s delicate hands holding back my hair. I mentally thank them because throw-up doesn’t mix with recently dyed hair.
It’s not until I catch my breath that the familiar lavender and vanilla scent hits my nose. I let a whine escape as I look up at her.
Stacia gives a soft smile, now rubbing my back. “Ready to go home, Cranny?”
I nod as best as I can before following her. I recognize Uriah’s palo santo scent mixed in with hers just as he unlocks the car. Opal’s head pops up on the other side of him, her red locks wild and her smile drunk with happiness.
“Where are the others?” I ask.
“I’ll come back to get them after I drop you guys off. It’s no trouble,” Uriah responds.
I end up with my head in Stacia’s lap in the backseat as we drive home. She slowly plays with my hair as I feel a rush of wind come in from Opal’s window.
“Today… today’s the anniversary. Of my dad…” I whisper.
“I know.” Stacia’s hand pauses in my hair. “Promise me you won’t answer when your mom calls. You know she will.”
