Page 31 of My Freshman Mate
He pulls back just enough, his hands cradling my jaw. His eyes are shining with a new, unshakeable confidence.
"No," he shakes his head, his voice firm and clear. "We savedours."
***
Three Months Later
"Chambers, eyes on the field!" Coach barks, but there's no real heat in it. He knows exactly where my eyes are—in the stands, locked on the dark-haired omega bundled up in my away-game jacket, his cheeks flushed pink from the December chill.
Braiden waves, a small, private gesture just for me. Three months, and I still get that same jolt when I see him. Stronger, even. Like he's wired directly to my heart.
I refocus on the play, calling the signals with a confidence that feels unshakeable. The ball snaps into my hands, solid and real. I drop back, scan the field, find my receiver breaking free. The pass is perfect, a tight spiral that hits him right in the numbers. Touchdown.
The crowd erupts, but I only care about one voice in that crowd. There he is—on his feet, screaming my name like a lunatic. His face lit up with pride. That's the real win right there.
After the game—another victory—I find him waiting outside the locker room, his nose buried in a biochemistry textbook. His planner sticks out of his bag, still meticulously organized, but now the rigid time-blocking has changed. Tucked between'Organic Chem Study Session'and'Thesis Outline,'a new entry is scrawled in red ink, circled with a heart:'8 PM - Kiss my mate.'
"Hey, brainiac," I call. His head snaps up, a smile breaking across his face that still slams into me, a full-body impact.
"Hey, superstar." He tucks the book away and steps into my open arms, fitting against me where he was always meant to be. "Great game."
"Better now," I murmur against his hair, breathing him in. His scent is so familiar now—books and sweetness andhome—but my heart still hammers against my ribs every time I breathe him in.
We walk back to our apartment hand in hand, talking about everything and nothing. His latest lab results. My upcoming final. The ongoing friendly war between our mothers over our summer wedding plans.
Braiden rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Your mom called mine again today. Apparently, blue hydrangeas are 'non-negotiable' for a summer wedding."
I laugh, swinging our joined hands between us. "Let them fight it out. As long as you show up, I don't care if the whole place is covered in weeds."
"Romantic," he teases.
"Practical," I correct, pulling him closer. "The only thing that matters is that you're mine. Forever."
His smile softens. "Forever," he breathes, the word both breathless and certain.
Back at our apartment, I close the door and immediately reach for him. Three months, and I still can't get enough. I don't think I ever will.
He laughs, pushing against my chest. "Shower first. You smell like the locker room."
"You love it," I tease, letting him go.
When I come out of the bathroom, skin still damp and hot from the shower, a towel hanging low on my hips, Braiden is waiting on the bed. He's sitting up against the headboard, a textbook open in his lap, but he's not reading. His dark eyes are tracking me, and there's an intensity in them that's entirely new. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
I move toward him, my own hunger coiling low in my gut, intent on showing him exactly how much I want him. But he holds up a hand, stopping me a few feet from the bed.
"Wait," he says, and there's something in his voice—a quiet authority—that makes me freeze.
He closes his book, setting it aside with a deliberate slowness. He stands, closing the distance between us. His hands come up to rest on my bare chest, small and warm against my damp skin. There's a look in his eyes I haven't seen before—determined, almost predatory.
"My turn," he says simply.
Before I can process the words, he places his hands flat on my chest and shoves. I'm so surprised by the move, by the sheeraudacity of it, that I go backward without resistance, landing on the mattress with a soft "oof." Braiden follows in a single, fluid motion, straddling my hips and pinning me beneath him. His knees are on either side of my legs, his weight settling over me, and my world narrows to the sight of him above me, his face set with a purpose that sends a jolt of heat straight to my cock.
"My turn to claim you," he announces, his voice a husky promise.
Holy shit.
This is new. This is… fuck, this is hot. My hands instinctively move to grab his waist, to flip him, to take back control, but he catches my wrists.
