Page 10 of My Freshman Mate
I'm not so sure, but I don't argue. I can't seem to muster the energy for worry or doubt. My body is heavy, sated, my mind blissfully quiet for the first time in years. The constant chatterof plans and schedules and contingencies has been silenced, replaced by a single, undeniable truth: I am his. He is mine. Everything else is just details.
We lie in silence for a while, our breathing syncing, our heartbeats finding the same rhythm. Wes's hand strokes lazily up and down my side, a soothing, possessive touch that makes me feel both cherished and owned.
"You're mine now," he murmurs against my skin, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "Forever. The only plan that matters."
I close my eyes, surrendering to the truth of his words, to the reality of our bond, to the new life that's been thrust upon me—or perhaps the life I was always meant to have, if I'd only stopped planning long enough to let it find me.
My life is over—all those careful plans, all those color-coded charts. But something new is taking shape in their place. My life has just begun.
Wes
The static is gone.
The first thing I register when I wake up is the absence of it. The constant buzz that's lived in my head for as long as I can remember—that restless hum telling me something's missing, something's wrong—it's just… gone. Silence. Peace. Fucking finally.
Dawn light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across Braiden's bare shoulder. He's curled against me, his back pressed to my chest, his breathing deep and even. My arm drapes over his waist, keeping him close even in sleep. Keeping him safe.
I don't move. I just breathe him in, taking in everything about this moment. Every mark, every inch of him. The most valuable thing I've ever had.
The claiming mark on my neck is angry and red, my teeth marks a perfect crescent against his pale skin. Fuck, that's hot. Everyone who sees it will know. He's taken. He's mine. Seeing my mark on him hits me with a satisfaction so intense it's almost painful.
There are other marks too—faint fingerprint bruises on his hips where I gripped him too hard, a small purple mark blooming just below his collarbone where I sucked his skin between my teeth. Proof. Last night was real. He's real. This thing I've been hunting for without even knowing it—I finally found it.
His scent has changed. It's still him—old books and sweetness—but now it's tangled with mine, creating something new. Something that's uniquelyus. The whole room is saturated with our new scent—old books and cinnamon sweetness tangled with my musk. It coats my tongue, a taste like home.
Braiden stirs, his body shifting against me. He makes a small, confused sound in the back of his throat, and his body tenses as consciousness returns. For a second, I think he might panic—might try to pull away—but then he turns his head, those big brown eyes blinking up at me with sleepy recognition.
"Wes?" His voice is rough with sleep, uncertain.
I tighten my arm around him, pulling him flush against me. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, right over the claiming mark, and breathe him in. My tongue darts out, tracing the raised, tender skin of the bite. He shivers, a full-body tremor that makes my cock stir against the curve of his ass.
"Good morning, little mate," I rumble against his skin, the words vibrating from my chest into his back.
"Morning," he whispers, his voice small but steady. "Okay, so… this is real. Yesterday wasn't some kind of, like, stress-induced hallucination, right?"
I smile against his neck. "The most real thing in my life," I tell him, my thumb stroking his jaw. "You feel it, don't you? How you fit right here against me? Like you were carved from my own damn rib."
He lets out a shaky breath, his body relaxing. "I feel it," he admits. "It's… a lot."
"It's everything." I press a kiss to his shoulder. "Want me to prove it again?"
His breath hitches, and I can smell the sudden spike of arousal in his scent, sweet and sharp. "I should—don't you have class or something? I need to figure out my schedule after missing advising, and I—"
"Later." It's the same word I've been telling him since we met. There's only one thing that matters right now. Reaffirming our claim. Making sure he knows, down to his bones, that he's mine. That this is real. That it's forever.
In one fluid motion, I roll him onto his back. He makes a startled sound, his eyes wide. I settle myself between his legs, propped up on my forearms, caging him in. I don't touch him yet. I just look. My eyes trace the faint fingerprint bruises on his hips, the angry red of my claiming mark on his neck, the slight puffiness of his lips. Proof. He's been thoroughly claimed. My omega.
"You're so fucking amazing like this," I murmur, my voice rough. "All marked up and wrecked for me."
His cheeks flush a deep red. "Wes…"
I ignore his flustered whisper and lower my head, my tongue tracing the crescent of my own teeth marks on his neck. A violent shudder wracks him, his fingers digging into the sheets. I lick the tender skin, tasting my own victory, my own possession. He tastes like salt and sweet omega.
His voice is barely a whisper. "Is it always… like this? This intense? I feel like I can't think straight."
I lift my head, meeting his wide, questioning eyes. He looks so young, so overwhelmed. A wave of fierce protectiveness crashes over me.
My voice leaves no room for doubt. "For us? Yeah, it is. It's supposed to be. It's not supposed to be quiet. It's supposed to be the loudest fucking thing in your life. Let it be. I've got you."
