Page 16 of My Freshman Mate
"And who's this?" The question is directed at Wes, but his gaze, now respectful, is locked on me.
"This is my omega, Braiden," Wes says, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry. It's not just an introduction; it's a declaration of status. A public claiming.
I feel my cheeks burning again, but I manage a small wave. "Hi."
The group exchanges glances. I can smell the shift in the air as they all register Wes's claim—a subtle change in their scents, a dialing back of their own alpha energy in deference to his. It's a primal conversation happening right under the surface of the human one.
The tall guy extends his hand to me. "Mike," he says. "Wide receiver. Nice to meet you, Braiden."
I shake his hand, noticing how careful he is not to grip too hard. "Nice to meet you too."
The rest of the team introduces themselves, and it's the same with all of them. Their initial curiosity gives way to a cautious respect that seems directly proportional to the possessiveness radiating from Wes. I should be angry about this. Indignant. I should hate being seen as someone's property. But there's a part of me—the omega part I've tried so hard to suppress—that preens under the attention, that loves being publicly acknowledged as Wes's.
After a few minutes, Wes makes our excuses. "Got to get him settled," he says.
As we walk away, I hear one of them whistle low under his breath. "Damn, never thought I'd see the day."
Back at the apartment—our apartment now, I guess—Wes helps me unpack. He clears space in his closet and dresser without being asked. It's strangely intimate, watching our clothes hang side by side, my neatly folded t-shirts next to his haphazardly stacked ones. My throat tightens as I watch him make room for me so easily, like it's no big deal to completely rearrange his life.
When we're done, I find myself standing adrift in the living room, my planner clutched in my hands like a lifeline. Wes sprawls on the couch, his posture relaxed and confident, watching me with those impossibly blue eyes.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice gentler than I've heard it all day.
I look down at my planner, at the neatly blocked-out hours and color-coded subjects. Then back at Wes, this beautiful, overwhelming force of nature who has completely upended my life in less than twenty-four hours.
Something shifts inside me. A decision. A realization.
Before I can overthink it, I cross the room to where he's sitting. My body moves on pure instinct, my brain scrambling to catch up as I push at his shoulders and climb into his lap, straddling his thighs.
His eyes widen in surprise, then darken with immediate, raw hunger. His hands come up to grip my hips, holding me in place, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The heat of his body seeps through our clothes. My thighs bracket his, and the hard ridge of his cock presses insistently against my entrance, even through two layers of denim. A jolt of pure heat shoots straight through me, a direct line from my ass to my dick, and a low, needy whine escapes my lips before I could stop it.
Wes's scent thickens, the clean ozone smell turning musky and dark with raw lust. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a vibration I feel all the way to my bones. His grip on my hips tightens, almost painfully, pulling me down harder against him.
"Braiden," he says, my name a question and a warning all at once.
The air between us crackles with tension, with unspoken promises. I can feel the power dynamic shifting, just a little, as I look down at him from this new position. For the first time since we met, I feel like I have some control.
I lean in, my voice a shaky whisper that feels like a shout in the charged silence. "Tell me this is real. Tell me where I fit in all... this."
Wes
Braiden's perched on my lap, his slim thighs bracketing mine, his weight a perfect, grounding pressure against my instantly hard cock. But it's not his body that's got me paralyzed—it's the steel in his voice. The unwavering demand in those big brown eyes.
Holy shit.
This isn't the overwhelmed freshman from yesterday, clutching his campus map and stammering about his schedule. This is my omega, staking his claim. And it's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. My hands tighten on his hips, not to control him but in pure, instinctive reverence.
"You fit everywhere." The words are simple and true, ripped right from my soul. "You're the missing piece. Always have been."
He blinks, not expecting an answer that simple. His hands press against my shoulders, his fingers digging in slightly. A faint tremor vibrates through his fingers, a little vibration of nerves that makes his bravery even more potent. He's afraid, but he's doing it anyway. For us.
"But you don't even know me." His hands press against my shoulders, echoing his protest from yesterday but with less panic and more genuine confusion. "We just met. How can I be your missing piece when you don't know the first thing about me?"
I slide my hands from his hips to his lower back, pulling him flush against me until there's no space left between us. His breath hitches, a small, perfect sound that vibrates against my chest.
"I know enough," I tell him, my voice dropping lower. "I know you're smart as hell. I know you care about your future. I know you're brave enough to climb into my lap and demand answers even though I scare the shit out of you sometimes."
A flush spreads across his cheeks, a beautiful, high color that I want to taste. But he doesn't look away. "You don't scare me."
