Page 24 of My Freshman Mate
He doesn't argue. Doesn't say anything. Just lets me pull him through the library, past the staring students, out into the cool evening air. My grip never loosens. I can't let go. If I let go,someone might take him again. Touch him again. Hurt him again.
The walk back to our apartment is a blur. Rage, fear, and a choking need to possess him tear through me. Braiden stumbles once, and I pull him closer, my arm wrapping around his waist now. Supporting him. Claiming him with every step.
"Wes," he tries, his voice small. "I'm sorry. I should have waited like you said. I should have—"
"Don't," I cut him off, my voice harsher than I mean it to be. I can't hear his apologies right now. I can't process anything but the screaming need to get him home, get him safe, get him clean.
We reach the apartment, and I fumble with the keys, my hands shaking with adrenaline and barely contained violence. I ram the door open and push him inside. It slams behind us with a bang that makes the walls shake. The apartment is dark and quiet except for our ragged breathing.
For a moment, we just stand there in the dimly lit entryway, the silence thick enough to choke on. Braiden's back is to the door, his eyes wide and uncertain. I can still smell Nash on him—that wrong, sour scent clinging to his skin, his clothes, his hair.
It's a desecration. A violation. And it makes me fucking sick.
"Did he hurt you?" The words are a low, dangerous growl, torn from a place deep in my chest.
Braiden shakes his head, a jerky little movement. "No, he just—he grabbed my neck and he didn't let go, I tried to—"
His words are gasoline on the fire. I don't let him finish. I'm across the room in a single stride, slamming him back against the door. The wood shudders from the impact. I cage him in, my hands framing his head, my body pressing him into the solid oak.
"He touched you," I snarl, my voice raw. "He put his hands on you. His scent is all over you."
"I'm sorry," Braiden whispers, his eyes flooding with tears that spill over and track down his temples. "I tried to get away, I swear, but he was too strong, and—"
"Not your fault, baby," my voice cracks with the effort to be gentle. My thumbs brush away his tears, but my touch is anything but soft. "Never your fault. But I'm gonna fix this. I'm gonna fix this right fucking now."
I bury my face in the curve of his neck, right where that bastard's mouth was, and I inhale deep. The wrongness of it—sour coffee and cheap cologne—makes me want to gag. It's a layer of filth on something sacred. My snarl vibrates against his skin, a promise of violence. I lick a hot, rough stripe up the column of his throat, tasting salt and fear and the sour taint of another alpha.
"Gonna fuck his stink right out of you," I mutter, my hands already working at his clothes, rough and impatient. I don't bother with buttons. My fist closes in the fabric of his shirt and I rip. The sound of tearing cotton is sharp and satisfying, buttons scattering across the floor. I don't care. I'll buy him a hundred new shirts. Right now, all I care about is getting to his skin, reclaiming every inch that Nash contaminated.
"Wes," Braiden gasps as my teeth scrape over his collarbone, hard enough to leave a bright red mark. "It's okay. I'm okay. He didn't—"
"He touched what'smine." My own words slice through his. "He put his scent on my claiming mark."
I drag my tongue over the bite I left on his neck, scrubbing at the wrongness there, the violation. I rub my own scent glands on my wrists against the mark, overwriting, erasing. My hands are everywhere—tangling in his hair to yank his head back, giving me better access to his throat, then sliding down his back to grip his ass, pulling him flush against the rigid length of my erection.
"Mine," I snarl, backing him toward the bedroom, our bodies never losing contact. I push him through the doorway and he stumbles back, landing on the edge of the bed. "You're mine. No one else's. Never anyone else's."
"Yours," he chokes out, his voice breaking on the word. "Always yours, Wes."
I shove him down onto the mattress, looming over him. His pants and underwear join his ruined shirt on the floor, leaving him naked and trembling beneath me. His cock is already hard, curving up toward his stomach, a bead of pre-come glistening at the tip. Even terrified and shaken, his body responds to me. Only to me.
I strip quickly, my clothes falling away in a frantic rush. My dick is painfully hard, an insistent throb that demands not just release—but ownership.
"You're gonna reek of me, and only me," I breathe against his skin, my voice a low, dangerous promise as I settle between his spread thighs. "He'll smell me on you for a week. Every alpha who comes near you will know exactly who you belong to."
Braiden whimpers, his hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea. His arousal hits my nose—sweet and sharp like ripe fruit—a beacon cutting through Nash's stink. His slick is already gathering, his entrance glistening, his body preparing for me despite the fear and adrenaline still coursing through him.
"Please," he begs, his hands reaching for me. "Wes, please. I need you. Need to feel you."
I grab his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand, my grip bruising. With the other, I trace a path down his body, over his chest, his stomach, his cock, before dipping between his legs to test his readiness. He's so wet, so open for me. Only for me.
"I'm gonna fill you so full of my seed, there's no room for anything else," I growl, positioning myself at his entrance. "Gonna erase every trace of him."
I push in with one hard, unforgiving thrust, burying myself to the hilt inside him. Braiden cries out, his back arching off the bed, his inner walls clenching around me like a fist. It's almost too much—the tight, wet heat of him, the way he takes all of me despite the rough entry. I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming right then.
"Mine," I growl, pulling out until only the tip remains before slamming back in. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to."
"You," Braiden gasps, his eyes wide and dark with a mixture of fear and desperate need. "Only you, Wes. Always you."
