Page 7 of My Defiant Mate
I don't bother with my boxers. I just need to get back to my room, hide, hope no one sees me—
"Where are you going?"
The voice is low and gravelly with sleep. I freeze, the ruined shirt clutched to my chest like a shield. I turn.
Jionni is propped on one elbow, his hooded eyes watching me. The sheet has slipped to his waist, revealing the intricate ink on his torso, the lean lines of his stomach. His gaze is still soft with sleep, but it sharpens as he takes in my stance, my clothes, the panic I know is written all over my face.
"I have to go. This was a—"
I can't say it.Mistake.My body says it wasn't a mistake. I'm still buzzing with how good it felt.
"A what?" He sits up, the sheet pooling at his hips. He's completely unashamed of his nakedness. "A regret?"
"A violation," I force out. "Of university policy. My job. My—"
"What feels right?" he cuts me off. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. "Because it felt right, Toby. Don't you dare stand there and tell me it didn't."
He starts walking toward me, and I should back up. I should turn and run. But my feet are glued to the floor. My body betrays me, leaning toward him, craving his heat, his scent.
"That's not the point," I whisper, hating how weak I sound. "The point is, I'm your RA. I'm supposed to—"
"Enforce rules that don't mean a damn thing compared to this?" He's in front of me now, so close I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
His expression softens, and it's worse than the anger. He reaches out and gently takes the ruined shirt from my hands, tossing it onto the chair.
"I get it," he says. "You're scared. But running away won't change anything."
His hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. The touch is so gentle it makes me want to cry. "Look at you," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my neck. His thumbbrushes over the bite mark, and I can't stop the full-body shiver that goes through me. "Sorry I marked you up," he says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all. "But you're too perfect not to."
I should pull away. I should tell him this is over before it even begins. But then his lips replace his thumb, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the bruised skin, and my resolve shatters into a million pieces.
"Jionni," I breathe, a plea and a protest all in one.
"Let me," he whispers against my skin, his breath warm. "Just let me show you."
His mouth is hot, his tongue a soothing balm as it traces the marks he left. It's a deliberate, possessive claiming, a reassertion of the ownership he took last night. His hands slide down to my waist, holding me steady as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. The grace in the movement makes my breath catch.
"My perfect omega," he murmurs, his lips brushing against the waistband of my khakis. "So good for me."
His fingers find the button, the zipper, and I know I should stop him. We need to talk. We need a plan. But his mouth is so close, and my cock is already hard, already aching.
My brain is screaming a thousand warnings. But my body, my traitorous omega body, is only screaming one word:More.
"We shouldn't," I manage, but my hands are already in his hair, my fingers curling into the soft, dark strands.
He looks up at me, his gray eyes dark with a desire so potent it feels like a physical force. "Tell me to stop, Toby. Say the word, and I will."
I can't. The word is lodged in my throat. As terrified as I am, the thought of him stopping is infinitely worse.
A slow, knowing smile touches his lips. "That's what I thought."
He tugs my khakis down my legs, and I step out of them without thinking, leaving me naked and exposed in the gray morning light slanting through his blinds.
"Look at you." His hand wraps around the base of my cock, his thumb stroking the sensitive underside. I gasp, my hips twitching forward. "So responsive."
Then his mouth is on me, and thought becomes impossible.
The heat of his mouth is a shock against my skin, wet and impossibly soft. A low sound escapes my throat, half-moan, half-sob, and my head thunks back against the cool, unforgiving wall. My hands, acting on their own, fist in his hair, holding on for dear life.
