Chapter 103: I’m in trouble

"Let go, Reid. I mean it."

"Make me," Reid dared, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that he usually used when he was pinning me to a mattress or a door. But there was no aggressiveness in it this time—just a stubborn, lazy confidence.

"R-Reid—"

His grip on my waist tightened by a fraction, his fingers digging gently into the soft flesh above my hips, keeping himself on me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

​I let out a long, defeated sigh, my shoulders dropping as the fight drained out of me.

​I couldn’t exactly do anything to get him off.

​Physically? He outweighed me, out-muscled me, and even with a limp, trying to pry his arms away would just turn into a wrestling match I’d inevitably lose.

Psychologically? Every time he breathed against my neck, my knees threatened to buckle. My body was still practically humming from the sex we had just a moment ago.

If I pushed him too hard, if I actually provoked him, we’d both end up back in that bedroom, and I couldn’t afford to let him touch me like that again. Not if I actually wanted to leave tomorrow.

​"You’re a child," I muttered, forcing my attention back to the stove, though my heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I picked up the spatula with a trembling hand, trying to salvage the eggs before they completely burned. "An annoying, oversized brat."

​"Mm. Your brat," Reid murmured into my skin, completely unfazed by the insult. He gave a small, contented rub of his nose against my neck, right over the spot where his teeth had hovered last night. "Smells good, Cap. Make enough for three."

"Why three?" I asked.

"Cause I’ll be eating for two." He chuckled.

​I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, desperate for the pain to clear the fog in my head. Your brat. He said it so casually, like a joke, like a stray thought from a twenty-one-year-old who didn’t know the weight of his own words.

​He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He just liked having me under his thumb.

​"Just stand still if you’re going to hang on to me," I said coldly, trying to inject some of my captain’s authority back into my tone, even though it was completely ruined by the way my hips were trapped against his. "And shut up. I’m trying to focus."

​Reid just chuckled, a deep vibration that warmed my entire back, and let his chin sink back onto my shoulder. He actually listened, going quiet, just watching me add more eggs to the pan while his breath remained a steady, suffocating heat against my skin.

​Every second felt like an eternity. With every rise and fall of his chest against my back, the invisible strings wrapping around us grew tighter.

I stared at the steam rising from the frying eggs, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck.

The silent kitchen felt entirely too small, the weight of his broad chest pressing against my back like a physical trap. <anno data-annotation-id="3374919c-ed57-4fe5-aa39-0231e0f7fb11" data-title="&lt;em&gt;Right now... I’m in trouble.&lt;/em&gt;">Right now... I’m in trouble.¹</anno>

​I managed to slide the eggs onto the plates without dropping the spatula, though my hands were shaking so badly the ceramic clicked against the counter.

True to his word, Reid didn’t let go until I practically forced him to take the plates, and even then, he dragged his fingers along my hip as he pulled away, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

​Instead of sitting at the high stools, Reid practically dictated the setup for the rest of the morning. He grabbed the remote, drawing down the heavy motorized blinds until the penthouse was plunged into a comfortable, cinematic dimness.

​"What are you doing?" I asked, setting down the glasses of juice. "It’s barely ten AM."

​"The Stars game is re-airing," he said simply, limping over to the massive sectional couch and patting the spot right next to him. "Sit."

​I wanted to refuse. I wanted to sit on the opposite end of the couch, or better yet, take my plate to the kitchen island and maintain a safe, sterile distance. But I didn’t want him to be suspicious so I forced my legs forward. If I started acting skittish now, he’d question it.

​The moment I sat down, Reid didn’t waste a second. He immediately shifted closer, his good leg brushing against mine, his arm sprawling across the back of the sofa so that his large hand could rest casually on the nape of my neck and I flinched. He was clinging to me, his frozen pine scent enveloping the entire couch like a thick, heavy fog.

​My heart was racing so hard I was convinced he could hear it over the commentators’ voices booming from the speakers.

I couldn’t focus on a single play. Every time his thumb lightly stroked the hair at the base of my skull, a liquid heat pooled in my gut, dragging me right back to the mattress we had just vacated.

I stared blindly at the moving colors on the screen, my mind a chaotic mess of survival instincts and pure, biological submission.

​Until the camera cut to a close-up during a whistle.

​The jersey was a deep forest green, the silver numbers catching the arena lights. But it was the face beneath the helmet that made my entire body go completely rigid.

​Edward Stein.

​The Stars were playing against Avalanche, Edward’s team, and the game had happened just last night, so the broadcast was currently showing the post-game highlights.

Edward was skating toward the penalty box, his jaw set, a fierce, dominant Alpha aura practically radiating through the digital screen. He looked exactly like he always did—powerful, composed, and smiling all through despite the pressure.

​The air on the couch instantly shifted. The lazy, comfortable warmth evaporated in a fraction of a second, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike in the atmosphere.

The scent of frozen pine suddenly turned incredibly cold, biting, and heavy with an aggressive surge of territorial dominance.

​I didn’t even have to look to know what was happening.

​Slowly, I turned my head. Reid wasn’t looking at the television screen anymore. He was staring directly down at me, his dark eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits, his jaw clenching so hard the bone looked ready to snap.

He was tracking my expression, watching the slight widen of my eyes, searching every line of my face for even a flicker of admiration or longing for the Alpha on the screen.

​Even after everything we had just done in that bedroom, even with my body completely saturated in his own pheromones, the bastard was still viciously, deeply jealous.

I took a deep breath and let it out.

"McCoy, we’ve talked about this." I said. "Nothing will happen between Edward and me since you find the idea very uncomfortable. So stop giving me that look. It’s annoying."

<annotations style="display: none;">Honestly, you&#39;re always in trouble </annotations>