Chapter 104: I’m not looking at anyone at all

"Uncomfortable?" Reid repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

​He didn’t remove his hand from the nape of my neck. Instead, his long fingers tightened, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive skin right at the base of my skull, forcing me to keep my head turned toward him. The lazy, needy Alpha from the kitchen was gone, completely replaced by the volatile, territorial predator I knew all too well.

​"That’s the word you’re going to use, Cap? Uncomfortable?" He leaned in closer, his heavy shadow completely blocking out the glowing green light of the television screen. The biting scent of frozen pine flared, suffocatingly thick, practically demanding my body’s submission even as my mind scrambled to maintain control. "I don’t give a shit about being uncomfortable. I don’t want him looking at you. I don’t want you looking at him. It’s that simple."

​"He’s on a TV screen, Reid," I argued, trying to keep my voice flat, trying to channel every ounce of authority I had left as his captain. I forced my eyes to stay locked onto his dark, narrowed slits, refusing to look back at Edward’s smiling face on the broadcast. "It’s a pre-recorded highlight. If you’re going to lose your mind every time a rival Alpha breathes in my general direction, you’re going to have a very exhausting career."

​Reid’s jaw clenched so hard I heard the joint pop. His eyes flicked down to my lips for a split second before snapping back up to meet mine. The sheer intensity in his gaze was staggering—it was the look of an Alpha who had spent the last forty-eight hours thoroughly marking, claiming, and sinking himself into an Omega, only to be reminded that the rest of the world still existed outside his bedroom walls.

​"I don’t care about my career right now," he rasped, his chest heaving against my shoulder. He gave a sharp, warning tug on the back of my hair—not enough to genuinely hurt, but enough to make me gasp, my lips parting involuntarily. "And I don’t care if it’s a recording. You went stiff the second his ugly face came on the screen. Why? You still thinking about how ’nice’ he is? Huh, Cap?"

​"I went stiff because your pheromones suddenly felt like a physical chokehold, you idiot," I hissed, my hands coming up to grip his forearm, trying to loosen his hold without triggering a full-blown wrestling match.

My heart was thumping a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs.

​Calm down, I told myself fiercely. Don’t let him see how much this affects you. Just de-escalate. You just need to get through today.

​"He’s a rival captain. Of course I’m going to look at the screen when his team plays. We’re literally playing them on Friday," I forced out, trying to inject a tone of clinical, professional indifference into the heavy air. "It’s called studying the competition. Now lose the grip before you ruin my neck along with your leg."

​Reid stared at me for three agonizingly long seconds, his grey eyes searching my expression, parsing through the irritation on my face to see if I was hiding anything.

Slowly, the suffocating, icy edge of his scent began to settle, smoothing out into something heavier, denser—something purely possessive.

​He didn’t let go of my neck. Instead, he slid his hand down, his palm mapping the curve of my shoulder before his arm wrapped entirely around my upper body, dragging me sideways until my back was flush against his chest again.

It wasn’t the soft cuddle from the kitchen; it was an aggressive, anchoring hold, pinning me to his side so tightly I could feel the violent thud of his heart against my shoulder blade.

​"Fine," Reid growled near my ear, his eyes finally shifting back to the television screen where the highlight was fading into a commercial break. He picked up his fork with his free hand, aggressively stabbing a piece of egg. "Study him all you want. But tomorrow morning, when we’re back on the ice? You’re looking at me."

​I let out a shaky breath, my body involuntarily relaxing into his massive frame despite the screaming alarms in my head.

Tomorrow morning, I thought, staring at the flashing advertisements on the screen as a cold, hollow ache settled deep in my chest. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to realize I’m not looking at anyone at all.

I shifted my weight slightly. Seriously, I have my own life to live, and I do not want to be compromised by this jealous Alpha.

​I’m yours.

​The words I had admitted to him in the heat of the bedroom suddenly echoed in my head, loud and mocking. I stiffened, a sharp, involuntary shudder racking my shoulders.

​Seriously... I was going crazy. How could I let myself say something so reckless?

​I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief second, trying to keep myself from shaking. I think I should be glad that I wasn’t permanently linked to him yet.

Yes, he marked my neck, and yes, I currently considered him my Alpha—but it was just for now. It was temporary. As soon as I could get him to shut up about my secret, as soon as I could get rid of this exhausting dependency... I’d be free.

​That is... as long as he does not mark my nape. If his teeth ever tore into that specific knot of nerves, the bond would lock. There would be no walking away no matter what I did. No walking away ever.

​"Cap." ​Reid’s voice called me out of my thoughts. I turned my head slowly to look at him, bracing myself for another demand, but the words caught in my throat.

​That raging, territorial jealousy from just now had suddenly vanished. It was gone as quickly as it had flared up, replaced by something entirely different. Something soft. Something terrifyingly fragile.

​He squeezed my shoulder, his large hand tightening just a little too much, a desperate edge bleeding through his fingers.

​"You have to only look at me, okay?" he whispered.

​I went silent. My mouth parted slightly, a breath trapping itself in my lungs as if I had completely forgotten what I was about to say at the very last moment.

​The way he looked right now... it was completely disarming. It was as if the arrogant, bruising rookie had stripped away, and I was staring at a broken child instead. An insecure kid who was hanging on to the last thread of familiarity he was scared of losing, terrified that if he let go for even a second, it would disappear.

​My throat bobbed, a heavy lump forming in my chest, and I had to turn my head away from the sheer intensity of his vulnerability.

​This kid was quite the headache. But... he was my headache, I guess.

​Against every single grain of common sense I possessed, my hand moved on its own.

I reached up, my fingers sliding through the thick, messy strands of his hair, and gripped his head gently. With a soft tug, I guided his head down, letting his forehead rest heavily against my shoulder.

​I don’t know why I even do this to myself. It’s as if we’re in a never ending cycle that isn’t breaking anytime soon.

​I get mad at him. I hate him. I yell, I hiss, I curse at his arrogance—and then I end up moaning under him in the dark, begging him to fuck me more.

I crave his touch even when it bruises, and I get soft the exact moment he shows me a sliver of genuine weakness. He keeps knocking at my door, shattering my defenses, and I end up opening it every damn time, no matter my mood, no matter how hard I swear I’ll keep it locked.

And then we go back to cursing, swearing, hissing until I fall for his vulnerability again. It’s an exhausting cycle but it’s as if I don’t even get tired of it and willingly fall into it.

​I stared blindly ahead into the dim penthouse, listening to the steady, quiet rhythm of his breathing against my neck.

If I go down, if I completely ruin my life over this, I have entirely myself to blame.