Page 139 of Pack Plus One

I grit my teeth, frustration building as he easily captures my wrists in his much larger hands. “Easy for you to say. Your instincts come with alpha strength.”

“And yours come with omega adaptability,” he counters, not loosening his grip. “Use it. I’m bigger, but you’re faster. I’m stronger, but you can be smarter.”

The challenge in his voice sparks something in me—determination, maybe, or just plain stubbornness. It works. I break free, backing away with a triumphant grin.

“Good,” he approves, a hint of pride in his expression. “Now, attack me.” He stands in the center of the mat, feet planted, arms at his sides.

I hesitate. “Just... attack you?”

He nods. “However you want.”

I study him, looking for any vulnerability. His stance is solid, his balance perfect. But there’s something in his eyes—a challenge, yes, but also something warmer, more approving. He’s watching me think, and he likes what he sees.

That realization gives me an idea. I move in again, but this time instead of aiming for a proper takedown, I drive my knee toward his thigh—not hard enough to truly hurt, but with enough force to make my point.

His eyes widen fractionally, and for a split second, his focus shifts to the unexpected target. It’s all the opening I need. I use his momentary distraction to hook my foot behind his ankle and push, not with enough strength to topple him on my own, but with enough technique to throw him off balance.

He growls—a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through the air—and suddenly I’m the one falling, my back hitting the mat with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. Caleb follows me down, his body covering mine, hands pinning my wrists above my head.

“Do it again,” he says, voice dropped to a register that sends shivers down my spine. “I dare you.”

The challenge in his eyes, the weight of him pressed against me, the scent of alpha arousal suddenly thick in the air—it’s intoxicating. I should be intimidated, maybe even afraid, but all I feel is a heady rush of excitement and my own answering arousal.

“What happens if I do?” I ask, my voice dropping to a husky tone I didn’t intend.

His eyes darken, pupils expanding as he takes in my flushed cheeks, my quickened breathing. “Try and find out.”

The tension between us is electric, a live wire of attraction that has been building since that first meeting at that pre-wedding cocktail party. With the others, there’s sweetness, exploration, gentle discovery. With Caleb, there’s this raw, primal, undeniable electricity.

I buck against his hold and his grip tightens, not painfully but with unmistakable dominance. When I try to knee him again, heshifts, slotting himself between my thighs in a way that makes us both freeze at the sudden, intimate contact.

“Leah,” he says, my name almost a growl in his throat.

“Caleb,” I return, deliberately flexing my hips upward.

The growl deepens, his control visibly fraying at the edges. I can see the moment he makes his decision, the slight nod to himself before he lowers his head to brush his lips against mine—a question, an offering.

I answer by surging upward, turning the tentative contact into something hungry and demanding. He responds immediately, his mouth claiming mine with such intensity it leaves no doubt who’s in charge.

One of his hands releases my wrist to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone with surprising gentleness given the heat of our kiss. I use my newly freed hand to explore the solid muscle of his shoulder, the taut line of his back. Every touch seems to stoke the fire between us, his scent growing richer and more potent with each passing second.

When we finally break apart for air, his eyes have gone almost black with desire, just a thin ring of green visible around the dilated pupils. He’s breathing hard, his control hanging by a thread that I suddenly, desperately want to snap.

“Is this still part of the self-defense lesson?” I ask, my voice breathy and uneven.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “No. This is part of the ‘driving me crazy’ lesson.”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Am I a good student?”

“Exceptional,” he rumbles, lowering his head to brush his lips against the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Though your technique could use some refinement.”

“Perhaps I need more hands-on instruction.”

His answering growl vibrates against my skin, sending shivers of anticipation down my spine. “Happy to provide it.”

What follows is less a kiss than a claiming—his mouth hot and demanding against mine, his body a welcome weight pinning me to the mat. I match his intensity with my own, omega instincts reveling in the powerful alpha currently marking me with his scent and touch.

We’re so lost in each other that we don’t hear the gym door open, don’t notice we have company until a pointed cough breaks through our haze of arousal.