Page 49 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)
thirty-four
Dorian
The scent hit me like a physical blow the moment we got her in the car.
Vespera's heat—wild jasmine transformed into something so rich and desperate it made my teeth ache—flooded the enclosed space with violent immediacy.
My vision narrowed, pupils dilating as primal instincts overrode everything else.
One moment I was Dorian Ashworth, calculating and controlled; the next I was nothing but Alpha, driven by imperatives older than civilization.
Mine.
She swayed against me in the backseat, those green eyes glazed with fever and unwilling need, her body already surrendering to what her mind still fought.
The flush across her skin, the way her breathing had gone shallow and rapid, the sweet slick I could smell even through her costume: all of it confirmed what I'd suspected since the moment she'd stepped onto that stage tonight.
Her heat had arrived in full force. And this time, there would be no escape.
Perfect.
"Where..." she whispered, the word barely coherent as another wave crashed through her.
"Home," I said, my voice rougher than intended as I fought to maintain some semblance of control. "Somewhere you can be properly taken care of."
Corvus was driving with his usual precise efficiency, but I could smell his arousal mixing with mine in the confined space. In the passenger seat, Oakley kept glancing back at us with eyes that had gone completely Alpha-dark.
The pack was falling into rut in response to her heat, exactly as biology intended. After months of anticipation, we were finally going to claim what had always been ours.
She tried to say something else, but the words dissolved into a soft whimper that went straight to my cock. Her scent was getting stronger by the minute, so thick with need that I could practically taste it on my tongue.
By the time we reached the mansion, I was barely holding onto sanity.
Getting her out of the car required careful coordination. Her legs gave out the moment her feet touched the ground, her body too consumed by heat to support her own weight.
"I've got you," I murmured, scooping her up before she could collapse onto the stone steps. She felt perfect in my arms: all soft curves and burning skin, her scent wrapping around me like a drug.
She made a small sound of protest, trying weakly to push against my chest. "I can walk."
"No, you can't," I said simply, carrying her toward the mansion's entrance. And she couldn't—her legs were trembling, her breathing ragged, every step I took sending visible waves of sensation through her hypersensitive system.
"Let me..." she started to argue, but another wave of heat cut her off, leaving her gasping and pliant in my arms.
Corvus opened the door for us, his eyes dark with arousal as he took in the sight of me carrying our claimed Omega across the threshold. Behind him, Oakley's cedar scent spiked with something that smelled like satisfaction mixed with possession.
The mansion's warmth hit us immediately: polished marble, rich wood, the kind of understated luxury that spoke of generations of wealth.
But all I could focus on was the weight of her in my arms, the way she'd stopped fighting and was now clinging to my shirt like I was the only solid thing in her spinning world.
"Upstairs," Corvus said, his voice rougher than usual.
I took the stairs two at a time, eager to get her somewhere private where we could finally finish what had been building for months. She buried her face against my neck, her breath hot against my skin, and I felt her tongue dart out to taste the salt there.
The innocent contact sent fire straight through my nervous system.
"Dorian," she whispered against my throat, and my name on her lips sounded like surrender.
We brought her to my suite: the largest, with the most comfortable bed and complete privacy from the household staff. She moved like she was underwater, completely lost to the heat consuming her system.
When I closed the door behind us, the sound seemed to echo with finality. No more interruptions. No more delays. The four of us and the imperative that had been building for months.
She stood in the center of the room, swaying slightly, the burgundy costume making her look like some kind of offering. Her scent filled the space completely now, so rich and desperate that all three of us were practically vibrating with need.
"I can't think," she whispered, pressing her hands to her temples. "Everything's so... hot."
"That's normal," Corvus said, but his clinical tone was undercut by the obvious arousal in his voice. "Heat affects cognitive function. Your body is prioritizing biological imperatives over conscious thought."
She looked at him with fever-bright eyes, then at Oakley, then finally at me. I saw the moment she registered our expressions: the predatory focus, the barely leashed hunger, the way we were all looking at her like she was everything we'd ever wanted.
"You planned this," she said, the words coming out broken. "All of it. The performance, the stress, everything to make my body—"
"Your body knows what it needs," I interrupted, moving closer. "What it's always needed. You've been fighting it for months, but now..."
I gestured to her obvious condition, the way she couldn't stop trembling, couldn't catch her breath, couldn't do anything but stand there and radiate desperate need.
"Now you can finally stop pretending."
But before I could reach for her, Oakley stepped forward with that concerned expression that meant his nurturing instincts were kicking in despite his obvious arousal.
"She needs to nest first," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Look at her—she's fighting her instincts because there's no proper nest."
I started to argue, rut making me impatient, but Oakley was already moving with purpose. He surveyed my bedroom with practiced eyes, then began gathering soft items: the throw blanket from my reading chair, pillows from the settee, even my expensive cashmere sweater from the closet.
"You're right," Corvus acknowledged, his analytical mind processing the observation even through his obvious arousal. "Proper heat protocol requires nesting before claiming. It will make her more receptive."
I watched, fascinated despite my impatience, as Oakley methodically arranged the items on my king-sized bed. His movements were gentle, precise, driven by instincts that seemed to override even his rut. While Corvus and I were focused on claiming, Oakley's caretaker side was emerging.
"There," he said softly, turning to Vespera with extended hands. "This will help with the discomfort."
The relief on her face was immediate and profound. "Oh," she breathed, recognizing instinctively what he'd done for her. "Thank you."
My rut slammed into me with overwhelming force as I watched what happened next.
"We need to get you out of these clothes first," I said, my hands already working at the fastenings of her costume. "You're burning up."
The burgundy velvet was damp with sweat, clinging to her overheated skin as Oakley helped me peel it away.
Underneath, her chemise was soaked through, practically transparent with perspiration and slick.
She was burning up, her body producing everything it needed for claiming whether her mind was ready or not.
"So beautiful," Oakley breathed as we stripped away the last of the fabric, revealing flushed skin that seemed to glow in the lamplight. "Look how perfect you are."
She was trembling, fragile as spun glass, her skin sheened with sweat and arousal. The scent of her slick was intoxicating, so rich and desperate it made my vision blur around the edges. Every inch of her screamed Omega in heat, ready for claiming, ready for us.
"There," Oakley said softly, guiding her naked form toward the nest he'd built. "This will help."
The moment her bare skin touched the soft materials, she melted. Her whole body seemed to relax for the first time since her heat had started, sinking into the nest like she'd been made for it.
"Oh," she breathed, nuzzling against the cashmere with a sound that was almost a purr. Her eyes fluttered closed as she arranged the materials around herself, her naked form creating the perfect picture of Omega contentment. "This is... this is perfect."
Oakley's scent warmed with deep satisfaction, pride radiating from him as he watched her settle into the nest he'd built. "Good," he said softly. "That's exactly what you needed."
She looked up at him with something that might have been gratitude, her usual defiance completely absent. Naked, vulnerable, glistening with the evidence of her heat—she was everything we'd imagined and more.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words carrying more weight than simple politeness.
The sight of her like that—nestled in soft materials, skin flushed and damp, practically glowing with contentment as she made those small happy sounds—was almost unbearably arousing.
This was what she was meant to be: an Omega in her element, naked and wanting, surrounded by Alpha care, finally accepting her true nature.
When she looked up at us from the center of her perfect nest, her eyes were still fever-bright but held something new: acceptance.
"I've been waiting for this since the day you walked into my classroom," I said, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest as I approached the bed. "You were always meant to be ours."
Her resistance crumbled completely then, biology finally overwhelming stubborn will. She reached for me with a desperate sound that was half surrender, half relief.
"Help me," she begged, her voice breaking on the words. "It hurts. Please make it stop hurting."
The admission sent triumphant satisfaction roaring through my system. Victory. Surrender. Mine.
"We'll take care of you," I promised, moving to join her in the nest. "We'll give you exactly what you need."
The sight of her bare skin, flushed with heat and need, sent a fresh wave of rut crashing through my system. My hands shook with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control, of not simply taking what biology demanded.
Vespera shuddered under our combined attention, her body responding to our scents with increasing desperation. Every touch drew small sounds from her throat: gasps and whimpers that spoke of need beyond her ability to process.
As we surrounded her completely, three Alphas driven by imperative and possessive satisfaction, I caught the last flicker of resistance in her fever-bright eyes. Even now, even consumed by heat and surrounded by the very Alphas who'd systematically broken her, some part of her was still fighting.
It only made me want her more.
"You're ours now," I told her, the words a promise and a threat all at once. "And we're going to make sure you never forget it."
The pack bond was forming already, invisible but tangible, tying the four of us in ways that transcended the merely physical. By the time we were finished, she would be claimed completely: body, mind, and biology.
Whether she wanted it or not.