Page 64 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

The realization made something snap inside me. Two weeks of careful restraint, of respecting boundaries I didn't believe in, of suppressing every Alpha instinct that demanded I claim and possess and protect. All of it evaporated in the face of genuine threat to the bond itself.

"You can't break it," I said, my voice dropping to that low register that made Omegas respond on a primal level. "No matter what you're researching, what you're planning, what you think you've discovered. The fated bond can't be severed. Not without consequences neither of us is prepared to face."

She lifted her chin with that stubborn defiance that had first drawn me to her. "You don't know what I'm prepared to face."

The challenge in her voice made my control slip further, Alpha instincts surging to the surface with unstoppable force.

Before she could react, I had her pinned against the desk, my hands fisting in the fabric of her uniform skirt.

She should have been scared. Should have submitted the way her biology demanded.

Instead, she met my eyes with that same stubborn defiance that had been driving me insane for months.

"Get your hands off me," she said, but her voice was breathless, her pupils already dilating from my proximity.

"No," I growled, pressing closer until she was trapped between the desk and my body. "I'm done playing games. Done pretending this is negotiable."

"It's not about proving a point," she said quietly. "It's about choice. Autonomy. The right to determine my own future rather than having it dictated by coincidence."

"There's no choice when it comes to biology," I insisted, my hands tightening on her waist. "Fighting it only causes unnecessary pain."

"Maybe pain is necessary sometimes," she countered, her voice steady despite our proximity. "Maybe some prices are worth paying for self-determination."

The words sent ice through my veins, confirming my worst fears. She wasn't establishing boundaries or processing trauma. She was genuinely planning to reject the bond, to fight the imperative regardless of physical consequences.

And if anyone was stubborn enough to succeed where all logic said failure was inevitable, it would be Vespera Levine.

The thought made something desperate and primal take over. I couldn't lose her. Wouldn't lose her. Not after finding her, claiming her, recognizing her as the one perfect match biology had designed specifically for me.

My mouth crashed down on hers, all pretense abandoned. This wasn't about romance or seduction. This was about ownership. About reminding her exactly what she belonged to, what she was trying to throw away.

She fought it for exactly three seconds before biology took over. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain only made me harder.

"I fucking hate you," she gasped against my mouth.

"Good," I snarled back, dropping to my knees and pushing her skirt up. The scent of her arousal hit me like a drug. Sweet slick and jasmine and mine. "Hate me all you want. Your body knows better."

I ripped her panties away, the fabric tearing with a sound that made her gasp. She was already wet, already responding despite her protests, and the sight made something feral take over completely.

"Look at you," I growled, spreading her thighs wider. "Already dripping for me."

"Don't—" she started, but the word dissolved into a cry when I put my mouth on her.

She tasted like everything I'd been craving for two weeks. Slick and need and perfect compatibility. I lost myself in it, in her, tongue working her clit while she fought between pushing me away and pulling me closer.

"Mine," I said against her, the word vibrating through her core. "All fucking mine."

Her hands tangled in my hair, and I couldn't tell if she was trying to stop me or hold me there. Didn't matter. I was drunk on her scent, her taste, the way her thighs trembled around my head.

When she came on my tongue, her back arching off the desk, I wanted to stay there forever. But I needed more. Needed to be inside her, needed to claim her completely.

I stood up, my chin wet with her slick, and she was already clawing at my belt.

"That's it," I said, lifting her properly onto the desk. "Show me how much you hate me."

When I thrust into her, she screamed. Not in pain. In pleasure so intense it bordered on violence. Her nails raked down my back hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to claim me while I claimed her.

"Mine," I snarled, establishing a brutal pace that had the desk slamming against the wall. "Fucking mine."

"Never," she gasped, but her legs were wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper.

I bit down on her claiming mark, and she shattered around me, her body convulsing as she came with a cry that echoed off the classroom walls. The sound of her surrender, the feel of her clenching around my cock, pushed me over the edge.

My knot started to swell, and for a moment I considered staying locked inside her, claiming her so completely that anyone who walked in would see exactly who she belonged to. But even through the haze of claiming instinct, I had enough sense to pull out, spilling across her bare thighs instead.

Reality crashed back like ice water. I looked down at her. Skirt pushed up, thighs marked with my release, her eyes already hardening as the haze cleared.

I'd fucked my fated mate on a desk like an animal. Proved every point she'd made about me being unable to control myself, unable to respect boundaries, unable to see her as anything more than something to own.

The satisfaction I'd felt moments before curdled into something that tasted like failure.

"Get away from me," she said, her voice dead calm. Scarier than screaming would have been.

I stepped back, watching her clean herself up with mechanical precision. She straightened her uniform, pulled down her skirt, like she could erase what had happened between us.

"That proved nothing," she said finally. "Except that you'll always choose force when you don't get your way."

She was right. I'd snapped, lost control, proved I was exactly the controlling bastard she'd accused me of being. All my careful attempts to show her I'd changed, thrown away in five minutes of desperate claiming.

"You're still mine," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.

"No," she replied, fixing her hair with steady hands. "I'm still leaving."

"That proved nothing," she said finally, her voice steadier than I'd expected given what had happened. "Except that biology is a traitor. That my body responds to programming I didn't choose and can't control."

"It proved everything," I countered, though the victory felt hollow in the face of her continued resistance. "You're mine. My fated mate. My perfect match. Fighting that reality only causes unnecessary suffering."

"Maybe suffering is necessary sometimes," she said, straightening her clothes with careful precision. "Maybe some prices are worth paying for autonomy, for self-determination, for the right to choose my own future rather than having it dictated by coincidence."

The quiet certainty in her voice made something cold settle in my chest. This wasn't negotiation or a play for concessions. This wasn't even about what had happened between us. This was genuine rejection, calculated and determined despite the impossibility of what she was attempting.

And I was beginning to realize that all my strategies, all my attempts to maintain the bond through force or manipulation or claiming, had only pushed her further away.

Every time I'd tried to assert control, she'd withdrawn deeper into herself.

Every time I'd reminded her of the realities binding us, she'd researched ways to break free.

I'd been approaching this like every other challenge in my life.

As something to be conquered, controlled, manipulated into the shape I wanted.

But Vespera wasn't a role to be mastered or a situation to be managed.

She was a person, with her own agency and desires and the stubborn will to fight for them even when biology said surrender was inevitable.

The thought was terrifying in ways I wasn't prepared to confront. Because if manipulation wouldn't work, if force only made things worse, if biology itself wasn't enough to secure her acceptance, then what did I have left?

"Your ten minutes are up," she said, glancing at her watch with pointed emphasis, as if we hadn't fucked on a desk in an unlocked classroom. "I need to get to my next final."

I wanted to stop her, to continue the argument, to find some combination of words or actions that would make her understand the magnitude of what she was threatening to destroy.

But she was already moving toward the door, her posture rigid with the effort of maintaining distance despite the bond's pull.

"Vespera," I called, her name emerging more vulnerable than I'd intended. "Please. Give us a chance to prove ourselves. To show you that things can be different now."

She paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame as she looked back at me with those green eyes that had haunted me since the first day she'd walked into my world.

"It's not about second chances," she said quietly. "It's about first choices. And this is mine."

The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow felt more final than a slam would have. I stood in the empty classroom, breathing in the combined scent of our claiming, feeling the bond stretch painfully as the distance between us increased.

For the first time in my life, I faced the possibility of losing something I desperately wanted and having no strategy, no plan, no calculated approach to ensure I got it.

The careful control that had defined me since childhood, the strategic thinking that had made me successful in every other area of life. None of it worked with her.

She was slipping away. Fighting what should have been impossible to resist. Planning to reject the very connection that nature itself had forged between us.

And I was beginning to understand that maybe biology wasn't enough.

Maybe rare and precious didn't guarantee acceptance.

Maybe even perfect genetic compatibility couldn't overcome months of systematic cruelty, couldn't erase the fundamental truth that she'd never chosen this bond in the first place.

My fated mate. My perfect match, the one person designed specifically for me. Might actually find the strength to reject me despite everything biology demanded.

And for the first time since I'd recognized what she was to me, I was genuinely terrified that I deserved exactly what she was planning to give me.

Nothing.