‎

‎The jolt came first—a sudden, violent awareness of pressure where there should have been nothing but the soft give of a mattress. A hand, large and unmistakably male, clamped over my mouth, cutting off the scream that tried to tear its way out of my throat. The other hand settled low on my waist, possessive and heavy, fingers playing across the thin cotton of my sleep shirt.

‎

‎"Shh...don't want to disturb your mom, sweetheart~"

‎

‎The voice was a low, mocking purr against my ear, a sound I'd know anywhere, a sound that had haunted my high school hallways and now my college campus. Xie. The air in my room, which had been still and cool a moment ago, was now thick with the scent of him—something sharp and clean like ozone after a storm, mixed with a distinctly alpha musk that made the hairs on my arms stand up. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape a cage.

‎

‎I struggled, bucking under his weight, but he was solid, an immovable force pinning me to the bed. The memory of his face from earlier today flashed behind my eyes—that infuriatingly handsome smirk as he'd leaned close to Ace, his fingers brushing the omega's arm, his eyes cutting to me across the courtyard just to make sure I was watching. The heat of humiliation washed over me again, hotter than any fever.

‎

‎His cold breath fanned over the shell of my ear, making me shudder. "Surprised? Didn't expect me to actually come up, did you, rival?"

‎

‎I thrashed harder, my elbows digging back, my legs kicking at the tangle of sheets. Every muscle screamed with the need to throw him off, to wipe that smug tone from his voice.

‎

‎He pressed his weight down harder, a knee insinuating itself between my thighs, prying them apart with infuriating ease. The hand on my mouth tightened, his chuckle a low, vibrating rumble against my back. "Still trying to struggle? You've always been this stubborn, little rival."

‎

‎My breath hitched, the sound muffled by his palm. I went still, not in surrender, but to gather what little strength I had left. The silence stretched, thick with the sound of our ragged breathing. I could feel the hard planes of his chest against my back, the heat of him seeping through our clothes.

‎

‎Then his lips were on my neck, not a kiss, but a sharp, deliberate nip that made me jolt. At the same time, his pheromones flooded the room, an alpha's command that was impossible to ignore. My own body betrayed me instantly—a full-body tremble I couldn't suppress, a warmth pooling low in my stomach.

‎

‎"See?" he murmured, his mouth moving against my skin. "You're already shaking under me. Why pretend you hate this so much?"

‎

‎Rage, white-hot and blinding, surged through me. With a guttural sound, I put all my strength into one sudden, violent push, throwing my weight sideways.

‎

‎"Let me go, you bitch!"

‎

‎He let me go. Too easily. He fell back against my headboard as if he'd been expecting it, a lazy, infuriating smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes, glinting in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the blinds, dragged slowly over me—taking in my heaving chest, my flushed face, the way my hands were fisted in the sheets.

‎

‎"Still got that bite, huh?" he mused, his voice a low taunt. "I just love how you fight me every time."

‎

‎The creak of the door hinge was like a gunshot in the tense silence. Light from the hallway spilled into the room, silhouetting my mother's concerned frame.

‎

‎"Everything okay in here? I heard a thud."

‎

‎In a movement so fluid it was chilling, Xie slid off the bed and straightened his rumpled collar. The predatory intensity vanished from his face, replaced by a picture of polite concern. The smirk, however, remained, a sharp, private thing just for me.

‎

‎"Good evening, auntie," he said, his voice perfectly even. "We were just discussing some homework. Is there anything wrong?"

‎

‎My mother's eyes darted between us, lingering on my obvious dishevelment. "Homework? At this hour? It sounded like... wrestling."

‎

‎Xie's smile widened, all charming innocence. "Just a passionate debate about economic theory. You know how competitive we can be."

‎

‎I couldn't speak. My throat was locked tight with a mixture of fury, humiliation, and a terrifying, traitorous thrill. I just stared at the wall, wishing it would swallow me whole.

‎

‎After a moment of uneasy silence, my mother nodded slowly. "Well... keep it down. Your father's trying to sleep." She closed the door, plunging the room back into near-darkness.

‎

‎The second the latch clicked, the mask dropped. Xie was on me again in two swift strides, caging me against the headboard with one arm planted beside my head. His scent enveloped me, overwhelming.

‎

‎"See?" he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Your own mom likes me more than you think."

‎

‎The subtext hung in the air, thick and undeniable. *She trusts me. She has no idea what I'm really doing to you in the dark.*

‎

‎"Shut up," I ground out, my voice tight.

‎

‎He leaned in closer, until the tip of his nose brushed against mine. His fingers, surprisingly cold, came up to tilt my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were black pools in the dim light, but I could see the mockery burning in their depths.

‎

‎"Make me shut up then, little rival." His breath ghosted over my lips. "What're you gonna do, huh?"

‎

‎The challenge hung between us. The memory of his smirk at Ace. The years of rivalry. The feel of his body against mine. It all coalesced into a single, reckless impulse. Before my brain could catch up, I surged forward and crushed my mouth against his.

‎

‎He froze. For half a second, there was only the shock of contact, the soft, unexpected pressure of his lips. Then he was kissing me back, harder, hungrier. His hand fisted in the back of my shirt, yanking me flush against him. His teeth caught my lower lip, a sharp, claiming bite that made me gasp.

‎

‎"Took you long enough to stop acting like you hate me," he breathed against my mouth when he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at me.

‎

‎His dark eyes were glinting now with something more than mockery—a raw, naked desire that stole the air from my lungs. His thumb brushed over my swollen bottom lip, the touch surprisingly gentle.

‎

‎"That was more than just a fight, wasn't it?" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've wanted this for just as long as I have."

‎

‎The piercing ring of my phone from the nightstand shattered the moment. I flinched. Xie snarled, a low, animal sound of pure annoyance. His eyes flicked toward the buzzing device, and in one swift motion, he slammed his hand down over it, silencing the ring.

‎

‎"Don't answer it," he commanded, his gaze snapping back to me, intense and unwavering. "We're in the middle of something. Whoever it is can wait."

‎

‎He didn't wait for a response. He shoved the phone, screen-down, into the pillow beside my head, then reclaimed my mouth with a bruising force that made me gasp. His tongue swept past my parted lips, warm and demanding. The world narrowed to the taste of him, the feel of his hands, the overwhelming presence of him.

‎

‎"Focus on me," he growled into the kiss, his hips pressing insistently against mine. "Not whatever stupid call that is."

‎

‎A tremble started deep inside me, a fine, uncontrollable shaking that began in my core and radiated outwards. He felt it immediately. He pulled back, a low, deeply satisfied chuckle rumbling in his chest. His calloused hand slid from my hip down my trembling side, his fingers digging in with a possessiveness that should have felt violating but instead sent another shiver through me.

‎

‎"See how easily I can make you shake?" he whispered, his lips trailing along my jaw. "You don't have to pretend you don't love every second of this."

‎

‎"S...shut up," I stuttered, the words tripping over my traitorous tongue. The protest was weak, pathetic. My body was screaming a different story.

‎

‎He leaned in, his hot breath scalding the sensitive skin of my neck. He didn't kiss it. Instead, he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from my collarbone to the pulse hammering at the base of my throat. The tremor in my limbs intensified. His laugh vibrated against my skin.

‎

‎"Stuttering already?" he taunted. "We haven't even gotten to the good part yet, little rival."

‎

‎"I said s...shut—" The rest of the sentence was swallowed as he cut me off with another searing kiss. This one was different—less about conquest, more about consumption. One hand tangled in my hair, holding me still, while the other slipped under the hem of my shirt. His palm was warm and rough against the bare, trembling skin of my stomach. I gasped into his mouth.

‎

‎"Why should I shut up," he murmured against my lips, his thumb tracing circles on my hip bone, "when you sound so pretty stuttering like this for me?"

‎

‎Desperation clawed at me. I pushed against his chest, a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of control. "G..go b..b..back to sleep already..." The stutter was worse now, rendering me utterly unconvincing.

‎

‎He didn't budge. He just smirked, pressing his body tighter against mine, eliminating any remaining space between us. His warm palm remained splayed across my stomach, a brand.

‎

‎"Go back to sleep? Alone?" His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "That's not what I came here for, little rival. You started this," his hips rolled against mine, a slow, deliberate grind that made my breath catch, "now you finish it."

‎

‎A full-body tremor wracked me this time, starting from where his hand touched my skin and radiating outwards until I was shaking uncontrollably. I was losing. I had lost the moment I kissed him.

‎

‎He nuzzled the side of my neck, his nose cool against my feverish skin. A low, smug rumble vibrated in his chest as his fingers traced slow, teasing circles lower, on the crest of my hip. The air in the room was thick, almost soupy, with the smell of our mixed pheromones—his sharp alpha scent and my own, spiking with a reluctant, undeniable arousal.

‎

‎"Look at you," he breathed, his voice thick with triumph. "Still trembling. You can't fool me—you want this just as badly as I do."

‎

‎The last thread of my resistance snapped. The fight drained out of me, leaving behind only a raw, aching need. The pretense was exhausting. The denial was a lie we both saw through.

‎

‎"W...won't you..just s...shut up," I whispered, the words a final, weak protest.

‎

‎He pressed his thumb hard against my swollen lower lip, silencing me. His dark eyes glinted with a hunger that was no longer mocking, but pure and predatory. He pressed his hips closer, and I could feel the hard proof of his desire through our pajama pants. The warmth of his body was a furnace.

‎

‎"I'll shut up," he promised, his voice rough, "when you stop acting like a shy little virgin and admit you've been craving this, rival."

‎

‎The word hung between us. *Rival*. It was what we were, what we'd always been. But in this dark room, with his body covering mine, it felt like a different kind of challenge. A confession. I met his gaze, and for the first time, I didn't look away. I let him see the surrender in my eyes.

‎

‎"Fine."

‎

‎The single syllable was barely audible, but it changed everything.

‎

‎His smirk widened into something dark, hungry, and utterly victorious. He loosened his grip just enough to fist his hands in the hem of my shirt. In one smooth motion, he tugged it up and over my head, tossing it to the floor. The cool night air hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps, but his calloused palms were already there, dragging slowly, possessively, across my chest, my ribs, my stomach. The touch was electric.

‎

‎He leaned in, his lips finding my collarbone. He didn't kiss it. He sucked, hard, his teeth grazing gently against the sensitive skin. The sensation was a sharp, sweet pain that made me arch against him. His low, satisfied breath fanned out across my chest as he looked up at me through heavy-lidded eyes.

‎

‎"Good boy," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "Now, let me show you what happens when you start something with me."

‎

‎He didn't move to take his own clothes off. Instead, he focused on the mark he was making, sucking another dark bruise right beside the first, high enough that it would be visible above the neckline of a t-shirt tomorrow. A brand. A claim.

‎

‎"This mark," he murmured against my skin, his tongue soothing the spot, "will remind everyone who you belong to now, little rival."

‎

‎The phantom sensation of his mouth still burned on my skin when I woke up. My fingers went to my collarbone, tracing the tender spot where his teeth had left their mark. The memory came flooding back—the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the low chuckle vibrating against my throat, the way he'd tossed my phone across the room like it was nothing. "No one gets to interrupt us tonight." His words echoed in the morning silence, and I could still smell the faint trace of pine and smoke that clung to my sheets.

‎

‎I dressed carefully, choosing a shirt with a higher collar, but the fabric brushed against the bruise with every movement. A constant reminder. My body felt different—aware in a way it hadn't been yesterday. Every nerve ending seemed to remember the path his hands had taken.

‎

‎The school hallway was a jarring return to reality. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, lockers slammed, and the chatter of students felt miles away from the hushed intensity of last night. I was trying to navigate the crowd, my mind still half-trapped in the dark, when a shoulder deliberately bumped mine.

‎

‎"Sleep well after last night, little rival?"

‎

‎Xie. His voice was a low purr meant only for my ear, but it slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He was already moving past me, but his eyes—dark and knowing—flicked down to the edge of my collar, to the shadow of the mark he knew was there. A mocking smirk played on his lips.

‎

‎Heat flooded my cheeks. "Shut up."

‎

‎He laughed, a soft, infuriating sound, and stepped back into my space. His fingers brushed the edge of my collar, a feather-light touch that made me flinch. "Aw, don't be like that." His voice lifted slightly, just enough to carry as another student, Ace, walked by. "Everyone will see the mark soon enough anyway."

‎

‎Humiliation warred with a traitorous thrill. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Won't... you just freaking shut up."

‎

‎In a flash, his hand closed around my wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding. He didn't ask; he pulled. He yanked me sideways into the nearest stairwell, the heavy door swinging shut behind us and cutting off the hallway noise. My back hit the cold concrete wall, and he caged me in with one arm, his body crowding mine. The space was dim, smelling of dust and old wax.

‎

‎"Why should I?" His thumb found the tender spot on my collarbone through the fabric, pressing gently. His eyes were black pools of hunger. "You loved every second of what we did last night. Don't act like I'm the only one who wants more."

‎

‎The bell rang, a shrill, intrusive sound that sliced through the tension. It was the end of the passing period. Class was starting.

‎

‎He didn't move away immediately. Instead, he tugged me closer by the collar, his face dipping to mine. His lips connected with my jaw in a quick, biting kiss that was more possession than affection. "Go to class then," he murmured, his fingers brushing the mark one last time before he released me. The smirk was back, a permanent fixture on his face. "I'll meet you after school. Don't think you can avoid what we started."

‎

‎He turned to leave, his movements lazy and confident. At the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. That wink. It was pure provocation. "Don't be late to our little meeting. I hate waiting, especially for you."

‎

‎I couldn't form a coherent thought. My skin was on fire where he'd touched me. "...Fine."

‎

‎"Good." He pushed the door open, and the light from the hallway silhouetted him for a moment. "I'll be waiting by the back gate. Don't keep me waiting long, or I'll just have to come find you in class."

‎

‎Then he was gone. But the air in the stairwell was thick with him. The scent of pine and smoke clung to my clothes, a ghostly presence that followed me as I forced my legs to carry me to my last class. A constant, taunting reminder.

‎

‎I slipped into the room just as the final bell rang, my pulse still racing. I focused on finding my seat, on breathing normally, on pretending my world hadn't just been tilted off its axis. I slid into the chair and dropped my bag, letting out a slow breath. Safe.

‎

‎Then my breath caught. Stalled in my chest.

‎

‎In the empty seat beside mine, leaning back with an infuriatingly familiar lazy posture, was Xie. A slow, sharp smirk spread across his face as my eyes met his. Under the table, the toe of his boot nudged my thigh.

‎

‎"Looks like we share this class, little rival," he said, his voice a low, warm rumble that seemed to vibrate right through the wooden desk. "What a nice surprise."

‎

‎It was no surprise. It was a trap. I could feel the eyes of other students on us, curious. We were rivals. Everyone knew that. Our constant bickering and competitive clashes were classroom legend. This new proximity was a glaring anomaly.

‎

‎I stared straight ahead at the blackboard, refusing to acknowledge him. My whole body was tense, hyper-aware of his presence mere inches away. The teacher began calling roll, his voice a droning monotone. Then he moved on to the week's project—paired assignments for the upcoming dormitory stay.

‎

‎My name was called. I straightened in my seat. And then, immediately after, the teacher called his. "Xie. You'll be with him."

‎

‎A sharp kick connected with my ankle under the table. I flinched and turned. Xie was grinning at me, that sharp, knowing look in his eyes that made my stomach flip.

‎

‎"Looks like we'll be sharing a dorm all week now," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Can't get rid of me that easily, rival."

‎

‎The teacher turned to write the pairings on the blackboard. The moment his back was turned, Xie's hand slid onto my thigh. Not a grab, but a slow, deliberate placement. His fingers pressed lightly into the soft skin of my inner leg, inching higher with an agonizing slowness. I went rigid, my pen clattering from my numb fingers onto the notebook.

‎

‎He leaned in, his warm breath brushing the shell of my ear. "See?" he whispered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest when I jerked at the sensation. "Even the universe wants us to keep going where we left off last night."

‎

‎My face was burning. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of his hand through the fabric of my pants. The teacher's chalk scratched steadily at the board, a sound that normally signaled boredom but now felt like a countdown. "...won't you just shut up," I managed to whisper, my voice strangled.

‎

‎His fingers squeezed my thigh lightly, the pressure a promise and a threat. They inched higher still. At the same time, he dipped his head, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss right under my ear. I felt the smirk against my skin. "Why would I? I finally got you right where I want you. I'm not going to waste this chance."

‎

‎Frustration and a humiliating flicker of arousal twisted together in my gut. I tried to kick his feet away from under the desk, a feeble attempt to reclaim some control.

‎

‎He was faster. He caught my ankle between his own, pressing his leg firmly against mine, holding me trapped. His fingers continued their slow, maddening ascent. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my neck. "Still trying to fight me?" he murmured, his lips grazing my skin. "You know you're just gonna end up giving in anyway, pretty rival."

‎

‎I squeezed my eyes shut. The classroom, the other students, the teacher—it all faded into a dull buzz. The only things that were real were the heat of his hand, the scent of him filling my lungs, and the memory of his body moving against mine. "Shut up..." The plea was weak, even to my own ears.

‎

‎He finally pulled his hand back a fraction, but kept his leg pressed firmly against mine, a solid, warm line of contact. He picked up his pen, the picture of innocence as he pretended to take notes from the board. But he leaned in again, his breath a warm caress. "I'll shut up for now," he conceded, his tone anything but conceding. "Just you wait until we get to the shared dorm later."

‎

‎I rolled my eyes, a desperate attempt at nonchalance. It was a pathetic defense, and he knew it.

‎

‎He snorted softly, dropping his pen. He turned his head, nudging my jaw with his nose, the tip brushing lightly, familiarly, against my skin. "Roll your eyes all you want," he whispered, the mocking lilt back in his tone, laced with a dark certainty that made my breath hitch. "By the end of tonight, you'll be the one begging me not to stop."

‎

‎I ignored him. Or I tried to. I focused on the chalkboard, on the meaningless diagrams, on picking up my pen with a hand that trembled slightly. I started writing notes, forcing my brain to process words, dates, formulas. Anything to drown out the symphony of sensation he was conducting on my body and the relentless, thrilling echo of his promise. The scratch of my pen was a feeble counterpoint to the roaring in my ears, a roaring that smelled distinctly of pine and smoke and tasted like inevitable surrender.

‎