Chapter 3: Involuntary Responses

Iris's POV

"...and what most students fail to understand," Professor Blackwell said, clicking to her next slide. "is that the scent bond does not wait for your permission. By the time you consciously register what's happening, your body has already been responding for..."

I stopped hearing her.

My brain simply checked out mid-sentnce and handed me back to the dream. His hands on my skin. The way his fingers had found me soaking and the groan that had torn out of his chest.

I shifted in my seat.

I imagined him here. Not as the man he actually was, controlled, composed, the kind of alpha other men stepped back for without being asked, but as the man from the dream. The one who would lay me down on the desk, his hands rough as he pushed my skirt up, his fingers finding the damp heat between my legs. I imagined the way he would groan when he felt how wet it was, like this morning, like every morning, the way his c*ck would twitch against my thigh as he told me exactly what he was going to do to me.

My breath froze, my thighs pressed together under the desk and I felt the ache pulse between them, hot and insistent. I was in a room full of people, in class, and I was sitting here with my panties damp and my skin on fire because I couldn't stop thinking about my best friend's father for thirty seconds straight. I was disgusting to myself.

I pressed my pen hard into the notebook page.

Involuntary Physiological Responses in Early Bond Formation.

Fantastic. Exactly what I needed to be sitting in front of right now.

I closed my eyes for three seconds, which was a mistake, because the moment I did, I was back in it. His mouth on mine, demanding entrance like it wasn't a question. His thumb pressing against my pulse point, his body covering mine. I could hear his voice low and filthy in my head...

I opened my eyes, breathless and realized the professor was staring at me.

The entire row turned to look.

"Would you like to answer the question?" She asked.

I had absolutely no idea what the question was. I was too busy fantasizing about my best friend's father f*cking me in the middle of a lecture.

"Could you repeat it?" My voice came out rough.

"What are the three primary indicators of an emerging scent bond in an omega?" She asked.

I knew this, I'd read it twice this week for entirely personal and deeply concerning reasons.

"Heightened sensitivity to a particular alpha's scent," I said. "Involuntary Physiological arousal when in close contact, and..." I paused. "Persistent intrusive thoughts."

The professor held my gaze for one more moment. "Correct," she said, turning back to the board.

I looked back down at my notebook, my face was burning.

I was going to fail this class.

After class we got coffee from the cart outside the building and found the bench under the big oak where we always ended up when neither of us had anywhere to be. Chloe pulled her legs up, hands wrapped around her cup and tilted her head up toward the weak morning sun.

"How was your mom's place?" I broke the silence.

"Mom's place was strange," she said.

"Strange how?" I asked.

"She redecorated the sitting room." She turned her cup around in her hands. "There's new everything."

"All of it?" I asked.

"Yeah." She paused. "She kept the anniversary photo though, just moved it to a different wall."

I wrapped both hands around my cup and waited.

"She asked about it him too, like she always does." Her voice was quieter. "How he's eating, whether he's working too. Nobody asks that many questions about someone they've moved in from."

The guilt in my chest tightened.

"Chloe, they've been divorced for a long time now." My voice was tight.

"I know they're not getting back together," She said. "I'm not twelve anymore. I just... sometimes I think they stopped trying before they should have, like they both decided at the same time to let go and neither of them ever checked whether the other one actually wanted to."

"Sometimes people grow into people the marriage can't hold," I said carefully.

"Maybe." She looked at her coffee. "Still can't help it."

I nodded and said nothing. I thought about Rafael at the pool edge last night with his sleeves rolled at his elbows, his grey eyes tracking down my body and not moving, and the guilt in my chest grew.

"Alright." Chloe shook herself off. "What's going on with Tristan?"

"Nothing good." I sighed.

"Define nothing good?" She asked.

"He's called four times this week." I wrapped my arms tighter around my cup. "I answered once."

"Iris, you can't keep..."

"I know, Chloe." I pressed my lips together. "Everytime I go to call him back there's this...wall. This exhaustion before the conversation even starts like I already know how it's goes and I'm tired of it before I've said a word."

She studied me. "How long has it been like this?"

"Awhile." I looked at her. "A few months."

She absorbed that without surprise, which told me she'd seen it coming before I'd admitted it to myself.

She reached over and took my hand and held it without saying anything. That was the thing about Chloe, she always knew when to push and when to just be there.

My phone buzzed against my thigh. It was a text from Tristan, not a call. A text long enough that the preview cut off.

Hey, I know you've been avoiding me and I get it, I probably deserve it. But I miss you and I think we should talk properly. My place? Just come over and let's talk.

I read it twice, something moved in my chest that was tired and complicated

Chloe was looking at her own phone, unbothered and I turned my screen slightly away.

I thought about the pool, the way the dream had felt, the ache that still hadn't fully left, then I thought about my relationship with Tristan, lying still in the dark.

Maybe this was the conversation, this was the one where something actually changed

I typed back before I could think too long about it.

Fine. I'll be there by seven.