جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 5

Zayden MercerThe scent hits my nose the moment I step into the villa. The luxury holiday cottage which the school had prepared for our hockey teams as we competed with Worcester’s Polar Titans. I marched into the house. There in the central living room, Ronan Devereux was sprawled on a sofa, trousers and underwear pooled around his ankles, legs spread wide with his co*k visible for all to see. Between his thighs was a male omega, probably one of the offerings sent by teams hoping to poach him for the professional league next season. Behind him was a female omega, her lips on his neck, palm moving around his chest and playing with his nipples. Absolutely shameless. Ronan opened his eyes as the male omega took in the cap of his massive cock. I hate to admit it, but yes, his co*k is massive. The very reasons those poor things trip over themselves to ride him, despite the generally acknowledged fact that he's an asshole who never spends more than a month with the same omega. He moane

ZAYDENOne hour at the gym, and another ten minutes at the school sports facility did nothing to loosen the knots in both my shoulder muscles and chest. It felt like something heavy was crushing me from the inside.It didn’t matter. I had to shove it down and enter the rink. Today was the internal tournament between the Arctic Wolves and the Northstars. It was framed as a friendly match, but there would be nothing friendly about it. Never had been.Each side would play like their life depended on it. Because it did. I could already see scouts from the professional team hovering nearby, eyes sharp and calculating.The sports gear felt especially heavy as I skidded into the rink. Screams followed my entrance, girls clapping and waving their shirts. Propriety dictated maintaining the amiable star image, so I smiled back through my helmet and waved with my free hand.This was the feeling of being in the spotlight. When you win, you get more cheers. Lose for a moment, and doubt creeps in l

ZAYDENIt was seven twenty in the evening when the taxi dropped me before the luxury suburban building that was supposed to be home but had felt like a prison for the longest time. Gated community. Two-storey grey building. Manicured lawn. Outdoor backyard kitchen I never seemed to remember ever being used. I exhaled and made my way toward it, fighting the exhaustion that had sunk into my muscles and refused to let go. Before I could punch in the door code, the knob turned. Someone opened it from the inside. My hand froze mid-air, and I looked up at her. Mrs. Baker. Her eyes were red, dried patches of flour clinging to her face, her apron carrying the scent of almonds and oil. “Zayden!” Her voice was a low wail, broken and desperate. My heart dropped, and a sharp crack seemed to go off inside my skull. The bag slid off my numb shoulders and hit the portico with a dull thud. I turned and ran, eyes burning, sounds colliding in my head until they formed an unintelligible jumb