Beg Me Like You Mean It, Captain

Reid didn’t budge. He just looked around the empty, floodlit rink, the dark pines standing like silent guards around us. A slow, predatory smirk curled his lips as he dropped his stick, the wood clattering loudly on the ice.

He stepped in closer, his hands coming up to grip my waist, his fingers digging through the layers of my jersey and gear with a heavy, possessive force.

"There’s no one out here, Evans," he murmured, his voice a low, jagged rasp that vibrated in my very bones.

He leaned down, his nose brushing against the side of my neck, right where the cold air met the fevered heat of my skin.

He took a deep, invasive breath, and then he let it out—a heavy, concentrated burst of frozen pine pheromones that hit me like a tidal wave.

"Ah—"

My knees hit the ice before I even realized they’d buckled. I ended up clutching at his side, my forehead pressed against his thighs as I fought for air that didn’t taste like him.

"Stop," I choked out, though my fingers were already tightening in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. "The consensus... we said the cabin..."

"You said when we were alone in the space," Reid corrected, his voice dripping with that trademark snobbishness as he looked down at me.

He didn’t help me up; he just stood there, letting me drown in his scent, enjoying the sight of his Captain brought to his knees in the middle of a frozen rink.

"And as far as I can see, Cap, it’s just you and me. I don’t recall agreeing to wait for four walls and a roof."

He reached down, his hand tangling in my hair and forcing my head back so I had to look at him. The amber light caught the sharp, arrogant lines of his face, making him look like something carved out of the mountain itself.

"You wanted to use the ice to clear your head?" he mocked, a dark glint in his eyes. "How’s that working out for you?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to keep my lungs from collapsing under the weight of his presence. The ice was seeping through the fabric of my hockey pants, freezing my knees, but the rest of me was a furnace.

​"You’re pathetic," he whispered, though there was no heat in the insult—just a cold, clinical observation.

He tightened his grip on my hair, not enough to cause real pain, but enough to remind me exactly who was holding the leash. "All that talk about being ’rational,’ and here you are, trembling on the ice because I took a breath near you."

​I hated him. I hated the way he looked down at me, like I was a project he was halfway through breaking. But before I could even snap back, Reid moved.

​He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned down, his face buried in the crook of my neck. I expected another burst of pheromones, but I felt the sharp, sudden scrape of teeth against my skin.

​"Reid—"

​I didn’t even get the name out before he bit down. It was a sharp, territorial puncture right over my scent gland. A strangled cry died in my throat as a rush of his Alpha pheromones was injected directly into my system.

It was like a physical shock, a heavy wave of his pheromones that slammed into my senses, instantly silencing the frantic, screaming need of my heat rushing in my blood.

​The orchid scent immediately faded as if it had never been there to begin with.

​He pulled back, his lips wet, looking down at the red, swelling marks he’d left on my skin. I reached up with a trembling hand, my fingers brushing the puncture wounds.

​"You... you idiot," I hissed, my voice shaking with panic. "That’s going to leave a mark! Everyone is going to see it. How the hell am I supposed to explain a bite on my neck?"

​Reid just shrugged, his expression maddeningly bored as he brushed his lips with his thumb. He looked at me like I was being dramatic over a minor penalty.

​"It was either that, or I fucked you right here on the ice," he said, his voice flat and unapologetic. He looked around the empty, dark rink with a slow, arrogant tilt of his head. "Personally, I wouldn’t have minded. But I was pretty sure someone—probably you—would have a complaint about the cold."

​I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The panic was still there, but my heat had settled into something manageable, trapped under the weight of his bite.

He’d used the most primitive, effective blocker there was, and he’d done it with the same casualness he used to fire a puck into a net.

​"You’re a demon," I breathed, the words coming out in a cloud of white mist.

​"And you’re a Captain who can finally stand up straight. Congrats." Reid mocked, reaching out to snag his stick off the ice.

He didn’t offer me a hand even now. He just skated toward the gate, the sound of his blades sharp and decisive in the quiet night.

"Pick up your pucks, Cap. I’m done playing outdoors."

​I stayed on my knees for a second longer, the ice biting into my skin, the sting on my neck pulsing with every beat of my heart. He had marked me.

He had left a brand that I couldn’t hide with a smile or a lie.

I’m sure I have a patch somewhere. I thought and watched his sturdy silhouette disappear into the shadows of the pines.

I bit my bottom lip as I realized that my ’consensus’ hadn’t saved me at all.

It had just permitted him to tear me apart, one piece at a time.

I gathered the pucks with stiff movements, my fingers fumbling against the frozen rubber. Every time I tilted my head, the high collar of my jersey scraped against the fresh bite, sending a sharp, stinging reminder straight to my brain.

I have to have a patch.

I can’t let the other guys see at all costs.

I didn’t look back as I left the rink. I hurried through the shadows, the frozen air biting at my neck, and pushed into the cabin.

The warmth was like a relief on my skin, but it immediately died down as I saw Reid sprawled on his bed with his phone, looking as bored as if he’d just finished a routine practice instead of branding me.