Chapter 6
1011words
"So don't go."
"The CEO missing the annual retreat? Might as well announce my resignation."
I watched him wear a path in his expensive carpet. "What if I help?"
He stopped. "What?"
"You said Alpha presence helps Omegas maintain control. I'll be your... what's the term? Emotional support Alpha?"
He didn't laugh. "This isn't a joke, Noah."
"I'm not joking." I stood, closing the distance between us. "Let me help you."
His eyes searched mine. "Why would you do that?"
I could have given many answers. Because I was curious. Because I was attracted to him. Because I loved chaos.
Instead, I told the truth.
"Because under all that control and fear, I see someone worth knowing."
The retreat was at a luxury lodge deep in the mountains. Twenty executives, three days of "team building" and "strategic planning." Corporate code for drinking and gossiping.
Morris sat alone on the bus, reviewing documents. I sat midway back, watching him. The man was wound so tight I feared he might shatter.
The lodge was rustic luxury—all exposed beams and stone fireplaces. We were assigned rooms, given schedules, and released into the wild.
I found Morris on his balcony that evening, staring at the rising moon.
"How are you holding up?" I asked, closing the door behind me.
"Like my skin is too small." He gripped the railing. "It's starting already."
"What's the plan?"
"Dinner in thirty minutes. I make an appearance, excuse myself early, lock myself in here."
"And I fit in how?"
He finally looked at me. "Your presence... helps. Just being near an Alpha I... trust... makes it easier to maintain control."
"You trust me?" I couldn't hide my surprise.
"Against my better judgment." A ghost of a smile. "Stay close tonight."
Dinner was excruciating. Morris picked at his food, barely spoke, and kept checking his watch. I chatted with everyone, played the charming new guy, but kept him in my peripheral vision.
When he abruptly stood and made excuses about emails, I waited ten minutes before following.
I found him in his room, pacing, shirt unbuttoned, skin flushed.
"Lock the door," he growled, voice deeper than usual.
I did. "What now?"
"Now we wait." He rolled his shoulders. "And hope I don't destroy the furniture."
"Does it hurt? The change?"
"Like being turned inside out." He winced. "But fighting it is worse."
I sat on the edge of his bed. "Then don't fight it."
He stared at me. "Are you insane? I can't just—"
"Not completely. Just... ease into it. Let some of the pressure out."
"That's not how it works."
"How would you know? You've been suppressing it for fifteen years."
He opened his mouth to argue, then doubled over with a groan. When he looked up, his eyes were glowing.
"Noah," he said, voice strained. "You should go."
I stayed put. "I'm not leaving you alone."
"I don't want you to see me like this."
"Too late." I patted the space beside me. "Come here."
To my surprise, he did, sitting rigidly at the edge of the bed.
"What helps?" I asked softly. "During this?"
He swallowed hard. "Physical contact with an Alpha. It... grounds the Omega instincts."
"So touch me."
His head snapped toward me. "What?"
"I'm giving you permission. If it helps, touch me."
For a long moment, he just stared. Then, slowly, he reached out and placed his hand on my arm. The effect was immediate—his breathing steadied, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"Better?" I asked.
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
I shifted closer. "More?"
Another nod.
I put my arm around his shoulders, and he stiffened before melting against me with a sound that was half-relief, half-surrender. His body heat radiated through his shirt, burning against my skin. Almost instinctively, my fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair.
He shuddered at the contact, pressing closer. His hands, previously clenched at his sides, now gripped my waist, fingers digging in with barely restrained need.
"This is inappropriate," he murmured against my shoulder, even as he nuzzled into the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
"Completely," I agreed, , pulling him closer until our bodies were flush against each other. The contact drew a low growl from deep in his chest.
"I'm your boss."
"You're a werewolf having a rough night. Boss comes second."
He laughed, actually laughed, before it turned into a groan as another wave hit him. His body tensed, and suddenly his hands were everywhere—sliding down my back, gripping my hips, pulling me impossibly closer. My breath caught as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, skin against skin.
“I can’t—” he gasped, his control slipping. His amber eyes locked with mine, pupils so dilated they nearly swallowed the glow. His hand drifted lower, hovering just above the waistband of my pants.
I felt myself leaning in, my own restraint crumbling. Our foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the small space between us. His lips brushed against mine, not quite a kiss but a question.
The rational part of my brain flickered briefly to life. With tremendous effort, I placed my hand over his, stilling its descent.
“Not like this,” I whispered, though every cell in my body screamed in protest. “Not when you’re not yourself.”
He closed his eyes, trembling with the effort of pulling back. After several deep breaths, he nodded, though his hands remained at my waist, unwilling to break contact completely.
"Stay with me?" he asked, vulnerability naked in his voice.
"All night," I promised, adjusting our position to something less provocative but no less intimate.
As the moon rose higher, Morris Lawson—feared CEO, secret Omega—fell asleep in my arms, halfway between man and wolf, more peaceful than I'd ever seen him.
And I realized, watching him breathe, that I was already in deeper than I'd planned. Much deeper.
