Omega POV (Ayan)
I didn't remember falling asleep.
And his scent—so thick it wrapped around me like a blanket. Strong. Clean. Power and spice. I thought I was dreaming.
But when I opened my eyes, I realized—
I wasn't in the office anymore.
I sat up slowly. The bed beneath me was wide, soft, and way too expensive. Black silk sheets, heavy covers, everything smelled like him.
Kieran Vale.
His scent was everywhere.
On the pillow.
On the sheets.
In the air I was breathing.
I panicked. I pulled back the sheets and looked around. Huge windows, high ceilings. A gold-trimmed mirror on the wall. No doubt—I was in a penthouse.
I swung my legs over the bed and stood up. My body still felt weak. Too hot. Like the fever hadn't fully left. I had to get out. I had to think.
I walked to the door, gripped the handle—and turned it.
Locked.
Click. Nothing.
My stomach dropped.
I tried again, harder. Still locked.
Why? Why would he lock it?
I backed away, chest tightening. Then I smelled it again. Deep and thick and strong—his scent, clinging to everything.
It hit me like a wave.
My legs trembled.
My skin buzzed.
I covered my nose, but it didn't help. It was already inside me. Heat prickled under my skin. My thighs squeezed tight.
Suppressants gone. Too much scent.
I climbed back onto the bed without thinking, heart racing. My body burned. My mind told me to stop, but the ache between my legs
The pillow still held his scent the strongest.
I buried my face into it. Inhaled.
And something inside me snapped.
I couldn't help it.
I had to move.Needed something.
I rolled my hips, slowly at first. . My hands gripped the sheets. My scent filled the room, mixing with his, making the heat worse and better at the same time.
I moaned—soft, broken.
Then I heard it.
A click.
The door.
My head snapped up.
He stood in the doorway.
Kieran.
Watching.
His eyes dark
I froze. My body was still pressed against the pillow, legs straddling it. My scent was thick in the room now. My face flushed with horror.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't move.
He stepped inside.
Shut the door behind him.
And said nothing.
Just watched
But I couldn't stop shaking.
He didn't say anything.
Just closed the door behind him and sat in the armchair beside the bed. His movements were slow. Controlled.
But I saw it.
The tension in his jaw. The way his hands gripped the arms of the chair. The slight bulge pressing against his tailored pants.
He was hard.
For me.
And still, he didn't move.
His eyes were sharp and heavy. Hungry. But he was holding back.
Then I felt it—his pheromones again. But different this time. Not threatening. Not aggressive. Just... thick and calming. Strong enough to ground me. To ease the ache a little.
I breathed in deep. It helped. My mind cleared just enough to think.
He was trying to control himself.
Even with my heat flooding the room, even with me trembling in front of him—he still held back.
Why?
Why was he being gentle?
I watched him. He didn't speak. Didn't touch.
He looked like he was fighting himself.
And I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the way he looked at me like I was already his.
But I moved.
Slowly, I slid off the bed. My legs wobbled, but I dropped to my knees on the thick carpet, right in front of him.
His eyes darkened.
I looked up at him, lips parted. "Let me... please," I whispered, voice shaking.
He didn't answer. Didn't stop me.
And that was all the permission I needed.
My fingers found his belt. I looked up again—one last time, waiting for a "no." But he just exhaled slowly, jaw tight, his scent deepening with need.
I unbuckled his belt. Opened the zipper.
His cock sprang free—thick, long, heavy. 8 inches or more. Red at the tip. Pulsing with heat.
My mouth watered.
I leaned forward, lips brushing the head. His thigh tensed. Still, he didn't touch me.
So I took him in slowly, letting the heat fill my mouth. The weight. The taste.
He groaned, low and rough.
His hand twitched on the chair, but he still didn't grab me. Still in control. But barely.
I sucked deeper, slowly bobbing my head, tongue dragging along the base. My own body burned harder. The scent in the room was dizzying. I moaned around him without meaning to, and his hips bucked just slightly.
He was losing it.
I wanted him to.
His breathing grew heavier. One hand finally lifted—fingers brushing my hair. Still gentle. Still not forcing.
"Ayan…" he whispered.
The sound of my name in his voice nearly made me come undone.
I pulled back with a wet pop, lips swollen, breath shaky. I licked the head slowly, looking up at him.
"You don't have to hold back," I whispered.
His eyes met mine
Still, he didn't move. Not yet. But something shifted in the air—his pheromones turned hotter, heavier. Like wildfire licking at my skin. I felt it in my chest, my belly, between my legs.
He was barely holding on.
And I didn't want him to hold back anymore.
I leaned in again, taking him deeper this time. My lips stretched around him, tongue working slow and steady. His breath caught. His fingers finally tightened in my hair.
That was it.
That one pull of my hair, firm and sharp—I moaned.
Heat dripped from me now, soaking through my clothes. I was throbbing, soaked, burning for him.
"Stop," he rasped suddenly. His voice was hoarse, wrecked.
But I didn't want to. I didn't stop.
His hand tightened harder.
"I said stop, Ayan."
I pulled back, licking my lips, dazed and hot. My mouth was swollen, my throat sore, but I still wanted more.
"You're in heat," he said. His breathing was rough. "You don't know what you're doing."
I looked up at him, panting. "I know what I want."
His jaw clenched.
"You think I don't want to take you right now?" he growled. "You think I haven't imagined it? You—on your knees, begging for me to knot you—"
I gasped, heat shooting down my spine.
"But I'm not going to take you like this," he continued, voice darker now. "Not when your body's begging and your mind's not clear."
He stood up. Towering over me. 7.4 feet body frame.
"I don't claim what's mine unless it's willing. Sober. And begging with more than just your scent."
He zipped himself up, still painfully hard, the bulge straining again.
I sat on the floor, flushed and throbbing, my body screaming for him
He turned and walked toward the bathroom.
Before he closed the door behind him, he said, without looking back:
"You'll stay here until your heat passes. And when it does..."
He paused.
"When it does, if you still want this—if you beg the way I know you will—I'll make sure you can't walk for days."
The door shut.
And I was left on the floor, still shaking, my thighs slick with heat,