Chapter 6
The Winter Charity Gala was the kind of event where the elite of the city gathered to drink overpriced champagne and congratulate themselves on their own generosity. It was a sea of black tuxedos and shimmering gowns, a glittering facade over the cutthroat world of high finance.
Julian stood near a towering ice sculpture, nursing a glass of sparkling water and calculating exactly how many more minutes he had to stay before he could politely leave.
He looked impeccable in a midnight-blue tuxedo that hugged his lean frame, his hair styled to perfection, his mask of cool indifference firmly in place.
But beneath the mask, he was on edge.
He hadn't seen Damien since the incident in his office two days ago.
The Alpha had been conspicuously absent from the negotiations, sending his lawyers in his stead.
Julian told himself he was relieved. He needed the distance.
He needed time to rebuild the walls that Damien seemed to dismantle with nothing more than a look.
But his body ached with a phantom emptiness. His dreams were haunted by golden eyes and the feeling of being stretched wide. And the worst part was the gnawing anxiety in his gut—the fear that Damien had lost interest, that the "claim" had been nothing more than a temporary conquest.
"You look like you're plotting a murder, Julian."
The voice was smooth, oily, and far too close.
Julian turned to find Arthur Sterling standing beside him.
Sterling was the CEO of a rival investment firm, a man whose smile never quite reached his eyes.
He was an Alpha, tall and broad, with a reputation for hostile takeovers that extended beyond the boardroom.
He was also, Julian knew, the man currently trying to poach Mercer Financial's biggest client.
"Arthur," Julian said, his voice cool. "Just enjoying the scenery."
Sterling stepped closer, invading Julian's personal space. The scent of him—expensive cologne mixed with the acrid tang of aggressive Alpha pheromones—wafted over Julian. It was cloying, suffocating. Unlike Damien's scent, which felt like a storm, Sterling's felt like a trap.
"I heard a rumor," Sterling said, his eyes raking over Julian’s body with an entitlement that made Julian’s skin crawl. "They say you've been spending a lot of time with Damien Wolfe. They say he's making a move on your company."
"Business associates," Julian corrected, taking a step back to put distance between them. "Nothing more."
Sterling laughed, a low, ugly sound. "Come on, Julian.
We both know that's not true. I can smell it on you.
The desperation. The need." He took another step forward, crowding Julian against the pedestal of the ice sculpture.
"Wolfe is a brute. He doesn't appreciate.
.. refinement. He doesn't know how to handle something delicate. "
Julian’s hand tightened around his glass. "I'm not delicate, Arthur. And I'm certainly not interested. Step back."
Sterling didn't listen. His hand shot out, grabbing Julian by the hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
He leaned in, his breath hot against Julian's ear.
"Don't play hard to get. I know what you are.
I can see it in the way you move. You're begging for a strong hand. Wolfe might have had his fun, but he’s fickle.
I can offer you stability. I can offer you protection. "
Julian felt a surge of revulsion so strong it nearly choked him. He was about to bring his knee up into Sterling's groin, to shatter the man's composure and his dignity in one swift move, when the air in the room suddenly grew heavy.
It wasn't a sound. It was a pressure. A shift in the atmospheric density that made the hair on Julian's arms stand on end. The chatter in the ballroom didn't stop, but it dipped, hushed by an instinctive, primal fear.
Then came the growl.
It was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the floor and up into Julian's bones. It wasn't human. It was the sound of a predator defending its kill.
Sterling froze, his hand still gripping Julian's hip.
"I wouldn't finish that thought if I were you, Sterling."
The voice was a silken threat. Damien materialized from the crowd like a wraith, his tuxedo perfectly fitted, his face a mask of terrifying calm. But his eyes—his eyes were burning coals in the darkness, fixed solely on the hand touching Julian.
Damien didn't look at Julian. He looked at Sterling with the kind of focused intensity that usually preceded a funeral.
"Wolfe," Sterling stammered, his bravado evaporating instantly. He tried to pull his hand back, but he seemed paralyzed by the sheer weight of Damien's presence.
"Take your hand off him," Damien said. His voice was conversational, almost pleasant, which made it infinitely more terrifying. "Or I will remove it from your wrist."
Sterling snatched his hand back as if Julian’s suit was on fire. He stumbled back a step, his face paling. "Now see here, Wolfe, we were just talking—"
"You were touching what is mine," Damien corrected, stepping into the space Sterling had vacated. He didn't shove Sterling; he simply occupied the room, his sheer size and dominance forcing the other Alpha backward. "And you were scenting him. I can smell your filth on him from here."
The crowd around them had gone silent now. People were stepping back, giving the three men a wide berth. The tension was palpable, a live wire crackling in the air.
"He's an unclaimed Omega," Sterling tried to argue, though his voice shook. "Free game—"
The punch was so fast Julian barely saw it.
One moment Damien was standing still; the next, his fist was connecting with Sterling's jaw. The crack of bone meeting bone was sickeningly loud. Sterling flew backward, crashing into a waiter and sending a tray of champagne glasses shattering to the floor.
Sterling lay on the carpet, groaning, holding his face. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Damien stood over him, adjusting his cufflinks with terrifying nonchalance. "He is not unclaimed. He is not free game. He is mine. If you touch him again, if you even look at him again, I will end you. Not your company. You. Do you understand?"
Sterling nodded frantically, scrambling backward on the floor like a crab.
Satisfied, Damien turned to Julian. The rage in his eyes didn't diminish; if anything, it seemed to sharpen, focusing entirely on Julian. It was a look of possession, of hunger, of barely leashed control.
"Car," Damien bit out. "Now."
Julian didn't argue. He set his glass down on a nearby table and followed Damien through the crowd. The guests parted for them like the Red Sea, their eyes wide with shock and morbid curiosity.
The valet brought Damien's car around—a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows. Damien didn't wait for the valet to open the door; he yanked it open himself and practically shoved Julian into the back seat before sliding in beside him.
"Drive," Damien snapped at the driver. "Don't stop until we're at the penthouse."
The partition between the driver and the back seat rose, sealing them into a soundproof bubble of leather and darkness.
The moment the partition clicked shut, Damien was on him.
He didn't kiss him. He didn't speak. He grabbed Julian by the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and dragged him across the leather seat, flipping him over onto his stomach. The movement was rough, frantic, fueled by the adrenaline of the fight.
"He touched you," Damien snarled, his hands tearing at Julian's jacket, pulling it off his shoulders. "I saw his hand on you."
"It was nothing," Julian gasped, his face pressed into the leather. His heart was racing, fear and arousal mixing into a potent cocktail in his veins. "I was handling it."
"You were letting him put his scent on you," Damien accused, his voice thick with a feral growl. "I can smell him. It's all over you. Disgusting."
Julian tried to push himself up, but Damien’s hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning him down. "I didn't let him—"
"Quiet," Damien ordered. "I need to get him off you. I need to clean you."
Julian heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of a zipper. Then he felt Damien’s hands on his trousers, yanking them down over his hips along with his underwear. The cool air of the car hit his exposed skin, making him shiver.
"Damien, wait—"
But Damien wasn't listening to reason. He was operating on pure instinct now. The Alpha in him had been challenged, and the only way to settle the score was to reassert his claim in the most primal way possible.
Julian felt the heat of Damien’s breath against the back of his thighs. Then, wet warmth.
Julian cried out, his hands scrabbling against the leather seat as Damien’s tongue dragged a long, wet stripe up the cleft of his ass.
It wasn't a tease. It wasn't foreplay. It was a scrubbing. Damien used his tongue with a ruthless efficiency, lapping at Julian’s entrance, wetting the skin, trying to wash away the phantom touch of another Alpha.
"Oh god," Julian moaned, his hips jerking. The sensation was overwhelming—the scratch of Damien’s stubble against his sensitive skin, the wet, obscene sounds of the licking, the sheer dominance of the act.
"You taste like him," Damien growled against his skin, the vibration traveling straight to Julian’s cock. "I can taste his sweat on you. I hate it."
He spread Julian’s cheeks wider, burying his face deeper. His tongue circled Julian’s rim, pressing inside, fucking him with deep, claiming strokes. Julian was shaking, his body producing slick almost instantly to aid the Alpha's claiming.
"Damien," Julian sobbed, his cheek pressed against the seat. "Please. Please."
He didn't know what he was begging for. For Damien to stop?
For him to never stop? The humiliation of being taken like this, in the back of a car, like an animal being marked, was eclipsed by the blinding pleasure of the attention.
Damien was worshipping him with his mouth, erasing the violation of Sterling's touch with every stroke of his tongue.
"Mine," Damien murmured, pulling back for a moment to bite the curve of Julian’s ass, hard enough to leave a mark. "Say it."
"Yours," Julian gasped, the word torn from him. "I'm yours."
Damien groaned, a satisfied sound that came from deep in his chest. He pulled back, and Julian heard him spitting into his hand, adding to the slick. Then the blunt, thick head of Damien’s cock was pressing against Julian’s spit-slicked hole.
Damien didn't wait. He thrust in to the hilt in one long, smooth slide.
Julian screamed into the leather, his body arching. There was no burn, only a sudden, overwhelming fullness. His body opened for Damien like it was made to do, slick and ready from the rimming and the sheer force of his own arousal.
Damien didn't give him time to adjust. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward with a force that rocked the car. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the confined space, rhythmic and obscene.
"I'm going to fill you up," Damien growled, leaning over Julian’s back, his weight pressing Julian into the seat. "I'm going to fill you so full of my cum that no one will ever doubt who you belong to."
Julian was beyond words. He was a vessel for the Alpha's rage and possession, and he loved it. He pushed his hips back, meeting Damien’s thrusts, desperate for more.
"Harder," Julian begged, his voice cracking. "Make me feel it."
Damien snarled. He grabbed Julian’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. He fucked into Julian with a desperate intensity, his cock hitting that spot inside Julian that made white lights burst behind his eyes.
"You're mine, Julian," Damien panted against his ear. "Not Sterling's. Not the board's. Mine. My Omega."
"Yes," Julian hissed. "Yes. Yours. Only yours."
He could feel the base of Damien’s cock swelling, the knot beginning to form. It caught on his rim with every thrust, a promise of being locked together, of being filled completely.
"Take it," Damien commanded. "Take the knot."
He thrust forward one last time, burying himself deep. The knot popped past Julian’s rim, locking them together.
Julian came untouched, his cock spurting against the leather seat, his vision going white. He screamed Damien’s name as his orgasm ripped through him, shattering him into a million pieces.
Behind him, Damien roared. He bit down on Julian’s shoulder—not a bonding bite, but a claiming bite, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to scar. He held Julian still as he pumped him full of his seed, wave after wave of hot cum filling Julian’s insides.
They collapsed onto the seat, tangled together, breathing heavily. The knot held them fast, a physical tether that wouldn't allow them to separate.
Slowly, the red haze of rage began to fade from Damien’s eyes. He loosened his grip on Julian’s hair, his touch turning gentle. He licked the bite mark on Julian’s shoulder, soothing the sting.
"Are you okay?" Damien asked, his voice rough but tender.
Julian lay boneless beneath him, his mind a blank slate of post-orgasmic bliss. He felt claimed. He felt clean. The memory of Sterling's hand was gone, erased by the fire of Damien’s possession.
"Yes," Julian whispered. "I'm okay."
Damien pressed a kiss to the back of Julian’s neck. He shifted them onto their sides, spooning Julian in the confined space of the car seat, still locked inside him.
"He won't bother you again," Damien murmured. "No one will."
Julian closed his eyes. He knew he should be angry. He should be furious at being manhandled, at being claimed in public, at being reduced to a possession. But wrapped in Damien’s arms, filled with his warmth, Julian felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Safe.
He didn't fight it. He didn't push away. He simply lay there, listening to the steady thump of Damien’s heart against his back, and let himself be held.
The car sped through the city lights, carrying them away from the gala, away from the rumors, away from the war. For tonight, there was only the Alpha and the Omega, bound together by instinct, by rage, and by a bond that was growing stronger with every passing second.