NINE
DEVON
Not seeing Sam for a whole day after spending the night with him on my office couch was great.
Yes, it was the right thing to do.
I fix my suit jacket as I wait for the elevator to reach the ground floor, watching the numbers drop glacially slow.
I was able to focus on my work, to take a step back, and put some much-needed distance between us, while it also helped me gain some perspective on how things need to be, moving forward.
I didn’t think about him at all during the day. Not once.
I didn’t catch trails of his scent all the damn time that had me inhaling deeply, every muscle in my body tightening. I didn’t see him spread under me, or writhing on me every time I closed my eyes.
My chest didn’t hurt from the need to find him, kiss him, touch him.
None of these things happened.
And if I texted him merely an hour after he had left me, it was only because I wanted to check he had gone home okay after he’d barely slept. Like any decent person would do.
It wasn’t because I missed him like fucking air.
I scowl at the elevator that’s still taking its sweet fucking time, earning myself several sideways looks from the people around me waiting too.
What was the fucking point of coming to the office earlier to see Sa—I mean, to go over today’s presentation one more time, if I’m stuck down her—
“Mr. Kingston?”
My stomach unknots at the sound of that soft voice, loosening in profound relief.
He’s right there, next to me, when I turn to look. Lips pulled up in a brilliant smile, brown eyes sparkling, freckles dancing, wearing a white shirt, dark-brown slacks and matching tie, jacket and messenger bag in hand.
Gorgeous. He’s fucking gorgeous.
“Good morning, Mr. Hartwell.”
Fuck, too raspy. Thankfully, I don’t think he notices, his smile as beautiful as ever.
“Good morning. You’re early today.”
Shit.
“Are you implying I’m otherwise late?” I tease, arching an eyebrow.
“It was merely an observation,” he quips back. “You’re the boss, sir. I think that means you can be as early or as late as you want.”
He’s being sassy with me—blushing, and calling me sir while he does it.
Goddamn it.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse, trying to look anywhere else but at him.
And fail miserably.
“Did you have a nice day-off?”
The conversations around us get louder as more people gather, but he hears me all the same, leaning closer, close enough that his elbow brushes against mine.
I feel that imperceptible touch everywhere, but I don’t move away.
Neither does he.
“I did,” he murmurs. “Got some rest, took care of a few things around the house, spent time with Eli. Nothing too fancy.”
No, nothing too fancy. Then, why does it sound perfect to me?
“I’m glad,” I tell him, my eyes roaming over his pleased smile and peaceful expression.
Was this what he looked like when he sent me that photo yesterday? The one I’ve looked at dozens of times since then?
Was he soft and calm, the morning breeze in his curls, the sun kissing his freckles?
The chiming sound of the elevator draws our attention to the opening doors. We’re among the first people who get in, which means we end up at the very back of the cab as it slowly fills up.
The entirety of Sam’s side is now plastered to my own, shoulder to arm.
I don’t dare move, staring straight ahead, swallowing when his sweet scent reaches me even in this crowded space.
It’s okay. It’s just for a few more minutes. We’ll reach the top floors soon, and I will stop fucking vibrating with the need to reach for him.
But when the doors open a couple of floors up, and a few more people squeeze in, I feel Sam shift against me. He’s uneasy and tense when I glance at him, his eyes darting to the people pressing on him.
Fuck, he doesn’t look well.
And I feel almost murderous.
When a tiny, anxious breath stutters out of him, I’m already moving.
Slipping my arm around his waist, I pull him gently closer. And fuck if he doesn’t come beautifully, turning into the curve of my arm, leaning against my chest, his hand softly clutching my shirt.
I’m acutely aware of every place we’re touching, and when I feel his whole body sigh, the tension draining from him, I’m goddamn euphoric.
His gaze meets mine, and I’d give anything to lean down and kiss him. It wouldn’t even matter where. I just need to feel his skin beneath my lips.
“Are you okay?” I mutter, and he nods, letting out a self-conscious huff of laughter.
“I’m not very good with crowds.”
I nod back, my arm tightening further around him.
“Better like this?”
His eyes are pools of warmth.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He gives me a smile that feels so private, I almost pull my jacket around us to hide it from everyone else. But no one else can see it. Only me.
I have to release him when people start getting off the elevator at their respective floors. There’s no reason to hold him close anymore.
He heads to his desk when we reach the executive floor, setting down his jacket and bag, while he boots his computer. And I continue to my own office, leaving the door half-open.
I sit in my chair, pretending to study today’s appointments while my entire attention is to my cracked-open door.
Five minutes.
I stare at my screen, the words making no sense.
Eight minutes.
I have to force my knee to stop bouncing under the desk.
Twelve minutes.
My pulse thunders when I hear steps.
There is a soft knock on the door.
“Coffee?” Sam smiles as he lets himself in.
I can only nod and smile back, watching him do what he does every day.
It’s the best coffee I’ve ever had, its familiar sweetness lingering long after I’ve finished it. As does the warmth of Sam’s body from earlier, when he curled into my embrace.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
My mind has been in fucking shambles since he left me yesterday. My heart hasn’t beat right since I felt him trembling in my arms. My body hasn’t stopped buzzing, finally sated after more than a fucking year. After taking Sam that night at the hotel.
What would he think if I told him I haven’t wanted to fuck anyone else since that one night with him? That my skin crawled whenever I even thought about touching another omega?
That I’ve been half-hard since he slid off my cock yesterday morning in a mess of cum and slick?
I’m restless the entire day, but even burying myself in work, calls, and meetings does nothing to distract me.
I don’t call him into my office, pretending I don’t want to be disturbed, because I know. I know I’m hanging by a thread. I know my control is slipping, and this time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to rein in the need I feel for him. It will swallow me whole. And him.
And I’m fucking terrified.
The sky is darker when I hear the first light knock, thick, gray clouds covering the setting sun. But I can see Sam perfectly when he comes in.
His dark-brown slacks are still perfect, but the rest of him is a little disheveled, as it’s usually the case at the end of the workday.
His tie is looser around his neck, the top button of his shirt left open, his sleeves rolled-up to his elbows.
And his red curls… God, his red curls look exactly the way they did after I’d run my fingers through them dozens of times the other night.
“Hey.” He smiles, the door clicking shut behind him. “I thought I’d check if you were still alive.”
I could live on that smile for the rest of my days.
“Were you worried about me?”
I keep my tone light, my question meant as nothing but a joke, but something shifts in his expression. Something that has me standing, and walking to him.
Nothing has ever felt more natural than going wherever he is.
He lets out a small, self-conscious chuckle.
“A little.” His eyes flick away from me when I stop in front of him, but they come back to mine not long after.
Where they belong. “For a moment I thought that—” His breath hitches when I cup his face.
“That you might be avoiding me,” he finishes in a whisper.
There is hurt in those brown eyes, but when I caress his cheek gently, the hurt melts away, and I see the same need that’s slowly consuming me, quietly burning in him too.
“You want me to tell you why I made myself stay away from you all day, Sammy?”
He chases the touch, and my heart stutters.
“Yes,” he breathes, body arching when I slip my palm around his nape and grip him with enough pressure that he feels it, that he feels every ounce of the possessiveness currently riding me hard.
I step into him, so that the next time I speak, my words are brushing his lips, and my hard cock slots against his.
“Being around you and not touching you is torture. I need my hands on you every time you so much as smile at me. I need my cock in you every time your blush bleeds into your freckles. You’re all I fucking breathe every time you’re close to me.”
His eyes are liquid darkness as he listens to me, his lips parting with his exhale. But there’s nothing tentative about the way he melts into my hold, his entire body leaning on mine until I feel every inch of him, his face tucked against my throat.
“You want more of me?” His words are soft and searing on my skin, and I wrap an arm around his waist, keeping him pinned on me, not a whisper of distance between us.
I want all of you. I want to know you, and keep you, and call you mine. Because you are.
My hands tighten on him as sharp fear cleaves my chest in half, robbing me momentarily of breath, my heartbeat spiking at the mere thought that something might—
Warmth seeps into me when the body in my arms shifts impossibly close, when his scent burrows under my skin like a blanket of comfort, easing me, soothing me. Bringing me back to him.
“Yes,” I grate out. “I want more of you.”
He pulls back just enough for his eyes to bore into mine, his pulse steady and strong in my palm. His lips graze mine when he speaks.
“You can have it, Devon. Take what you need from me.”