Chapter 17
JAMIE
This suite is smaller than the others, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in gorgeous workmanship. Hand-worked wood panels offset with rich green paint give it a timeless, homey feel.
My stomach flutters with anxiety. Makes sense—our next event’s in two hours.
Morgan sinks into the desk by the window, and I head for my room.
“You know, you don’t have to make yourself scarce,” she says, not looking up from her keyboard.
“Oh… thanks. I was gonna take a bath. Reset my nerves for tonight.”
“Hm,” she says with a small nod, and I understand that I’m dismissed.
A few minutes later, I sink into the hot water and the gorgeous black porcelain, and the remaining adrenaline from our drive melts away. But my stomach still churns.
I wish I had someone to talk to about all this—about Morgan—but Mom is right out. I send her pictures of every meal and view, calling her with reports on each event, but I don’t mention Morgan much. I don’t want to worry Mom with how much time I’m spending with an unbonded alpha.
Lily is only a new friend, and I am certainly not going to confide my feelings about our CEO to her…
I sigh. It’s fine. I’m used to dealing with things by myself.
Speaking of dealing with things by myself… my cock twitches in the warm water, confused by the alternating rushes of my conflicting emotions. The last time I ‘took the edge off’ was… my last heat, when I jacked my brains out to the alpha tones of Morgan’s public speaking career.
My cock throbs in response. Fuck.
I guess it’s not that complicated. Morgan is unbearably attractive, so it makes sense that there would be a… physical reaction. Especially since I haven’t gotten off in over a week.
Suddenly, I remember her standing sweaty in the doorway, all sports bra and muscles. My heart races, and my cock hardens.
Shit. I need to deal with this.
I slide my fingers down my length, shuddering and stifling a moan. My head spins, dizzy with arousal—my balls tense and ache.
Fuck, it certainly feels like it’s been a week and a half. I stroke as I imagine that look of hunger on her face as she drove, imagine that gaze turned upon me…
My body erupts with heat.
But no. I can’t think of her now… not while she’s two rooms away, and certainly not while we’re still on this trip. I try to distract myself, browsing some of my usual sites.
Of course, if I put on more of Morgan’s videos, it won’t sound suspicious… but I doubt those will have the same effect while I’m not in heat.
I make some progress distracting myself.
But now I’m in the worst possible predicament. I’m too worked up to turn back—there’s absolutely no way I can go on stage like this.
But the edge is elusive. I check the time—it’s been over fifteen minutes since I started trying to take care of this. I should’ve been drying off five minutes ago. If I waste any more time, I’ll be late. A twinge of anxiety pushes the edge even further back.
Fuck, my balls are tight. Not heat-tight, but tight enough to ache and throb.
My focus slips, convictions melting. I remember the planes of her stomach, the thrill in her voice as we hurtled around the racetrack, the sound of her panting breaths…
What if we did have sex? What if she pinned me under her weight and kissed me hard, what if she pressed her fingers onto my tongue to get them wet and then plunged them into my ass, getting me ready for her cock—
Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m cumming—
My ass clenches, back arching out of the water as I climax hard, cum bursting from my cock and pouring down onto my hand and the water.
The image of Morgan over me, cock buried deep, lingers. My body shudders with echoes of pleasure, cum still dripping over my fingers.
I stay hard, have to force myself to take deep breaths before my cock finally goes down.
Two thoughts ring through my head at the same time.
God, that felt good.
And I am playing with fire.
#
The end result of emptying my balls but doing so while fantasizing about Morgan is that I’m about as jumpy as before, but at least my cock isn’t as twitchy.
The fireside chat goes well, and I’m less nervous than the first two times. Then it’s another reception—networking for the first two rounds of drinks, and straight partying for the rest.
I’ve had enough alcohol to reach that blurry, relaxed state as a local Artemis employee tells me there’s a great local dancing scene and asks me to come out with the group.
I’m about to agree when his eyes flick up and behind me.
“Mor! I was just inviting Jamie to go out dancing. I’d invite you, but—”
“I’ll join,” Mor says casually.
“What, really? You never come out with us. Hell yeah.” He turns and bellows behind him, “Guys, Mor’s in!”
There are some whoops from a group of salespeople. I slowly put two and two together and realize I’m speaking to a regional head of sales.
“You’re buying,” he says, giving her a light punch to the shoulder.
“I’m getting a table,” she counters. “If you leave the table, you’re on your own.”
“Eh, close enough. Good to go?” He turns to me.
I down the remainder of my cocktail, then nod.
“Attaboy!” he says, clapping me on the shoulder and beckoning me out onto the street.
#
The nightclub is a dazzle of light and sound. Fog lingers in the air, setting off ribbons of laser light and flashes of confetti. The bass thumps through the floor and through my bones.
The way Morgan said ‘getting a table,’ I thought it might be somewhere else in the club. But it’s on the balcony overlooking the stage, and I lean against the railing, enjoying a perfect view of the DJ below.
I dance along, for once not worrying if I’m embarrassing myself as I let my hips ride the beat. At some point I stripped my sweater off, and I’m down to a black mesh t-shirt again. I hope I didn’t leave my sweater somewhere. I like that sweater.
“Shots!” the head of sales calls, and I don’t hesitate as I spin around to accept a little glass cup and knock back who-knows-what, numb to the burn.
I float on the music, having a fantastic time. Brilliant. “You’re brilliant!” I yell to the head of sales.
“No, you’re brilliant,” he says back with a laugh. He’s just as drunk as I am. “We’re heading down to the dance floor,” he yells to me over the pulse of the music. “Want to join?”
I nod enthusiastically and follow him to the walkway by the table.
Morgan stands, and the head of sales whoops.
“Don’t get so excited,” she says, and even though she’s not yelling, every word is clear. “I’m just using the bathroom.”
I follow my group down to the dance floor, and we join the press of bodies.
Standing at the table was alright, but this is living.
We become one organism together, letting the beat move us.
I didn’t mean to get so drunk. But I like this feeling of being in my body, not caring what anyone thinks. It’s euphoric.
Eventually, I have no choice but to leave the dance floor to use the restroom, and I stop by the bar on the way back, planning on ordering another cocktail. Or maybe another shot.
“Oh hey cutie,” a woman says, and I see a swirl of brunette hair before hands close around my chest.
“I think you have me confused with someone,” I say, trying to gently wriggle free.
“No, you’re a handsome stranger,” she croons, breath smelling of gin.
Then her hand drops, groping my cock through my jeans, and I yelp. My body is frozen, brain struggling to process what’s happening. Fear lances through my chest—fear of the violation, and fear that others might think I’m the aggressor if I push this woman away.
A grey manicure flashes by, and the woman’s weight is suddenly gone.
I spin, and Morgan has her by the chin, claws digging into the edge of the woman’s jaw.
The woman squeals and slaps at Morgan’s arm. “What the fuck, bitch?!”
A deep, threatening growl rumbles in Morgan’s chest. “Leave him the fuck alone.”
“I’m just being friendly!”
“No means fucking no.”
“But I’m a girl, so it’s not like—”
“You don’t have to have a dick to be one.” The muscles in Morgan’s arm tense, and the other woman squeals as her weight lifts off the ground.
Other patrons turn and take wary steps back, but nobody dares confront the alpha.
After a deliberate, slow breath, Morgan drops the woman, lip pulling up with disgust.
The woman grabs her bleeding face as she falls back onto her feet. “I’m—I’m telling the manager!” She shoves aside other patrons as she storms off.
Morgan slides up to the bar next to me. “You okay?” There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness in her voice.
“Y-yeah.”
“Two waters,” she says to the bartender.
They slide over a moment later.
“Drink,” she says, and I obey. Even though the bar is slammed and I had to shove my way here only a couple of minutes ago, the other patrons give us a wide margin now.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Why?” There’s a fire in her eyes.
“Causing you problems. This kind of thing happens to me a lot…”
“It shouldn’t.” Her voice is quiet, dangerous, and I can still hear it clearly despite the blaring music.
A thickset man in a black shirt approaches from behind Morgan. He looks like a bouncer.
She’s an inch taller. Equally muscular.
“I heard you’re causing trouble?” the bouncer says, crossing his arms.
“Only for people who sexually assault my employees.”
“Morgan, it’s really not—”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, she’s sobbing in the manager’s office.”
“She deserves to be bleeding out on the front stoop. So, you’re welcome. I de-escalated.”
The bouncer scans Morgan carefully.
I clock the slight point of his ears, and a deep pine scent hits my nose. He’s an alpha too.
Finally, he sighs. “You know what this looks like…”
“Some girl on girl action,” Morgan says, venom in her voice as she flashes a fang-tipped grin. “I’m sure it made half your patrons hard.”
“Fine. Don’t let it happen again.”
“Tell that to her.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Bold move, bringing your omega here.”
She bristles, letting out a low growl. “He’s not my omega—he’s an omega, and he deserves to enjoy the night unmolested.”
They lock eyes. Each sizes up the other, considering not only physical strength but also social leverage. They seem to have history. Finally, the bouncer nods. “I had the bar cut that woman off. She’ll leave soon. You enjoy your evening.” And he’s gone.
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to die of embarrassment as I finish my water.
Morgan lightly touches my shoulder and turns me to face her. She scans me, head to toe, and her normally sharp features have softened.
“You sure you’re alright?”
“Thanks to you.”
I feel like she’s going to end the night now, that I’ll be forgiven but still cut off.
Instead, she says, “Good. Now, let’s get back out there.” She orders two more shots from the bartender, and links our arms. We throw back our shots with arms entwined.
I would’ve had to fight my way back onto the dance floor, but Morgan’s presence clears a path and we cut easily into the center.
The DJ mixes into one of my favorite songs, and my mood picks back up.
I turn to Morgan, and she’s bouncing along, a little stiff. It’s the first thing the alpha hasn’t been instantly amazing at, and it’s kind of cute.
I consider goading her into dancing, but the song hits the drop, and I’m too busy scream-singing the chorus back at the DJ.
Normally, an incident like that would have thrown me off for the whole night. Hell, probably for the whole week.
But with Morgan watching over me, I’m soaring again.