6. A Criminals Contemplation
6
A CRIMINAL'S CONTEMPLATION
~DAMON~
I watch as Ezekiel slides into the driver's seat, his movements carrying that natural grace that first caught my attention years ago.
Even in his irritation about being called in, he maintains that perfect posture — a blend of his cultural upbringing and years of police training.
The ambiance of control mixed with a level of intrigue that taunts me every single time…
The night air carries a hint of that Omega's scent that has him so intrigued. I can only catch a glimpse of the unique mix of sweet and spice haunting the air like this Omega’s first interaction with Ezekiel seems to be haunting him constantly.
I dislike that…
I take another drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs as I contemplate what he told me about her.
A woman in a saree, running through the night like she's racing against time itself.
What would she look like?
I know Ezekiel well enough to understand why he's so fixated. Finding any Omega with even a fraction of his cultural background has been like searching for a specific star in an endless galaxy.
It's not that diversity doesn't exist in our city – it does, hidden in pockets and shadows – but it's become an underground commodity rather than a celebrated reality.
The criminal underworld has made sure of that.
My lip curls as I think about what I've witnessed in my position as head of the largest criminal enterprise in the city. The way Omegas are traded like rare art pieces, each ethnicity fetishized and commodified according to whatever exotic fantasy the buying pack wants to fulfill.
The things I've seen would make even hardened detectives lose sleep.
Omegas being shipped back to countries they've never even visited, simply because they fit a cultural stereotype some pack is willing to pay millions for.
Japanese Omegas sent to yakuza families, Russian Omegas to European crime syndicates, Indian Omegas to traditional packs seeking to maintain their "pure" bloodlines…the list goes on and on.
It's all fucking bullshit.
And now with this new movement...
I take another long drag, watching the smoke curl into the night air. Things are only going to get worse before they get better. The underground markets will explode as traditional packs panic about losing their control.
They'll rush to secure "culturally appropriate" Omegas before the new laws can take effect.
More trafficking.
More violence.
More bodies in that fucking forest.
But what really pisses me off is how enthralled Ezekiel seemed by this mystery woman. I've never seen him react this way to an Omega before.
Usually, he's as detached as I am when it comes to potential mates, both of us too wrapped up in our complicated dynamic to seriously consider adding another person to the mix.
Yet this Omega interests him…
Anything drawing so much intrigue will get his brain moving. It’s exactly why he does so well in the realm of detective work. Discover the initial scene, gather the evidence, and put all the pieces together until you find that missing link.
Then you solve the crime everyone struggles to get leads on.
He’s brought up this Omega multiple times in our conversations, both consciously and unconsciously
Meaning he likes her .
Intrigued…
Will go on a fucking hunt as if this is his newfound mission assigned by the very government.
Take his attention away from me…
"Fucking hell," I mutter, taking one final pull from my cigarette before flicking it away. The ember arcs through the darkness like a falling star.
My phone feels heavy in my pocket, a reminder of the power I carry with one call.
I know exactly who to contact – someone who treats stalking as an art form. The only individual I know can find anyone in this city within hours just because they enjoy the challenge.
Pulling out my phone, I type out a quick message:
Need info on an Omega. Seen near Safe Haven around 11:55 PM. Traditional Indian attire. Find her.
The response is immediate:
Finally something interesting. Payment?
I smirk as I reply.
The usual. Just find her before she becomes another forest statistic.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I move to the passenger side of Ezekiel's car. He's already on a call, his expression growing more annoyed by the second as Chief Sullivan's voice carries through the speaker.
"—and with these recent developments, we need to be extra vigilant about criminal organization activity," Sullivan drones on. "Especially that Castellano character. The nerve of that mafia tycoon, thinking he can?—"
Ezekiel's eyes meet mine as I settle into the passenger seat, and I have to bite back a laugh at the irony.
If only the Chief knew that his star detective was currently sharing his car with the very "criminal mastermind" he's warning about.
"—running weapons through our port, trafficking God knows what through our streets, and now with this Omega legislation, who knows what that imbecile is planning?—"
I raise an eyebrow at 'imbecile', watching as Ezekiel struggles to maintain his professional demeanor.
We both know the truth – that I've actually been working to shut down the very trafficking rings Sullivan is accusing me of running.
That the weapons moving through the port belong to the Russian syndicate, not my organization.
But perception is everything in our world.
The police need their boogeyman, and I've cultivated my reputation carefully over the years. It brings me enough attention to get the connections that trust I can get anything from A to B with no trouble while giving a bit of enlightenment in my daily balance between successful businessman and villainous mastermind.
Let them think I'm the monster under the bed – it makes it easier to handle the real threats without interference.
Still, hearing Sullivan rant about me while I'm literally feet away from him through the phone…it's the kind of absurd situation that makes our relationship so dangerously thrilling.
Or maybe the thought of being caught turns me on even more.
I can't help but study Ezekiel's profile as he endures Sullivan's tirade.
The years have been kind to him – at twenty-nine, he's grown into his features in a way that makes my mouth water. Gone is the uncertain rookie I found in that alley; in his place sits a man who commands respect with every movement.
My mind drifts to our pack's unique dynamic.
At thirty-three, I'm the eldest, though Kieran trails close behind at thirty-two. Rhett, our wild child at twenty-two, rounds out our unlikely brotherhood. Each of us so different, yet somehow fitting together like pieces of a puzzle no one else can understand.
Looking at us on paper, we make no sense.
Me, the notorious mafia kingpin whose name makes lesser criminals tremble. My empire spans continents, my influence reaches into every shadowy corner of the city. The papers paint me as a monster, and I've cultivated that image carefully.
Then there's Ezekiel, the decorated detective whose sense of justice burns bright enough to illuminate the darkest corners of our world. Our relationship should be impossible – we represent opposite ends of the spectrum, law and chaos, order and mayhem. Yet here we are, sharing heated glances while his boss unknowingly rants about me through the speaker.
Rhett brings his own brand of chaos to our mix.
Professional street racer turned underground racing king, he lives for the adrenaline rush of pushing limits. Whether he's designing custom engines or flying through city streets at impossible speeds, he approaches life like every moment might be his last. His youth makes him reckless, but his genius with machines is unmatched.
And Kieran...
I smile thinking about our resident recluse. The bestselling author spends his days crafting dark romance novels that fly off shelves faster than they can be printed. His quiet nature belies the twisted worlds he creates in his books, worlds where anti-heroes find redemption and dark desires lead to unexpected love. He prefers his office sanctuary to the chaos of the outside world, finding peace in the click of his keyboard and the silence of his thoughts.
We shouldn't work.
By all logic, we should tear each other apart.
Ezekiel's right when he says we're not "officially" a pack. How could we be? The paperwork alone would raise red flags across every law enforcement agency in the country. A detective, a crime lord, a street racer, and a reclusive author – we sound like the setup to a bad joke.
But an Omega…the right Omega could change everything.
In our society, no one questions a pack's composition once an Omega accepts them. Her approval carries more weight than any background check or social expectation. If she thrives, the pack thrives, and all questions about compatibility fade into irrelevance.
Though that sword cuts both ways.
Her rejection could destroy everything we've built.
Sullivan's voice draws me back to the present as he continues his rant.
"—and Castellano's operations have expanded into the eastern district. The audacity of that criminal, thinking he can?—"
I watch as Ezekiel finally reaches his limit, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Chief," he interrupts, his voice carrying that edge of authority that makes my cock twitch, "if this call is going to continue revolving around what a trouble-making goon Castellano is, could we do it over beers or something?"
The offended sputter that comes through the speaker almost makes me laugh out loud.
"Detective Cross! This is serious! Castellano is one of the most dangerous players in our city. His influence?—"
"With all due respect," Ezekiel cuts in again, and I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, "I'd love to totally agree with you. But if that was the case, our hundred and eighty-fifth attempt to take him down in the last ten years would have been successful instead of us wasting our resources and time trying to prove to the world that he's a villain deserving to be behind bars."
I continue to study Ezekiel's profile as he endures Sullivan's tirade.
The dim light of passing streetlamps catches in Ezekiel's eyes as Sullivan drones on about department protocols.
I study him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. His response to my proximity is obvious, making something primal stir in my chest.
Is it me he's reacting to, or thoughts of her?
The uncertainty gnaws at me.
In our years together, I've never felt this kind of doubt. I'm used to being in control, to knowing exactly where I stand. But tonight, watching him get flustered over an Omega he barely met, something shifts inside me.
Maybe I am more possessive than I thought.
The Italian blood in my veins runs hot at the mere thought of sharing his attention. We've discussed finding an Omega before, of course – it's inevitable given our biology. But the reality of it, of seeing him actually affected by one, stirs something dangerous that shouldn’t be so easily provoked.
Got to change that…
"Yes, Chief," Ezekiel manages evenly as I move closer, my intentions clear in my gaze. "The situation in the eastern district requires…careful consideration."
Our eyes lock, and I see the exact moment his professional demeanor starts to crack. His pupils dilate, turning those deep brown eyes almost black with desire. The sight sends heat coursing through my veins.
Mine…
"Of course, resource allocation is a primary concern," he continues speaking to Sullivan, though his voice holds a slight tremor now. My touch makes him grip the steering wheel tighter, fighting to maintain control in some way, even though the car is still parked.
The power I hold over him in this moment is intoxicating.
Every subtle reaction, every carefully suppressed sound, feeds the possessive beast growing in my chest. I want to mark him, claim him, remind him who he belonged to before any Omega caught his eye.
His lip catches between his teeth as he struggles to focus on Sullivan's words. The gesture is both innocent and maddeningly erotic, making my own control slip dangerously.
"The statistical analysis suggests—" His words cut off in a barely suppressed gasp as I make my claim more forceful. The sound sends triumph racing through me.
Let her try to make you feel like this.
The conversation with Sullivan becomes background noise as we lose ourselves in this dangerous game. One passing car that decides to station next to us could expose us, just like this street lamp that seems to illuminate the matte black concealed ride could contribute to revealing our forbidden connection.
But the risk only makes it sweeter.
The thrill of potentially being caught, of someone seeing the notorious Damon Castellano bent over across the passenger seat for a detective, adds an edge that makes my blood sing.
It's always been like this between us – this perfect balance of power and submission, of control and surrender.
I watch his face as he struggles to maintain his composure, admiring how the streetlight paints shadows across his features. The blend of his Korean and Indian heritage has created something uniquely beautiful, something I've spent years memorizing with my hands and mouth.
He’s doing a pretty good job with my hand retrieving his cock after that agonizing slow descent of his zipper. I’m only being slow to punish him just a bit. To remind him that there are consequences in taunting me.
He bites his lip then as I not only grip his cock firmly, enjoying how his thick length is decorated with veins while the very tip is already glistening with leaky precum.
Sullivan's voice drones on about increased patrol routes and resource allocation, completely oblivious to what's happening on our end of the line.
The irony would be amusing if I weren't so focused on marking my territory.
"We'll need full reports on any suspicious activity," Sullivan continues, but I’m trailing my tongue along the tip of his length, and how Ezekiel can barely tame the low hitch of breath.
Ezekiel clears his throat, adjusting his grip on the wheel.
“Understood, sir.” His voice is steady, but I see the pulse in his neck jump.
Moving up and down his shaft is work, every vein and twitch ignited by my generous sucking movement is driving him wild while he’s continuing this attempt to be all composed.
In control and all that shit.
His hand clenches around the gear shift like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His breathing grows more ragged as I increase my efforts, though he manages to keep his voice steady as he responds to Sullivan’s directives.
Years of practicing control in high-pressure situations serve him well now, but I can feel how close he is to breaking.
Good.
Break for me.
Show me who you really belong to.
I take my time, drawing out his suffering, reveling in the way he struggles to keep his composure.
The conversation with Sullivan feels endless, but I’m in no hurry. Let him try to maintain his professional facade while I remind him exactly why we work so well together.
Why no Omega, no matter how intriguing, could ever understand this part of him like I do.
Ezekiel’s fingers dig into the leather seat, his knuckles going white. His voice remains composed, but I can hear the strain. Sullivan continues rambling, his words fading into static as I push Ezekiel further, testing the limits of his restraint.
Then finally… almost effortlessly …his control snaps.
His free hand tangles in my hair, his grip tight enough to sting. A warning. A plea. But he doesn’t push me away.
He never does.
I smirk along his shaft in triumph.
You were mine first.
The thrill courses through me like wildfire, my blood humming with satisfaction as I take him into my mouth, slow and deliberate.
His breath stutters, a sharp inhale that he barely manages to smother. I drag my tongue along his length, hollowing my cheeks as I pull him deeper, reveling in the way his thighs tense beneath my palms.
“Detective, are you still there?” Sullivan’s voice crackles through the car speakers, oblivious to the battle Ezekiel is waging within himself.
And with my mouth.
I glance up, my gaze locking onto Ezekiel’s as I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock. His eyes darken further while that grip in my hair forces me to stay still for a few seconds.
His jaw clenches, his throat working as he forces himself to answer.
“Yes, Chief,” he manages, his voice steady, but barely. “I?—”
A sharp intake of breath as I take the chance to not only go back down on his length in one smooth move but to suck harder, his hips bucking before he can stop himself.
“I have another call on the line. Urgent. Need to… ah …take it.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and I can practically hear Sullivan narrowing his eyes.
“Another call? Or are you just trying to divert from this conversation? You’re not on Castellano’s side, are you, Cross?”
I chuckle around his length, the vibrations making him suck in a ragged breath. It’s low enough that it can’t be caught but I almost slip us up.
Oops.
Can’t blame me though. The accusation is laughable.
We’ve always danced on the line between law and crime, but Ezekiel is a man of principles. I know that. Sullivan knows that. But right now, as I watch him struggle against the pleasure I’m giving him, I wonder if even Ezekiel knows where his true loyalties lie.
Or does it all mellow together into a messy concoction of chaos and unexpected decisions?
He exhales slowly, fighting for composure.
“At the end of the day, Chief,” he says, voice low, breathy, strained, “I’m on the side of justice.”
I hum in approval, dragging my lips up his shaft, taking my time. His fingers tremble against my scalp, torn between keeping me at bay and yanking me closer. I watch him, drinking in the sight of him barely keeping it together, his control slipping with every calculated movement of my mouth.
His gaze drops to me, heated, intense. I know that look. I thrive on that look.
“If Castellano wishes to do good in his own sinister way, so be it,” he continues, his voice barely above a murmur now, his words meant as much for me as they are for Sullivan. “As long as it doesn’t cross the line between the rules we follow as law, it’s free reign in this world of mayhem.”
Then, without waiting for a response, he hangs up.
The moment the call disconnects, he groans in relief, head falling back against the seat. His grip in my hair tightens, and before I can react, he yanks me up, forcing my mouth off of him.
I barely have time to wipe the saliva from my lips before his voice, thick with hunger, rumbles through the car.
“You just love being in control, don’t you?” His thumb swipes over my swollen bottom lip, his touch almost gentle despite the steel in his gaze. “I’ll show you control.”
The air crackles between us, charged, electric. My heart pounds as anticipation coils hot and tight in my gut. This is what I wanted — what I always wanted. To push him past his limits; to watch him unravel and allow him to remind me exactly who I belong to.
And fuck, do I love it when he does.
Being here, with him, knowing damn well that despite the world that wishes to tear us apart, we’ve always been destined to be together.
To be a solid unit.
Ezekiel’s hand forces me back down, guiding me onto his cock with deliberate force.
The weight of him fills my mouth again, and I let out a muffled groan, my lips stretching around his length as I take him deeper. He doesn’t give me time to adjust — doesn’t let me set the pace.
No, this time, he’s in control, and I can feel it in the way his hips rise off the seat, pushing himself further down my throat.
A sharp hiss escapes him, followed by a guttural curse.
“You think you can make me slip in front of my superiors?” he breathes, his grip tightening in my hair. His other hand flexes against the steering wheel, knuckles going white with restraint. “When you’re the one who taught me how to keep my composure in any situation?”
I barely manage a chuckle around him before he thrusts deeper, cutting off any response I might have dared to make. My throat contracts around him, and I hear his sharp inhale above me, the sound filled with a mixture of pleasure and punishment.
The car is parked, but the space between us is anything but still. I can feel his thighs tense beneath my palms as I brace myself against him, allowing him to take what he wants. His control is unraveling, bit by bit, and I can tell by the way his breath grows heavier, more ragged.
His hand moves from my hair, sliding along my jaw, fingers pressing against my skin as he tilts my head just enough to force my gaze upward. The look in his eyes is lethal, dominant, and unrelenting.
“This is my domain,” he murmurs, watching as I take him deeper. “And in this car, you take every fucking inch of me properly.”
His words send a fresh wave of heat through me, and I moan around his length, hollowing my cheeks, sucking harder. The effect is immediate. His grip tightens, his hips lifting from the seat in a sharp thrust, and a strained groan slips from his lips.
I work him faster now, my tongue tracing along his length, my lips tightening around him, driving him toward the edge. His body shudders beneath me, his restraint slipping further with every bob of my head.
“Damon,” he grits out, his voice wrecked, breathless. “Fuck?—”
His head falls back against the headrest, his control hanging by a thread as I push him further, taking him as deep as I can. His thighs tremble, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps. The sight of him, completely undone beneath my touch, sends a fresh rush of arousal pooling in my gut.
I know he’s close.
I can feel it in the way his muscles tighten, in the sharp, shallow breaths escaping his lips.
Then, with a sharp curse, he grips my hair again, holding me still as he thrusts deep one last time.
There we go…
His release hits hard: hot shots of cum spilling down my throat in thick pulses. I take it all, swallowing around him as he groans, the sound low and raw and utterly wrecked.
His fingers remain tangled in my hair even as his body slackens, his breath still coming in uneven bursts. Slowly, he eases his grip, tilting my head back just enough to look down at me.
I smirk up at him, completely out of breath but looking pleasantly pleased with the outcome. My hand slides up his thigh, massaging the knot at the base of his cock, drawing out the last shudders of pleasure.
Ezekiel’s eyes darken once more, his grip tightening again.
“Oh, you think we’re done?” His voice is still rough, his tone laced with something dangerous. Something promising.
I grin.
Fuck, I love it when he looks at me like that.
Ezekiel’s grip tightens again, pulling me just enough so that our gazes remain locked. His lips part, breath still rough from his climax, but his eyes are sharp — predatory in intensity .
The weight of that look alone makes my stomach tighten with something raw, begging for all the possibilities.
“I know you’re not done,” I murmur, my smirk widening.
He growls low in his throat, his fingers flexing before yanking me closer, his lips brushing against mine.
“You love being a cocky fucker, don’t you?” His voice is a husky rasp, thick with unspent desire.
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is scorching, all-consuming, a battle of dominance neither of us intends to lose. His tongue parts my lips, delving deep, tasting himself on me with a guttural sound of satisfaction.
I return the fervor, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. Our tongues tangle in a wicked dance, and my toes curl in my polished leather shoes.
Every stroke, every flick of his tongue sends fire coursing through me. I drink him in, losing myself in the moment, in the taste of salt still lingering on my lips from earlier.
Ezekiel deepens the kiss further, his grip shifting from my hair to cup the back of my neck, forcing me to take every ounce of his passion. I groan into his mouth, my hands tightening around his biceps, feeling the strength beneath his dress shirt, the tension thrumming through him.
The need to have him buried deep inside me rages like an inferno, making me shift uncomfortably against the seat. I feel the thick press of my cock straining against my slacks, aching and desperate. He must feel it too because his hips press forward, the solid heat of his own arousal grinding into my thigh.
I curse against his lips, panting as he finally breaks the kiss, our breath mingling in the tight space of the car.
“Fuck,” he mutters, running his tongue along his bottom lip like he’s savoring the taste of me.
I smirk, still catching my breath.
“Getting soft, detective?”
He huffs, his lips curling into something smug.
“Sit back and correct your posture, old man,” he teases, though his voice is still thick with lust.
I roll my eyes, dragging my fingers through my tousled hair.
“You’re the one panting like you just ran a damn marathon,” I mutter, though my own swollen lips betray just how wrecked I am from his kisses.
Ezekiel watches me carefully, his dark gaze lowering to my mouth, tracking every movement. I run my tongue along my lips, tasting the faint trace of him still lingering there, and I swear I hear his breath catch.
He groans, shifting closer, planting a palm against the passenger-side window. The glass fogs slightly from the heat radiating between us, his frame looming, caging me in, his breath hot against my skin.
Inches.
We’re just inches apart.
My heart hammers against my ribs, my cock throbbing in its confinement. He sees it—sees the thick bulge straining beneath the fine fabric of my tailored Brioni dress pants. The expensive material does little to hide just how fucking hard I am.
His gaze drops lower, and instinct forces me to follow it.
My lips part slightly, an exhale slipping free as I fully acknowledge my predicament. The thickness of my arousal presses uncomfortably against my slacks, the sight of it only adding fuel to the fire already simmering between us.
Ezekiel hums low in his throat, eyes flicking back to mine, sharp with knowing. He shifts his hand from the window, brushing his fingers deliberately slow down the front of my chest, lingering just above my belt.
Then his phone rings.
Neither of us move.
The shrill sound fills the heated air between us, but all I can focus on is the intensity of his gaze; the unspoken promise in his smirk. My cock twitches in response, throbbing against its confinement, demanding attention, demanding him.
The phone continues to ring, unanswered.
Ezekiel’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips as his gaze flickers between my face and the obvious bulge pressing against my slacks.
The tension coils tighter, suffocating, intoxicating.
I don’t know who the fuck is on the other end of that call, but they can wait.
They have to cause no way am I’m going back home without getting my cock sucked into oblivion.
Ezekiel’s hand moves slowly, deliberately, down my chest, his touch warm even through the fabric of my shirt. His gaze remains locked on mine, a challenge burning in his eyes. When his fingers reach my belt, he pauses, his lips curling into a smirk.
“Brioni,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with amusement. “Of course, you’d wear something this expensive. Always the high standards, Castellano.”
Fuck…
The way he specifically says my surname with that low husky voice of his is driving my insides mad, while I’m sure he can feel just how my cock twitches impatiently.
I open my mouth to retort, but the words catch in my throat as he leans in, his lips brushing against the side of my neck, silencing me in stillness. His breath is hot, sending shivers down my spine, and then he presses a kiss there, soft and teasing, before trailing his mouth lower, laying a path of sloppy, heated kisses along my skin.
“You love marking your territory,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against my flesh. “But between the two of us, I have no shame in leaving evidence behind.”
A low grunt escapes me as his teeth graze the sensitive spot just below my ear.
The bite is firm, just enough to sting, and when he sucks at the spot, the heat pooling in my gut turns molten. My Alpha instincts roar to the surface, urging me to flip him over and remind him exactly who he’s dealing with, but I force myself to stay still.
To let him have this moment of control.
He leaves a mark there, then another, working his way down the column of my neck. Each kiss, each bite, sends a jolt of electricity through me, my cock twitching in response.
By the time his lips brush against the hollow of my throat, I’m panting, my fingers digging into the leather seat to keep myself grounded.
Ezekiel pulls back just enough to look at me, his lips swollen, his eyes blazing with desire. Then he captures my mouth in a kiss so deep, so consuming , that I forget how to breathe. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangling with mine in a dance that’s equal parts passionate and possessive.
My toes curl in my shoes, and I let out a muffled groan as he presses closer, his body a solid weight against mine.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathless, our lips slick and tingling.
“Sit back,” he orders, his voice rough, commanding. “And relax.”
I huff, rolling my eyes, but I do as he says, leaning back against the seat.
My lips still thrum with the taste of him, mixed with the lingering saltiness from earlier. I run my tongue along them slowly, savoring the flavor, and I catch the way his gaze follows the movement, dark and hungry.
Ezekiel doesn’t waste any more time.
His hands are back at my belt, undoing it with practiced ease. He pops the button of my slacks and pulls the zipper down, the sound loud in the otherwise silent car. The shift in temperature sends a chill along my skin as he works his way into my boxers, his fingers brushing against the heated length of my cock.
A sharp breath escapes me as he pulls me free, his hand wrapping around my shaft. The cool air hits me first, followed by the warmth of his grip, and I can’t stop the shudder that ripples through me. My cock is hard, painfully so, the tip already glistening with arousal.
Ezekiel hums low in his throat, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of precum there.
“Sensitive, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “This won’t take long, will it?”
I try to answer, but the words are cut off by a groan as he leans down, his tongue flicking out to taste me. The sensation is maddening, a spark that sets every nerve-ending alight. He doesn’t stop there, his mouth moving lower, his lips wrapping around the tip of my cock as he takes me in.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my head falling back against the headrest as he works me over with slow, deliberate movements. His tongue swirls around the head before sliding along the underside, the pressure just enough to drive me insane. He takes more of me into his mouth, inch by inch until I’m buried deep, his throat contracting around me.
The heat, the wetness, the sheer fucking perfection of it makes my hips jerk, but his hands are there, pressing against my thighs, holding me down, keeping me in place. He sets the pace, slow and steady, his head bobbing as he takes me in over and over again.
My hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands as I struggle to hold on to the last shreds of my control.
“Ezekiel,” I groan, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer.
He doesn’t respond; doesn’t even look up at me.
He’s too focused, too intent on driving me to the brink. His hands move up my thighs, his nails dragging lightly against the fabric of my slacks, adding another layer of sensation to the overwhelming pleasure.
The sound of him — the soft, wet noises, the low hums of satisfaction — is enough to push me closer to the edge. My chest heaves, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he quickens his pace.
“You…fuck…you’re going to kill me,” I manage to grit out, my voice strained.
Ezekiel pulls back just enough to smirk, his lips glistening.
“Not yet,” he murmurs before taking me back in, deeper this time, until his nose brushes against my pelvis.
“Fuck,” I groan because it’s that good.
So fucking good, I’m losing my mind.
The sensation is too much, too good, and my hips jerk despite his firm grip. He doesn’t let up, his movements growing more urgent, more relentless. My body tenses, my muscles coiling as the pressure builds, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume me.
And then I’m gone.
I come with a strangled groan, my release hitting hard and fast, spilling down his throat in thick, hot pulses. He takes it all, his throat working around me, his hands gripping my thighs to keep me grounded. The world blurs, my vision going white as the pleasure crashes over me, leaving me trembling, spent.
Far too satisfied to admit.
That’s the thing with both of us. We’re good with our mouths, both in getting shit done and working each other up into oblivion.
Ezekiel pulls back slowly, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he looks up at me. My chest heaves, my breath ragged, and I can’t help but return his grin, completely wrecked but utterly content.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath.
Ezekiel’s hand moves to the base of my cock, his fingers massaging the knot there, drawing out the last shudders of pleasure. “Are we even now?” he offers, his voice low and teasing.
I let out a breathless laugh, my head falling back against the seat.
“You…you’re a menace,” I grumble, but I can admit this odd tie. “Yeah. We’re even…for now.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle, almost tender.
"You love it," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, and the deep timbre of his voice sends shivers down my spine.
And damn it, he's right.
"Whatever," I dismiss him, but we both know it's a weak defense. He knows my heart, just like he knows every other part of me. This connection between us still burns as bright as it did that first night, maybe even brighter now that we've had years to learn each other's bodies and souls.
We take a moment to compose ourselves, adjusting clothing and settling back into our respective seats. The air in the car feels thick with satisfaction and unspoken promises.
As Ezekiel puts the car in drive, I study his profile, admiring how the streetlights play across his features. I’m relieved he looks far more relaxed than before, especially with all that tension out of his system.
He may love this job but he also doesn’t acknowledge the strain it leaves on him.
That’s why instances like this are far better for him than he dares to admit.
Before he can turn onto the main road, I touch his arm.
"Drop me at the intersection."
He gives me that look – the one that questions my sanity while simultaneously acknowledging he'll probably go along with whatever I suggest.
"Really?"
"Think about it," I say, letting my fingers trail down his arm. "How would it look if the city's most dedicated detective dropped off the criminal mastermind…the one your chief just spent twenty minutes ranting about…at his mansion? Even if every staff member knows you have special access, those five security gates might raise some eyebrows."
He knows I’m bullshitting because we do this all the time, but tonight I’m sure his Chief is finding excuses to find where he is and ensure he’s doing his sworn responsibilities for this crime-filled city.
His grin is quick and sharp in the darkness.
"Fair point."
He sees my viewpoint, but this is one of the few exceptions where we both agree without further stimulation or argument.
"Besides," I add, watching his expression carefully, "you have a forest to patrol."
The groan he lets out is positively sinful.
"I'd rather be busy with other things," he says, voice dropping low. "Like having a nice thick cock deep in my ass."
This teasing fucker…
A growl rumbles up from my chest before I can stop it.
"Don't tempt me." But my tone turns serious as I add, "I want you to check in every hour while you're on patrol. If you can."
He pulls the car to a stop at our designated spot, turning to give me a smugly amused look.
"Why? Frightened I'll finally be taken out?"
Instead of answering, I reach over and kiss him firmly, pouring all my possessive needs into the contact. When I pull back, my voice is steel-wrapped in silk.
"The only person who's gonna take you out of this world is me, understood?"
I mean it.
It’s the only promise we seem to make each other when we decide to walk our paths, no matter how polar opposite they are.
It’s what keeps us alive.
"Mhmm," he responds huskily, and I have to kiss him again, one final taste before we part for the night.
As I exit the car, I pull out a hundred-dollar bill and toss it onto the seat I just vacated.
"Keep the change," I announce loudly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at my audacity. His expression – equal parts aroused and annoyed – makes me chuckle as I close the door.
I’m positive he’s cursing me in his mind, but he knows I said that to ensure no one speculates anything.
He’s just an Uber driver doing his job in his unmarked ride.
The sound is still on my lips as I approach the matte black Rolls-Royce waiting at the curb, its presence as commanding as a panther in the shadows.
My butler stands at attention, his black uniform immaculate as always.
"Where to this evening, sir?"
"I have some business to attend to," I tell him, sliding into the plush leather interior. "For now, just focus on driving."
As we pull away from the curb, I catch Ezekiel's headlights turning toward the forest in my side mirror.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I check it, my smile grows predatory.
"Target located."
Two simple words that promise so much entertainment. My contact never disappoints – probably why they're worth every penny of their exorbitant fee.
Then again, he’s part of our pack, and why those who try to get into our business never find out how far they can get…
"Excellent," I whisper to myself, already imagining the possibilities.
This mysterious Omega who caught Ezekiel's attention...
Let's see what this Omega is all about.
The city lights blur past the windows as we drive, each one a star in my personal galaxy of power and influence. I've built this empire from nothing, and carved my name into the bedrock of this city's underworld with blood and determination.
The police think they know who I am, what I'm capable of, but they've barely scratched the surface.
Even Ezekiel, as close as we are, doesn't know everything.
Can't know everything, for his own protection as much as mine.
But this Omega...something about her has shifted the playing field. I can feel it in my bones, the way the air changes before a storm.
All I need now is a name…
My phone buzzes again – another message with the very detail I craved for.
Kamari Prava Ahvi…
Three written words and yet it’s given me a key piece on this playing field, especially when it’s my turn to make the next move. Every piece of information is a weapon in the right hands, and my hands have been stained with power for too long to be anything but lethal.
"Sir?" my butler's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Shall we head to the mansion?"
"No," I decide, my eyes fixed on the city sprawling before us. "Take me to The Cardinal's Nest. I feel like having a drink while I wait for some information."
As we change direction, heading toward my most exclusive club, I can't help but smile. The game is changing, pieces moving on a board that's suddenly grown larger.
And if there's one thing I've learned in my years as both predator and protector, it's that change brings opportunity.