Chapter 19 Dominic
Dominic
The package arrives at my office at nine in the morning in discreet matte black packaging with no logo and no return address.
Amos ordered it through a service that caters to Alphas who value privacy, and I open it at my desk to examine the contents.
The box contains four pairs of underwear made from a wicking fabric designed for Omegas who produce excess slick between heats.
The material is thin enough to be comfortable and absorbent enough to prevent the kind of workplace disaster Mattaniah barely survived two weeks ago.
Amos spent three nights researching the options before presenting me with a spreadsheet ranking fabric compositions against absorbency ratings.
When I pointed out that a spreadsheet was excessive for underwear, he told me that Mattaniah's dignity wasn't something he was willing to leave to guesswork. I didn't argue with that.
Mattaniah is at his desk on the executive floor when I text him. Come to my office on your break. Bring nothing.
The response takes forty seconds. Is this a work thing or a you thing?
It's a me thing.
Three dots appear and disappear twice before the reply comes through. Give me twenty minutes.
He shows up in eighteen. His hair is pulled back, his shirt is buttoned to the collar, and his posture carries the rigid perfection Richard's ruler has drilled into him. But his scent warms the second he crosses my threshold, sweetening beneath the blocker despite his best efforts.
"Close the door." I nod to the chair across from my desk. "Sit."
He closes the door and sits with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes flicking to the matte black box on my desk and back to my face. "What's that?"
I push the box across the desk. "Open it."
He pulls the box toward him and lifts the lid.
His brow furrows as he unfolds the first pair, holding them up to examine the fabric.
They look like normal underwear, dark gray and well-made and completely unremarkable.
His confusion lasts three seconds before comprehension hits and color floods his face from his collar to his hairline.
"These are..." He swallows. "These are slick panties."
"Amos researched them. The fabric is designed to absorb and contain Omega slick during spikes and pre-heat episodes.
" I keep my voice level. "You won't have to worry about leaking through your clothes at work.
You won't need to keep a change of pants in your desk drawer or worry about your scent blasting through the workplace should another incident happen. "
His fingers rub the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. The flush hasn't faded but his expression has shifted from embarrassment to something more complicated. "You bought me underwear."
"Amos bought you underwear. I'm delivering it.
" I round the desk and lean against the front of it, close enough that he has to tilt his chin up to hold my gaze.
"The practical reason is what I just told you.
Your slick situation is getting worse and you shouldn't have to spend your workday terrified of leaking through your pants. "
"And the impractical reason?"
I take the underwear from his hands and hold them up. "No one else needs to know what you smell like when you're wet, Mattaniah. That scent belongs to us. These keep it contained so every Alpha in the building isn't walking around with your slick in their nose."
His lips part. The flush deepens and his scent spikes as my cock thickens in response. His gaze darts to the growing bulge between my thighs before returning to my face, his scent spiking sharper. Unfortunately, that will have to be dealt with later.
"Put them on."
"Right now?"
"Right now." I fold the pair in my hand and hold them out. "Bathroom's through that door."
He takes them and stands, making it three steps toward the bathroom before stopping to turn back to me. "You're going to stand here while I change my underwear in your office bathroom."
"I'm going to do more than stand here." I cross my arms. "Leave the door open."
His mouth opens and closes. His scent blooms further despite the flush on his face, his body answering the command even as his expression fights it. "You're unbelievable," he mutters, but he walks into the bathroom, leaving it open for me anyway.
From my position against the desk I have a clear line of sight through the doorway.
He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and unbuttons his pants with shaking hands, pushing them down his thighs.
His current underwear is damp, a visible patch of wetness at the front that confirms every practical argument I just made.
He peels them off with his face burning and steps into the new pair, pulling them up over his thighs and settling them against his hips.
The fabric sits snug against his body, designed to fit close without constricting. He turns slightly to examine himself in the mirror, and the way the material cups the curve of his ass makes my jaw tighten because there is nothing clinical about that view.
"How do they feel?" I keep my voice as steady as I can.
"Good." He pulls his pants back up and buttons them. "Different. Like they're actually designed for..." He gestures vaguely at his lower half. "For this body."
"They are." I push off the desk and cross to the bathroom doorway. My hands find his hips, my thumbs tracing the waistline of the new underwear through his pants. "Only we get to see you like this, firefly. Only we get to know what you're wearing under these."
His head tips back against my shoulder. "That's the most possessive thing anyone has ever said to me about underwear."
"Get used to it." I press my mouth against the side of his neck, feeling him shiver through the contact, then release his hips and step back. "Go back to your desk before Father notices you're gone."
He straightens his shirt and checks his reflection one more time before leaving my office. I watch him go, the slight adjustment in his walk as the new fabric makes itself known with every step, waiting until he rounds the corner before I sit down.
Once he's gone, I pull up the account statements on my monitor, needing to check into the Omega who is truly trying to ruin all of our lives.
Mattaniah's mother has added another six thousand dollars in charges since I last checked, three days of boutique visits and a spa trip that would make most people's rent look modest. The spending has been accelerating, which means she's either getting bolder or getting desperate, and neither option sits well.
I call Amos, needing to run through my thoughts, starting with last night’s dinner.
"Father had his hand on Mattaniah's thigh at dinner last night." I skip the preamble because Amos doesn't need it. "Under the table. You saw it."
"I saw it." Amos' voice carries the tight edge he gets when he's been replaying something he couldn't stop. "Three separate times. And I had to sit there and watch because intervening would have made it worse."
"He's escalating. The first week he was testing his reach. Now he's claiming territory."
"The 'development' comment when he left." Amos' chair creaks as he shifts. "He told Mattaniah they'd continue his development today. That he has ideas about utilizing his talents."
My jaw tightens. "Mattaniah told you that?"
"He told me while we were cooking. His hands were shaking, Dom.
I brough him to the kitchen because he needed to smell like something other than Father.
" There’s a pause. "Well, I was trying something out and then he took over.
The cooking wasn't even about the food. It was about giving him back some control. "
I file that instance away, wanting to pry into what happened because I know my little Alpha is falling faster than he likes to admit. However, we have more pressing matters. "Father's going to make a move soon," I say. "The touches are getting bolder, which means the timeline is compressing."
"Then we need to move faster." I can hear Amos leaning forward, the creak of leather hitting my ear. "The forensic data is almost ready. Another week, maybe two, and we'll have enough to present to the board."
"Mattaniah might not have two weeks." The silence on the line carries the weight of that truth.
Father doesn't wait when he's decided he wants something. He takes. And there’s Mattaniah’s mother.
I run a hand through my hair, a heavy sigh filtering through my lips.
“The mom, her purchases are growing, too.”
Amos snorts on the other side of the phone. “The bitch thought she had a leg to stand on as our father’s wife.” That would explain the aggressive spending but not why Father is all but ignoring her or why she’s ignoring her own son.
"Keep your ears open," I say finally. "If Father reaches out to Mattaniah outside of normal work channels, I want to know immediately."
"Done."
The executive floor conference room hosts a strategy meeting at two that Father insists Mattaniah attend as his assistant. Amos and I both attend because we have stakes in the discussion regarding our own expertise, though I can admit it’s mostly to ensure Father doesn’t try something stupid.
Mattaniah takes his position beside Father's chair with his notepad. His posture is impeccable, his face empty of any and all emotion. Father's hand finds his lower back within the first five minutes.
Mattaniah's pen grip tightens every time Father's thumb shifts, the controlled rhythm of his breathing and the slight lean of his weight away from Father's hand that he covers by reaching for his water glass more than obvious.
His scent stays locked down, which is better than it would have been two weeks ago.
No trace of slick leaking through either, which means the underwear is earning its price.