Chapter 8
After the operation, it’s torture to skip returning to the Blue Note, but this is still a game I’m playing with Orien, and I refuse to show up on Thursday.
So, I spend the day holed up in my apartment, fighting the guilt over the lie of a report I sent to my family and the anger at knowing that Orien had touched me as a distraction, even though I would have done the same in his place.
The hypocrisy doesn’t escape me, but I know I’m playing Orien. The Alpha has no such excuse for treating me the way he did.
One Alpha shouldn’t be enough to throw me off balance like this, which means I need to level the playing field.
I tell myself the plan is still tactical. Orien is the closest to Rowan. The more access I gain to him, the more the rest of the crew lowers their guard.
The logic would hold better if my body didn’t burn with such eagerness.
By Friday morning, I’m pacing my apartment with my sleeves shoved to my elbows and my nerves pulled too tight beneath my skin. My attention keeps snagging on stupid things.
What if Orien isn’t there? Will he wait for me to come to him again? What if he rejects me again?
His self-restraint is a serious problem.
Any other Alpha would have staked a claim by now, but Orien just keeps toying with me, as if he wants to see how far this little game between us can go.
And I’m starting to resent being the only one chasing.
If I fuck him once, I’ll get it out of my system and be able to concentrate.
That’s how it was with the security guard I lost my virginity to.
We’d circled each other for almost three months before finding a moment to sneak away to be alone, and it turned out that all the buildup led to a disappointing follow-through.
I can’t even remember his face now.
That idea follows me all the way to the Blue Note.
It’s earlier than I usually show up, so I’m not surprised when I step into the lounge and find it less packed than usual. Petra is there, but she’s with her friends instead of behind the bar.
As I enter, she calls out my name.
I lift a hand in acknowledgment but don’t pause. I’m a man on the hunt, and my target is at the bar.
No one sits on the barstools near Orien, where he stands with one forearm braced on the polished wood of the bar, wearing a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the collar open at the throat. Ghost dries glasses beside him, but I only have eyes for my Alpha.
Even from across the room, the sight of him sparks heat in my stomach like a lit match dropped into gasoline.
His attention shifts to me as I approach.
Not startled. Not curious.
Expectant.
That familiar awareness slides between us again, and my pulse jumps, followed by a flare of irritation. I’m tired of being the only one affected.
As I cross to him, Ghost reaches for the whiskey and lemon juice to mix my usual drink. The tiny gesture should be satisfying. Proof the operation is working.
Instead, I can’t tear my attention from the Alpha beside me.
As I take the stool next to his, Orien says, “You disappeared again.”
“I’ve been busy.”
A faint challenge enters his expression. “And now you’re not?”
“That depends,” I say, leaning closer, “on how long you plan to drag out this little flirtation before you commit. Because I’m not a fan of blue balls.”
Ghost snorts under his breath before moving farther down the bar to give us space.
The high collar of my shirt earns a twitch of irritation that Orien can’t hide before he focuses on me once more. “And if I plan to make you keep waiting?”
There it is.
Finally.
Not enough. But something.
Heat curls in my hips, and I slide my hand onto his knee. “Then I’m going to start being busy all the time.”
The muscles under my hand harden. “Don’t try to play the jealousy game with me, trouble.”
“No game.” My hand moves higher. “But I’d like to at least get a little taste to know if the dildo I’ve been riding during my Heats is at all comparable, or if I should upgrade. Or…” I stare at the front of his slacks. “Downgrade?”
If I was hoping to anger him, it doesn’t work. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh. “Okay, I can give you that.”
Before I can respond, Orien stands, and I have to catch my balance as my hand loses its grip. In a smooth motion, he steps around me toward the door that leads into the employee only area of the club.
My pulse kicks harder.
He pauses once near the entrance and raises one eyebrow in challenge.
My heart leaps into my throat as I stand to follow. This is what I’ve been after from the beginning. Another chance beyond the Blue Note’s security doors. Another opportunity to map the hidden spaces and piece together how the organization operates. I should be thrilled.
Instead, all I can think about is the Alpha leading me there.
Orien punches in a code and steps through without waiting for me to reach him, forcing me to quicken my steps.
The corridor beyond is brighter than the lounge area, and the music fades to a dull throb as the door closes.
I catch up with Orien at the far end, where the corridor turns toward what must be the back offices. I file away layout and security measures as we walk, some small part of my mind still aware of the job I have to do here.
Orien leads me into a staff break room. As soon as I enter, he reaches past me to close the door and turn the lock, sealing us inside.
Then he turns to me, his back to the door. “Well? Didn’t you say you wanted a taste?”
I should have seen this coming. Every step of the way, Orien has made me come to him, made me cross the room first, made me lean in first, made me be the one wanting.
Of course, I would end up here, too, dropping to my knees on the cold hard floor, my fingers working his belt open with a focus that has nothing tactical left in it.
The leather is warm from his body as I slip it free from the buckle and draw down his zipper. I tell myself this is leverage. Submission is a strategy. I repeat these lies as I meet his eyes, and he stares back down at me, unhurried, as if he has all night for me to get on with this.
The lack of direction or demand leaves me off balance, hyperaware of what I’m doing as I tug down the waistband of his boxers. His cock springs free, bigger than I expected, thick and flushed dark at the tip, curving toward his stomach.
For a moment, I kneel there, my senses overwhelmed. His pheromones are thicker here, mixed with salty musk, and my mouth goes dry, my pulse loud in my ears, every carefully constructed thought about leverage and intelligence dissolving into a far simpler and much more inconvenient base desire.
With a knowing smirk, Orien tilts his hips forward in a slow, deliberate roll to brush the head of his cock across my mouth. “Well? How do I compare to your dildo?”
“Better,” I murmur, the word forming over his flushed cockhead, and then I stop thinking altogether.
My hand wraps around his base, and I lick along the thick vein on the underside, slow, deliberate, his pulse throbbing on my tongue. My mouth opens over his cock head, and my hand tightens around his base as I take him in.
Hot and salty, he fills my mouth with a primal blend that sends a shiver down my spine. My lips stretch around his shaft, and my free hand grips his thigh, the corded muscles tense through his slacks as I begin to bob my head, trying to take him deeper.
His cock hits the back of my throat, and I choke a little, tearing up as I struggle to accommodate his size.
Drool spills from the corners of my mouth, making it easier to slide him in and out.
My breath comes in ragged gasps through my nose as I work him deeper, the scent of his pheromones filling my senses and sending a rush of heat straight to my groin.
A needy whine that vibrates around his cock escapes, and my hips shift, restless and searching, as I become aware of how hard I am, my dick straining within the confines of my pants.
Orien’s pheromones are everywhere now, cloying at the back of my throat and sliding into my belly, along with his pre-cum.
Orien cocks his head to the side as he studies me. “Have you ever done this before? You’re not very good.”
A flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I redouble my efforts, hollowing my cheeks as I take him deeper. His breath hitches, and his hand shoots down to fist in my hair, yanking me back.
“Mind your teeth.”
The words are quiet, controlled, but the hiss underneath them isn’t. I swallow, my scalp stinging where he grips me.
“Open wider.” His hold tightens, tilting my face up toward his. “Cover your bottom teeth with your tongue.”
Once I do as he says, he guides me back onto him, and this time the slide is smoother, deeper, the drag of him across my tongue sending heat straight down my spine.
His grip in my hair loosens, and his fingers drag slowly through the dark-brown strands, smoothing them back from my forehead.
My heart squeezes at the gentleness of the touch, and my eyes sting.
I focus on the flex of his thigh under my palm and tell myself it means nothing. Orien’s approval belongs in the same category as every other variable. But as my hips rock, I know I’m not convincing either of us.
A breath shudders out of me as I sink into the rhythm of it, jaw aching, lips stretched, the thickness of him filling my mouth in a way that empties my head of everything else.
His palm slides down to cup my jaw, thumb tracing the stretched line of my cheek where his cock bulges out from the inside, and the intimacy of the gesture, sends heat pooling in my hips, my ass clenching as slick leaks from me.
“That’s it. You’re a fast learner.” His other hand brushes my opposite cheek. “Now, play with my balls.”
I reach up and cup his balls, rolling them slowly in my palm before I give them a gentle tug.
A breath escapes him, barely audible, a hitch that betrays the first real sign he’s losing control. I double down, a hunger in me to draw out more, to strip away his control piece by piece. My hands and mouth work in sync, slick and eager, the wet sounds of suction filling the air.
His cock swells, the thick vein on the underside pulsing. His hips begin to move, matching the rhythm of my strokes, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
His cock throbs once, twice, and then he’s coming, a groan rumbling from his chest as heat floods my throat, salt and musk, more than I can take.
I choke around him, drool and his release spilling down my chin, and a wet, overwhelmed, helpless sound escapes as my hips stutter, riding nothing, and I come untouched, shuddering, soaking through my underwear.
His fingers find my chin and scoop up what I spilled, shoving it back into my mouth. “Swallow.”
I swallow around his fingers, my throat working to take everything he gives me.
When I pull back, my lips throb and my pulse refuses to settle.
His thumb wipes the fluids from my lips. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
The wet evidence of my own release can’t be denied. “Yes.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, I want you to go home and throw away your dildo.” He tucks himself back into his slacks and zips up. “The only thing going inside your body from now on is me.”
I nod, too dazed to form words. Right now, I’d agree to anything.
“Good boy. Come back on Thursday.”
And just like that, he leaves me on my knees in the empty break room.
I sit back on my heels, my body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure as my fuzzy mind kicks back into gear. I give myself thirty seconds to collect myself. No more.
Then I stand.
My knees ache as I straighten my clothes and smooth my hair back into place using the reflection in the dark microwave above the counter. My reflection reveals swollen lips, each swallow hurts my throat, and the damp spot spreading across the front of my underwear sparks a wave of irritation.
Sloppy.
I’ve spent weeks building access to the Blue Note Crew, and one blowjob in a locked break room reduced me to pure instinct.
After the kiss when I let Orien get me off in the booth, I shouldn’t have lied to myself that Orien would be anything like my fumbling, lackluster encounter with the security guard.
The problem is, I can’t bring myself to regret what happened. Even after I leave this place and return to my family, this will be the memory I pull out when the nights get too lonely.
I give the break room one final scan. Layout. Sightlines. Entry points. The details settle into place, muscle memory taking over where instinct just failed me.
This is what I’m good at.
Seduction was never supposed to compromise the objective.
The corridor is empty when I step out, the overhead lights too bright after the break room. Slick cools on the backs of my thighs, but I ignore it as I turn in the opposite direction from where Orien went, heading deeper into the inner sanctum of the Blue Note.
This is what I’ve been trying to access for weeks.
And he just handed it to me.
I walk without hesitation, keeping my pace measured. Not sneaking around. That draws attention. If one of the staff catches me, I can say I got turned around after Orien left me.
The first door I check is locked.
The second reveals a storage room filled with liquor, linens, and spare glasses. Nothing useful beyond confirming inventory flow.
The third sits with the door cracked, and I pause just long enough to listen before pushing it wider with two fingers.
An office.
A desk with a tablet and two chairs fill most of the room.
A quick sweep reveals a locked filing drawer in the desk and office supplies. No physical records. No unsecured data. Even the tablet requires biometric access.
I don’t touch it.
Ghost’s ledger flashes through my mind, but he keeps it behind the bar. This group is too careful to leave sensitive information lying around.
Which means whatever I’m looking for isn’t going to be this easy.
I step back into the corridor and keep moving, mapping as I go. The camera in the corner above the far junction is well-placed. Not hidden, but unobtrusive enough for most people to miss it.
I adjust my angle as I pass.
I find signs of criminal activity in a clean up room filled with chemicals and decontaminants, and weapons, but not on the scale needed to move against us.
So either this isn’t their primary base, which everything I’ve seen says it is, or they’re not our enemy.
That answer brings with it a sense of relief, but also…
It complicates things.
Because my family won’t accept my report based on a gut instinct, and how do I prove their innocence with an absence of proof?
Footsteps echo at the far end of the hall.
I turn and stride for the side exit I spotted earlier. Orien told me to go home, and I intend to follow his order.
After that, I need to figure out what my next step is.
I can’t stand back and let my family destroy the Blue Note, and I’m no longer sure what that means for me.
Lee Esposito is a lie.
But Levon Vartanian has stopped being the whole truth.