Chapter 6
Damon
I strolled casually around the expansive office, running my fingers along the spines of ancient tomes, feigning disinterest. Inside, however, a storm was brewing. I could still taste Elliot's frustration, still feel the heat of his gaze as he watched me dress. And fuck if it didn't excite me, knowing I affected him so viscerally.
Yet, I needed to play this cool. Needed to make him believe I didn't care. That he meant nothing more to me than any other piece of valuable property under my roof. It wasn't true, of course, but I still had to pretend.
"Would you look at that?" I murmured aloud, pulling out a dusty volume bound in worn leather. "A first edition 'The Art of War'. Sun Tzu himself would be proud."
Elliot glared at me from across the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hazel eyes flashed with anger, his cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink. It took considerable effort not to smile, not to march over there and take those plump lips in a burning kiss that would leave no doubt about how much I wanted him.
But I held back. Instead, I turned my attention to the book, flipping through the yellowed pages with exaggerated casualness. Inside, a part of me was telling me I was being evil.
"You know, they say that patience is the key to victory," I commented, not looking up from the text. "That true strength lies in restraint."
"That's funny," Elliot snapped, his voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like your 'restraint' has cost you whatever shred of dignity you might have once possessed."
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him briefly before returning to my perusal of the tome. "Dignity is such a transient thing, wouldn't you agree, Elliot? One moment it's here, and the next…" I gestured vaguely, letting the sentence trail off.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body shaking with pent-up rage. It was adorable, really. Like watching a kitten attempt to appear fierce, which only made me want to keep this going.
"But then again," I continued, allowing a hint of cold cruelty to enter my voice, "perhaps dignity isn't something an omega should concern himself with. It's rather an alpha trait, don't you think?"
He bristled at the jab, his anger morphing into something deeper, darker. Hurt flickered in his eyes, quickly masked by another wave of fury. Good. Let him stew in it. Let him wonder what he'd done wrong.
"And what exactly are you implying, Damon?" He growled, taking a step towards me. "That omegas aren't capable of feeling dignified? Of making their own choices?"
I shrugged, closing the book and slipping it back onto its shelf. "I imply nothing, Elliot. Merely stating facts, as I see them." I turned to face him fully, letting my expression harden into an impenetrable mask. "You are an omega. Your place is beneath an alpha. You exist to serve us, to cater to our needs."
The words were harsh, deliberately cruel. But necessary. I needed him to understand his position, to accept it. To submit to it, eventually.
"I am not a possession!" He shouted, slamming his fist down on a nearby table. A vase wobbled precariously under the impact, threatening to topple over. That was unacceptable behavior. "I will not be treated like one!"
"Then stop acting like one," I replied calmly, walking slowly towards him. With each step, I could feel the tension between us growing thicker, heavier. Like static electricity crackling in the air before a thunderstorm. "Stop throwing tantrums like a child who can't get their way. Stop trying to control everything, everyone. That is not the role of an omega."
I stopped just inches from him, close enough to feel his breath on my cheek, to see the dilation of his pupils as desire warred with anger within him. Close enough to smell the sweet, heady musk of his arousal, despite his best efforts to suppress it. As expected, his attempts were pointless.
"It is the role of an alpha to lead, to decide, to command," I continued, narrowing my eyes. "And right now, little omega, I am commanding you to stand down."
For a long moment, we remained locked in silence, neither backing down nor giving in. Then, finally, Elliot's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and he looked away, breaking eye contact.
It wasn't submission—not yet—but it was a start.
"We'll discuss your… position further later," I said, turning away from him and walking towards the door. "Until then, I suggest you find yourself someplace comfortable to rest. You've had quite the ordeal."
I could see the confusion in his eyes. He was wondering why I wasn't going to give him a room to stay in for the time being. And the answer to that was very simple as I actually wanted him to crash in my room.
Elliot stood rooted to the spot, shock etched into every line of his delicate features. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw fear flicker in his eyes—a vulnerability that made me want to pull him close, protect him from whatever demons haunted his past. But then, almost instantly, his gaze hardened, his chin defiantly.
"Why do you play these games, Damon?" His voice shook with suppressed emotion, but there was steel in his spine now, a fire igniting in those hazel depths. "What do you hope to gain by treating me like this?"
I leaned against the desk, feigning nonchalance even as my heart pounded in my chest. Fuck, the kid had guts. More than I'd given him credit for, apparently.
"What games would those be, Elliot?" I asked casually, though I knew precisely what he meant. The sudden shift in dynamics intrigued me. Challenged me. And I never backed down from a challenge. It wasn't in my nature to do that.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about," he snapped, stepping closer until barely a foot separated us. His scent engulfed me, that tantalizing blend of omega musk and something uniquely him. It took considerable effort not to groan aloud, not to haul him against me and claim him here and now.
His proximity affected me, but I couldn't let him see that. Not yet. So I arched an eyebrow instead, affecting boredom. "Enlighten me."
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. Yet, his voice remained steady, unwavering. "Your hot-and-cold act. One minute you're all charm and smiles, the next you're cold and distant. You push me away, then you reel me back in. What gives you the right to treat me like this?"
To be honest, I couldn't remember doing that often, but I admired his audacity, truly I did. But I also knew I could use this moment to my advantage. To show him exactly how powerless he was against me. Against the raw, primal attraction simmering between us.
In a swift, fluid motion, I pushed off from the desk and closed the distance between us. My hand shot up, cupping the side of his face, holding him in place as I leaned in, pressing my lips roughly against his.
He stiffened for a brief instant, surprise and disbelief flashing across his expression. Then, to my immense satisfaction, he melted into the kiss, his body relaxing against mine, his lips parting beneath the pressure of my own.
Fuck, he tasted exquisite. Sweet and yielding, yet with a spark of fight that I loved. It was exactly the taste I was hoping to feel.
I deepened the kiss, tangling my tongue with his, swallowing his startled gasp. He whimpered softly, his fingers gripping my shirt, pulling me closer. He wanted more of me, and there was no denying it.
When I finally pulled back, his lips glistening and swollen, I watched as realization dawned in his eyes. Horror and embarrassment replacing the dazed lust that had been there mere moments ago.
"What the fuck?" Elliot snapped, pulling away abruptly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, as if trying to erase the evidence of our shared desire. However, it was a pointless gesture.
"Don't 'what the fuck' me, omega," I retorted. "You enjoyed that as much as I did. Maybe even more," I winked.
Heat flared in his cheeks, embarrassment warring with anger in his expressive hazel eyes. He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off before he could utter another word.
"I can smell your arousal, Elliot," I pointed out cruelly, relishing the way his flush deepened at my blunt observation. "And don't think I didn't notice how eagerly you kissed me back." I paused, letting the harsh truth sink in. "Deny it all you want, but we both know it felt good."
He looked away, unable or unwilling to meet my gaze any longer. But I wasn't done with him yet. No, far from it. This game, this party of dominance and submission, was just beginning.
"Tell me, Elliot," I murmured, leaning in close enough for my breath to fan over his ear. "If I were to slide my hand between your legs right now, would I find you hard and ready? Dripping pre-cum?"
His sharp intake of breath betrayed him, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the validity of my question. Instead, he crossed his arms defensively over his chest, attempting to create some semblance of a barrier between us. And of course, it wasn't working.
"This changes nothing," he declared, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotions. "I still refuse to be treated like this—like some object you can toy with whenever it suits you."
A dark chuckle escaped me. "Oh, darling boy," I whispered, tracing the edge of his jawline with my fingertips, reveling in the shiver that ran through him despite his best efforts to remain stoic. "This changes everything. Because now I know what you really want. Now I know how you respond."
I leaned back, studying him intently, enjoying the way his chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to maintain control over his erratic breathing.
I understood how he was feeling. I had felt like that during a complicated time when I was younger.
His pupils were dilated, his skin flushed—the physical signs of his desire clear for anyone with half a brain to interpret.
"And mark my words, little omega," I continued, my voice hardening with resolve. "I will have you. I will take you in every imaginable way, and you will beg for more by the time I'm finished with you. And when that happens, you'll thank me for giving you what you truly crave."
Elliot's eyes flashed with renewed anger, his chin lifting defiantly. "I will never beg for anything from you, Damon Vexley. Not today, not ever."
Oh, is that so?
The air crackled with tension, an electric charge coursing between us, threatening to ignite like a summer storm. His denial only fueled my desire further; his fire called to mine, challenging me in ways few dared.
If he knew the effect that his defiance was having on me, he would have already changed his behavior.
"You seem very sure of yourself, omega," I taunted, stepping closer once again. Our bodies were almost touching now, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from him. Close enough for him to see the hunger etched into every line of my face. "But then again, so did the Titanic."
He scowled, clearly unsure whether to laugh or growl at my audacity. Before he could decide, I grasped his wrist, tugging him towards me. His eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden contact, but he refused to pull away.
"Do you know why alphas are dominant, Elliot?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous. My thumb stroked patterns on the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse quicken under my touch. "Because we're built to hunt."
His swallow was audible, but he held firm, refusing to show weakness. "You make it sound like we're animals, reduced to base instincts."
But were we really so different? I asked myself. No, I didn't think we were, I answered immediately.
"Sometimes, those instincts serve us well," I replied, smirking. "They help us survive. Help us thrive."
"And what do you plan to do, alpha?" He shot back, a spark of challenge lighting up his beautiful hazel eyes. "Hunt me down like prey?"
"That depends on you, omega," I countered, releasing his wrist and trailing my fingers up his arm instead. Goosebumps prickled along his skin beneath my touch, belying the cool indifference he tried to project. "Do you wish to be hunted?"
Our gazes locked, each willing the other to blink first. The world around us faded, the tense dance of dominance and resistance playing out solely between us. Eventually, he would relent.
Finally, Elliot broke eye contact, looking away with a frustrated huff. "You're impossible," he muttered, taking a step back. "And infuriating."
More impossible or infuriating? I mused.
"Yet here you stand," I pointed out, gesturing to the space between us. "Still arguing, still fighting. Still wanting."
He closed his eyes briefly, a silent admission of defeat—or perhaps surrender—but when they opened again, there was no softness left within them. Only determination.
"If you think that I'm going to roll over and accept whatever bullshit you throw at me, Damon, you've got another thing coming," he said firmly. "I won't submit willingly, no matter how much you push."
"We shall see about that," I replied, offering him a small smile filled with promise and warning. With that, I turned away, leaving him standing alone in the office. As I walked out, I heard him let out a low growl of frustration—and something else. Something primal, raw, and undeniably arousing.