Chapter 8
Damon
I watched as Elliot reluctantly approached the table, his expression a mixture of defiance and apprehension. He didn't want to be here, obviously, but he also didn't have another choice.
The sight of him—his slight frame, his unruly curls, the vulnerability lurking beneath that carefully constructed facade—stirred something primal within me, tightening my muscles and raising a familiar heat between my legs.
I tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, leaning against the head of the table and regarding him with an amused expression. It wasn't easy, though. The raw desire churning inside me threatened to spill over, betraying the carefully controlled persona I'd cultivated for so long.
There were so many things I wanted to do to him, but couldn't in that moment.
"Welcome, Elliot," I said, my voice smooth and welcoming. "I trust your journey here was… satisfactory?"
He didn't bother to meet my gaze, instead focusing on the elaborate spread of food laid out before us. The aroma was intoxicating—a collection of spices, herbs, and roasted meats.
"It could have been shorter," he muttered.
I chuckled, finding a perverse pleasure in his continued resistance. "Patience is a virtue, little omega. You'll learn that soon enough." I gestured to the chair opposite me. "Please, sit. Let's not stand around like awkward teenagers on a first date."
He hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking a seat, carefully positioning himself as far away from me as possible. However, it still wasn't going to work.
"So," I began, picking up a fork and examining it with exaggerated interest. "Tell me about yourself. What did you do before stumbling into my little world?"
His eyes flickered up to mine, a hint of suspicion in their depths. He was wondering where I was going to take this conversation.
"It's not really something I like to talk about," he said defensively, averting his gaze.
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, feigning disappointment. "I thought we were going to get acquainted."
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding my gaze once again. "It was… complicated."
"Aren't most things?" I countered, spearing a piece of roasted asparagus and popping it into my mouth. "Tell me about your family, Elliot."
That seemed to be the wrong question. He visibly stiffened, his jaw clenching. Plus, he was most likely thinking that I already knew everything about that.
"My family is… not relevant," he said curtly.
"Everything is relevant," I insisted, my eyes locking with his. "Especially your past."
I could see the conflict raging within him, the desire to reveal, the fear of exposure. It was fascinating to witness, and it fueled my own desire for control.
"Let's just say," he began slowly, "they wanted something different for me than what I wanted for myself."
"A common story," I agreed with a knowing smirk. "Many people feel stifled by their families' expectations. What exactly did they want you to be?"
He hesitated again, chewing on his lip as if struggling with the decision to confide in me. Finally, he let out a sigh.
"They wanted me to be… scholarly," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To dedicate my life to preserving ancient knowledge."
"And you didn't want that?" I pressed.
"It was… suffocating," he admitted, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "All those dusty books, all those forgotten languages. It felt like I was trapped in a gilded cage."
I had felt like that sometimes before, so I could relate.
"So, you escaped," I concluded.
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth. "I wanted to experience life. To see the world. To be… free."
And now he was, with me, and he was freer than he had ever been.
"And what have you found?" I asked, smirking.
He looked up at me, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "Chaos," he said bluntly. "Nothing but chaos."
I chuckled, finding his assessment rather amusing. "Perhaps you just haven't found the right kind of order yet." My gaze drifted down to my waist, noticing my erection. "Maybe you just need someone to show you the way."
His cheeks flushed, and he quickly averted his eyes. But I could see the flicker of desire in them, the acknowledgment that my words had hit their mark.
I leaned forward, closer this time, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Tell me, Elliot," I murmured, "what do you truly crave?"
The absurdity of the question hung in the air. Elliot's face contorted into a mask of disbelief, his hazel eyes widening as he stared at me. The flush that had begun creeping up his neck intensified, staining his cheeks a vibrant pink. His reaction was priceless.
"That's… that's a ridiculous question," he finally sputtered, shaking his head slightly. "What kind of answer are you expecting? I'm literally sitting across from a man who runs a criminal organization! My craving is to escape, to find a way out of this insane situation."
A way away from me? I thought amusedly.
I let out a low chuckle, enjoying the indignation bubbling within him. It was a refreshing change from the stoic resistance he'd been projecting earlier. "Fair enough," I conceded. "But everyone craves something, Elliot. Even you."
He opened his mouth to retort, but I cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't deny it. Everyone has desires, hidden or not. It's what makes us the people we are."
The air was heavy, a palpable energy that crackled between us. I watched as he wrestled with his thoughts, his expression shifting between annoyance and contemplation. He seemed genuinely bewildered by my persistence, and I relished the challenge of breaking down the walls that surrounded him.
Suddenly, there was a commotion near the far end of the table, a loud crash followed by a flurry of panicked voices. A server, laden with a tray of ornate pastries, had tripped, sending the delicate desserts scattering across the pristine white tablecloth.
Chaos erupted in the dining room. Servers rushed to clean up the mess, while the other inhabitants of the manor turned their attention to the spectacle. The sudden disruption momentarily broke the intense connection between Elliot and me.
As the servants scrambled to clear the spilled pastries, a young man—one of my younger associates—attempted to steady a wobbling table laden with silverware. In doing so, he inadvertently bumped into the chair opposite Elliot, sending it sliding across the polished floor.
Elliot instinctively reached out to grab the chair, preventing it from crashing into him. But as he did so, the sudden movement threw off his balance. He stumbled forward, arms flailing in an attempt to regain his footing.
And that's when it happened.
Driven by his instinct to steady himself, Elliot's hand instinctively shot out, grasping for something—anything—to prevent a fall. His fingers closed around the armrest of the chair beside him, which, due to the unexpected jostling, had been subtly shifted closer to his own.
But it wasn't just any chair he grabbed onto. It was my chair.
The moment our hands connected, I felt a jolt—a physical reaction that resonated deep within my body. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniable. The contact sent a wave of heat rushing through me, tightening my muscles and making my breath catch in my throat. I hadn't expected this to happen.
I hadn't consciously moved, hadn't intended for it to happen, but as Elliot pulled himself upright, the momentum shifted us both. He didn't release his grip, and I didn't tell him to. The contact somehow felt… right.
The chairs were close enough now that our bodies were practically touching. His shoulder brushed against mine, making my body tense up slightly. It wasn't a forceful touch, but it was intimate, unexpected. He was breathing subtly on my neck.
The room seemed to fade away, the chaos and commotion receding into the background. All that remained was the electric charge coursing between us, the undeniable proximity of his body against mine. I could smell him now, that intoxicating blend of omega musk and something uniquely Elliot, filling my lungs with each breath.
He stiffened, his eyes widening as he realized the situation we were in. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking pale and vulnerable. He was clearly mortified by our closeness, even though there was nothing wrong with it from my point of view.
"Oh," he gasped, his voice barely audible above the ongoing commotion. "I… I'm sorry."
I was surprised he said he was sorry. I thought it was something he would never say to me.
He reached out to release my arm, but I didn't let go. I held on just a little longer, savoring the brief connection. It was a subtle rebellion, a silent assertion of dominance.
As Elliot's hand gripped my arm, I took full advantage of the opportunity before him. I leaned in closer, letting my nose graze the soft skin just below his ear. His scent enveloped me. It was intoxicating, and I couldn't help but draw in a deeper breath, wanting more of it. I wanted all of him, actually.
His body tensed at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly, giving me better access to his neck. It was a subtle invitation, one I couldn't resist.
"Damon?" He whispered, uncertainty coloring his melodic omega voice.
"What do you think you're doing?" I murmured back, my lips brushing against his earlobe. I felt him shiver, heard his quick intake of breath.
"I… I don't know," he stammered, struggling to maintain control over his emotions and his desire.
"You seem to be sniffing me like a predator," he continued, trying to keep his tone light despite the rapid beating of his heart.
"And if I am?" I asked, allowing my tongue to flicker out, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He gasped, his grip on my arm tightening.
"It's… improper," he managed to utter.
"Propriety is overrated," I replied, my teeth gently nipping at his earlobe. He let out a low moan, his body pressing back against mine.
"If anyone sees…" he began, only to trail off as my free hand slid around his waist, pulling him flush against me.
Someone was already probably seeing this, actually.
"I don't care who sees," I growled softly, my erection pressed firmly against his hip. There was no hiding it now, not with how close we were. And besides, I wanted him to feel exactly what he did to me.
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously towards the others in the dining room. They were either too engrossed in their conversations or deliberately ignoring us, pretending they weren't witnessing our exchange.
"They can look all they want," I assured him, my thumb stroking circles on his side. "They won't interrupt." Not unless I wanted them to.
"But why are you doing this?" he asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "Why keep teasing me like this?"
I pulled back slightly, allowing myself a smirk. "Because I can," I stated simply. "Because you're here, unprotected, and because I want to."
It was brutal honesty, but he deserved to hear it. Besides, he needed to understand that in this world—the Nightshade Wolves' world—I made the rules. Especially when it came to him.
"So, you are just going to keep using your power to toy with me?" He challenged, a hint of anger sparking in his hazel eyes.
"Isn't that what power is for?" I countered, my gaze locked with his. We were so close, our breaths mingling, our hearts pounding in sync.
He opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, seemingly unable to find an adequate response. I had him at a loss for words, which was a rare feat indeed.
"Why don't you just kiss me again already?" He finally snapped, frustration etched onto his beautiful features.