Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOMETHING ABOUT THE label’s new omega band manager has me on edge. Her allure is a danger I hadn’t expected. One I am quickly trying to evade.
My newfound obsession is why I have taken to calling her Sabine instead of Bea, as she prefers. Each time her name spills from my lips, fire burns in those endless, dark blue eyes. Two deep pools of oceanic turbulence during a hurricane.
It’s antagonistic of me, I know, but I can’t seem to stop myself from pushing her buttons. I want her ire. Perhaps if she grows to hate me, this pull between us will snap.
When she is around, I feel out of control of my instincts, leading me to take my frustration out on her. Like my last comment. It was uncalled for and unprofessional. I owe her an apology, which I will send via email. We both know a phone or video call would only escalate things.
Standing at the back of the parking lot, my fingers drum against the back of the clipboard I brought for Miss Powell’s pre-tour training, attempting to quell the emotions still wreaking havoc in my mind. Whatever interest I have in Miss Powell cannot go anywhere. Not only am I twenty years her senior, I am her boss. It would be inappropriate to let this go any further. I must squash the draw I feel toward her while she is away for the tour.
The drive back to the office is quick. Starburgh, New York, is a mid-sized city just a short drive away from the chaos of New York City. A mixture of modern brick and dated stone make up most of the commercial property here. Including the multiple story, red brick building housing Soulbound Echo Studio’s East Coast office.
Our secretary, Jane, an older beta woman, greets me with a wave. “You have a call waiting on line one.” She hands me a stack of file folders to review later. With a murmured ‘thank you’, I beeline for my office. The door is barely closed behind me before I’m in my chair and pressing the buttons to accept the call.
The meeting takes longer than I expected. By the time we hang up, my stomach is gurgling, reminding me I skipped breakfast this morning. Yet another reason I need to curb this interest in Miss Powell. I cannot afford to have her presence derail my carefully crafted routine.
Slipping from my office, I plan to ask Jane and the other staff what they’d like to order for lunch today, but the faint scent of Pina Colada distracts me. I hesitate outside of the band manager’s shared office, peering through the cracked door to the darkened room beyond. No one is inside to witness me crossing to Bea’s desk and stealing the soft, blush pink knit cardigan she left hanging over the back of her chair.
My door clicks shut, the lock sliding into place louder than my frantic heart as I bury my face in the fabric, deeply inhaling to pull as much of the beachy, tipsy scent into my lungs as possible. Desire lances through me, hardening my cock to the point of pain where it digs into the zipper of my slacks. I can barely focus through the haze as my hand drifts down to grip myself.
I’m unable to resist the call of alpha instincts as I slide my zipper down and draw my length through my hand. Pre-cum beads at the tip, begging to paint a certain omega’s lips. Long, dragging pulls of my hand pair with swipes across the tip to wet my cock.
Slipping my eyes closed, I let fantasies run rampant in my thoughts. The warm, wet feel of Bea’s mouth as it wraps around my tip. Muffled gags as I push into her throat, letting her feel the swell of my knot as it presses against her lips and nose. Silky curls tangle around my fingers as I bury them in her hair, gripping tight enough to earn a whimper that vibrates around my length where it is buried inside of her mouth.
How pretty would she look with her makeup smeared down her face from the tears my rough thrusts would bring to her eyes?
My fist pumps faster, my pace growing frantic as I get lost in her stolen scent and the need growing inside of me. Picturing those sinful lips stretching obscenely as I force my knot into her mouth sends me over the edge. My head thumps against the door as I come, my release coating my hand and dripping onto the polished floor.
The sharp ring of my office line is a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Using tissues to wipe the mess from my hand, I swipe the spots on the floor before tossing them into a nearby trash can. Crossing to my desk, I rip one of the bottom drawers open and shove Bea’s sweater inside. Collapsing into the chair, my head meets my hands where they rest on the edge of my desk.
What the fuck did I just do?