TEN
DEVON
Ican’t stop.
I can’t stop looking at him like I want to eat him.
I can’t stop tracking his every movement like a fucking predator, leaning in whenever he’s showing me something on his computer screen, on his tablet, in a file.
The need to run my nose across the side of his neck, to lick a stripe of his skin no matter who’s watching is so damn strong, my body aches all the damn time from the effort it takes to keep myself in check until we’re alone.
Until evening comes, and I can lock him in here with me, and fuck him like my life, like my sanity depends on it.
But it’s getting damn impossible to control myself when we’re around others. Because he’s the same.
God, he’s the same as me. He keeps his touches casual during the workday, but he never stops touching me.
A fleeting touch to my elbow when he wants to draw my attention to something.
A hand resting on my shoulder when he’s giving me a report.
A brush of his clothes whispering against mine when he passes by me so close, he barely leaves any distance between us.
And he knows perfectly well what he’s doing, because his eyes are the filthiest, darkest chocolate every time he does any of those things, his cheeks beautifully pink.
I’ve never been edged like this, with nothing but looks, blushes, and simple touches. But I welcome it every day because they’re all mine—every single one of those looks, blushes, and touches.
Mine.
The word echoes inside me with every beat of my heart, pushing whatever possessiveness I already felt before to new, dangerous limits, the fear buried deep inside me only fueling my desperate need for him—to watch him at all times, to make sure he’s always okay, to gorge myself on him until he melts in my hands, until he sees only me.
It’s a goddamn fucking miracle I can still focus on other things that are not him.
Like the company’s newest client, Marcus Cross, currently shaking my hand after a grueling meeting.
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Kingston,” he says in a smooth, collected tone that matches his status, his grip on my hand firm and sure. “I’m looking forward to our collaboration.”
“Likewise, Mr. Cross.” I dip my head in a nod before we head towards the door, and I see him out. “You should expect all details in writing as soon as next week. You can leave your availability with my assistant, and we’ll inform you when the contracts are ready.”
He returns my nod, glancing at Sam. “Very well.”
His last words barely register, my gaze drawn to my Sammy, who’s already seen us and standing.
It’s a goddamn feat to leave him to do his work when I catch a glimpse of the small, secret smile he shoots me, but I do it anyway, knowing he’ll come see me, and have lunch with me the minute he’s done with Cross.
Except the minutes tick by, and there’s no sign of him, my skin buzzing with something unnamable that pushes me to my feet, making me go to him.
And he’s not alone, because Cross is still here.
Standing too fucking close to him, speaking to him in a low voice, the interest in his eyes unmistakable.
Every muscle in my body tightens, the blood pounding in my ears as something feral and utterly savage rears its head inside me, scraping its claws against my ribs, begging to be let out.
“Is everything alright?” The words are cold, stripped of any modicum of politeness.
They both look up, my gaze immediately seeking Sam’s, the beast momentarily soothed by the soft smile of its mate, before it locks eyes with the other predator in the room.
Surprise flashes briefly in Cross’s icy-blue gaze, before his eyes sharpen, challenge tipping his lips up.
“Yes. Your lovely assistant and I were just finishing up.”
His stance is relaxed, one hand in the pocket of his suit pants, but his scent spikes in answer to mine, sizing me up.
“Good.” I smile coolly, my gut twisting viciously at the sound of another alpha calling my Sam, my mate, lovely. “Then we’re done here?”
His eyes flick between me and Sam, who I can feel has stepped closer to me, his body exuding warmth, his sweet scent wrapping around my senses, and something eases in Cross’s demeanor.
“Yes,” he says, the earlier challenge slipping away as he withdraws behind a polite mask again. “We’re done here. It was nice meeting you, Sam.” A brief dip of the head in his direction. “I’ll see you next week, Kingston.”
A curt nod is all I can manage in answer, but Cross doesn’t expect anything more either as he turns around and leaves, drawing the looks of several employees as he walks by.
But not his. Not Sam’s.
Sam’s eyes are on me when I look at him, his pulse jumping, his breathing slightly uneven.
It makes every territorial instinct I have, rise to the surface, everything else eclipsing under the need to mark, claim, take.
“My office.” The words fall from my lips in a quiet order, blood rushing to my cock when Sam’s pupils swallow the warm brown of his irises.
He follows me inside, the few steps to my office seemingly fucking endless.
But the second he locks the door behind him, I’m on him.
I pin him to the wall, hand around his throat, tongue licking inside his hot mouth, grinding my painfully hard cock against his, drinking in his soft moans.
“Devon?” he whispers, his fingers digging into my shoulders, his skin already warming, pink bleeding down his throat, and it’s not enough. I want to see all of him like this. Pink and warm, just for me.
“Need in you,” I rasp against his lips, and his scent thickens, turning impossibly sweet, making me fucking drunk on it. “Need to make you come.”
His breath hitches, his hips rolling against mine, his body arching.
“It’s – It’s the middle of the day,” he murmurs hoarsely, his next whimper muffled around my tongue when I kiss him deep.
My hand massages his throat, and his pulse goes crazy in my grip.
“I don’t give a fuck.” The low growl makes him shiver, his eyes melting, and I’m feral for soft Sammy. “Do you?”
“No,” he breathes, shaking his head adamantly, pulling me closer, his entire body rubbing against mine. “Want you.” He sucks on my bottom lip. “Want you so much.”
The sound that tears from me is pure animal as I take his mouth, both of us attacking his clothes in a blur until he’s completely bare.
He gasps when I lean down and grab his thighs, lifting him and carrying him to my desk.
Objects clatter to the floor as he lies back on the dark mahogany surface, but my focus is only on him. Only, ever, on him. On the naked, gorgeous omega sprawled on my desk.
He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling fast as I feast on the sight of him like this in broad daylight—on display, on the desk I work every day, exposed in front of my floor-to-ceiling windows, nothing but a wall separating us from the people right outside, still going about their workday.
Nothing but trust and want in his eyes.
No. There’s something else there too as he braces his feet over the edge of the desk, spreading himself wide.
As he wraps one hand around his hard cock, and pumps himself slowly, his other hand coming up to cup his swollen tit, to play with his pink, fat nipple, his slick dripping on the dark, polished wood.
Pure goddamn mischief.
And I burn for it.
I burn for everything he is.
I grasp the backs of his thighs, and fall between his legs, because that’s where my fucking place is when my omega is dripping with need.
Pushing his knees to his chest, I lap up everything, catching every drop of his sweet fucking honey, chasing it back to his core until I’m straight-up eating him out, licking inside his perfect hole, losing myself in him.
His body shakes, and when I glance up at him, the way he looks as he tries to contain his sounds behind his palm, his eyes crazed and fixed on me, his chest heaving, his cock drooling on his belly, strips me of whatever barely-there fraction of control I had left.
I rise up, licking from his balls to the leaking tip of his cock, swallowing him down until shameless sounds spill from him every time he hits the back of my throat.
I only let him pop out of my mouth because the urge to suck on his belly consumes me, the need to mark every inch of his skin overwhelming.
My hands knead his softness, travelling up and up until they reach his tits.
He jerks at the contact, pushing harder into it when I squeeze him, when I rub the sensitive peaks.
I work on releasing my own throbbing length from my suit pants as I mouth kisses all over his tits, rolling his nipples with my tongue, sucking on them until he arches off the hard surface, his whimpers the only thing I can hear.
His scent is everywhere. It’s all I can smell and taste after I straighten up, and pull his hips right to the very edge of my desk.
I want to roar when I sink inside him, when I sheathe myself in his hot, soft body.
When I feel him wrapped tightly around me.
He whispers my name, and I go to him, one hand braced next to his head, one cupping his cheek as I feed him my tongue and my cock.
It’s hard, and fast—a ruthless fucking that has us both panting against each other’s mouths, that has the desk scraping against the floor from the force of my thrusts, and I wish I could crawl inside him, and live under his skin.
I will do anything for him. I will keep him safe. Because he’s mine, mine, mine, and I want to keep him.
I will not fail him. I can’t fail him. I can’t.
My heart races, my breathing short, my throat tight, my mind drifting, my body moving, fucking, claiming, over and over.
Gentle fingers run through my hair in a slow, soothing move, and Sam’s brown eyes are all I see. So warm. So kind.
“Hey,” he whispers.
The softly-spoken word burrows into my chest, his touch grounding me to him as the frenzy quiets into something slower, steadier, our bodies rocking together.
“Hey,” I whisper back, leaning into his touch, unable to tear my eyes away from him, following his pace, my pulse slowing, my thoughts calming.
“Okay?” he asks, his body cradling mine, holding me close, his fingers never letting up.
And he makes it hard to breathe, because he’s caring for me without even knowing he’s doing it.
I lean down, kissing his lips, tracing the freckles across his cheekbone, nuzzling his temple, drowning into his dazed eyes when I pull back.
“Okay,” I murmur, pushing deeper into him, watching his eyelids flutter with pleasure.
His free hand twists in my shirt, his gaze dipping to take a good look at me, and he smiles.
“You’re still fully dressed,” he says, a hint of surprise in his voice as if he’s just noticed it.
“I am.” The fabric of my pants rustles against his naked thighs when I grind into him, and his pupils blow out. “You don’t seem to mind it, Sammy.” He bites his lip, and a grin pulls at my mouth. “In fact, I think you fucking like it.”
Suddenly, there’s movement and muffled conversation right outside the office, and Sam clenches so tightly around my cock, it’s a miracle I don’t come right then and there.
His eyes flick to the door while his body pulses around me, his pretty dick leaking even more on his soft belly as a quiet “Oh” escapes him.
“You like that too, don’t you?” I whisper hoarsely, moving inside him harder, deeper, drowning in the liquid heat of his gaze as he peers up at me. “Getting fucked on your boss’s desk, knowing anyone could come in and watch how good my perfect, shy assistant takes my cock in the middle of the day?”
His entire body is flushed, his cheeks flaming red, but his eyes are sparkling when he clutches my tie, and pulls me close enough to kiss up my neck, and murmur in my ear.
“Anything for my boss. Anything he needs. Any time.”
I shiver at his words, heat bleeding down my spine, making my balls draw up. I grip his jaw, and his tongue tangles with mine, my hips stuttering as I fuck his gland and devour his perfect moans.
When he starts to come, I feel every single one of his tremors around my cock.
“You take my fucking breath away, Sammy,” I grate out as he pulses again and again, my orgasm rushing to the surface with an intensity that almost makes me collapse on him, his body draining me of my cum.
It’s his anyway. He fucking owns every drop of it.
He brushes his lips against mine, his eyes dazed from his release, but also focused.
“It’s only right, Devon. You do the same to me.”
My low curse fans his lips, and I taste his grin when I kiss him.
A small sound leaves him when I pull out slowly, and I have to bite back a groan when I squeeze my knot, trying to stuff it back into my boxer-briefs and pants.
“Having some trouble there?”
I glance at him, still on his back, perched on his elbows, looking at me with twitching lips and twinkling eyes. Cum on his skin. Cum leaking from him.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to lick every inch of him clean, and dirty him up all over again. But I have no idea how much time we still have left on our lunch break, and I want to take care of him properly.
I chuckle as I move over to him, loving the fresh blush that washes over him when I scoop him up in my arms.
“Nothing I’m not used to by now, every time I’m around you.”
He buries his happy laugh against my neck while I carry him to the private bathroom, his face still glowing when I set him down.
God, he’s beautiful.
“You have no one to blame but yourself, you know.” He sighs as I clean him up carefully, but not too thoroughly. I want my scent to cling to his skin for the rest of the day.
“Another alpha called you lovely, Sam. I barely kept it together long enough for Cross to leave, and for us to be alone.”
Silence follows my words, the soft scraping of the towel on his skin the only sound for a while.
But then a light touch on my jaw has me meeting his gaze, and the towel falls from my hands when he steps close, his naked body brushing against my clothes, his arms looping around my neck.
“Were you jealous, Devon?” he asks calmly, his fingers toying with the short hairs at my nape.
I pull him closer until he’s flush against me, my palms framing his hips before they slide over his ass in a proprietary grip.
“Yes.”
It doesn’t cover what it felt like—watching someone else look at him like that. But I don’t need to say more because he hears everything I’m not saying.
His eyes bore into mine, his expression serious.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he says, and the words soothe any remaining tension.
I dip my head, and find his mouth, the kiss soft and reverent, much shorter than I would like.
“Do we still have time for lunch?” he murmurs, a smile tipping his lips.
“We’ll make time,” I promise him, and I think he really likes my answer.
Because he doesn’t stop smiling. Not when I help him get dressed, choking back a laugh when we try to straighten his clothes as best as possible.
Not when he helps me put on a new shirt, fixing my collar and adjusting my tie, sneaking in more kisses.
Not when we have lunch on my couch like we do almost every day.
I’ll make all the time we need.
Because I want all the time in the world with him.