⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
My brain was a total mess, with thoughts bouncing around like pinballs in a machine that had definitely been tilted one too many times. Then, he kissed me. Xavier Fairchild kissed me. My boss, the untouchable, perfectly put-together alpha who probably pressed his socks...had just pinned me against a wall and kissed me as if it were the most natural end to a night filled with peach schnapps and awkward dancing.
I was still pressed against the cool plaster, his big frame surrounding me, and I just stared up at him, probably wearing the dumbest look ever.
This had to be a dream, right? Another really vivid, mean-spirited dream. Any second now, I’d wake up slumped over the bar with Gavin laughing at me and a hangover that felt like it weighed a ton. That was the only explanation that seemed to fit.
Xavier’s gaze was intense and hungry, making my omega instincts flip out, and the pheromones between us hung in the air like some fancy smoke. He tilted his head, studying my stunned silence with a slight, predatory grin.
"I can be a bit reckless and unsophisticated," he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down my spine. "You told me to prove it, right?"
Honestly, I couldn’t remember my own name at that moment, let alone whatever bold nonsense I’d said on the dance floor. So, I just nodded, slow, dumb, and completely at a loss.
He chuckled, a warm, dangerously amused sound, and finally stepped back, letting me go from the wall but not from the gravitational pull of his presence. My legs felt shaky as I caught my balance, inhaling a breath that was all him.
"You’re going to have to give me a few more lessons on that," he said, turning toward the massive sectional sofa that dominated the room. He casually sank onto it, stretching one arm along the back and giving me an expectant look. "Come here, Theodore. Help me get ready for bed."
My mind went blank again. Undressing my boss was definitely not, let me repeat that...not in my job description. The original contract mentioned nothing about removing shoes, shirts, or any other clothing items that could lead to spontaneous combustion.
Yet, somehow, my feet moved forward without checking in with me, as if they’d been waiting forever for this moment.
To be honest...they probably were.
Was this really happening? Oh god, it was happening. I could already feel that familiar warmth gathering between my thighs, my body reacting to his closeness and the subtle release of pheromones like a traitor with zero loyalty. Fantastic. Professionalism level: completely shot.
I dropped to my knees in front of him to untie his shoes, because apparently, I’d decided to play the devoted servant tonight and struggled to keep my face neutral. My cheeks felt so hot I was worried the fireplace might get jealous. His piercing gaze tracked my every move, as if I were the most fascinating thing he’d seen in ages.
"I know you’ve got a lot of experience with sex," he said out of the blue, his tone calm and casual, like we were just chatting about the weather.
I nearly dropped the shoe I had just slipped off his foot. My head jerked up, eyes wide. "W-what?"
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, that dark gaze locking onto me more effectively than the wall had. "You’ve been with plenty of alphas, right? Coming into my office every day smelling like someone else—someone who wasn’t me. It drove me crazy."
My mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. No words. Nothing. How long had he known? Had he been keeping track of my walk-of-shame scents like some kind of pheromone detective? The thought was mortifying and, embarrassingly, a little thrilling.
He continued, almost gently, "So, since you’re such a great teacher... show me how it’s done."
I really tried to come up with a coherent response. Something about boundaries and professionalism and how this was a terrible idea. But all I managed was a strangled, "I—sir...I didn’t—"
His hand came up, fingers catching my chin and tilting my face toward his. The touch was firm but not harsh, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth in a way that short-circuited whatever was left of my brain cells.
"I’m upset, of course," he said quietly, his eyes searching mine. "But I’ll forgive you... if you teach me properly."
He paused, the air thick with meaning. "Someone like me has never really had the chance to just let go and...fuck someone the way I’ve right wanted to for a night. So, be a good P.A., Theodore. Teach me."
I just stared at him, completely taken aback. Mr. Fairchild...gorgeous, powerful, intimidating billionaire alpha, had never had sex?
The guy who could buy companies left and right before breakfast and make board members break a sweat with just a look was apparently a virgin? It was so absurd I almost laughed, but the hungry gleam in his eyes made it clear this was no joke.
My throat went dry. This had to be a test. Or a dream. Or both. If it was a dream, I was definitely going to indulge, because the chance to sleep with the guy I’d been low-key pining over for two years didn’t come around twice.
But if it was real... I was supposed to be a beta on paper. I’d lied on my application to dodge this kind of complication.
I gulped, mustering what little courage I had left. "Sir, I—I’d love to teach you anything you want, but I have to admit something. I...uh, lied on my application. I’m not a beta. I’m actually an omega and—"
He cut me off with a low, rich chuckle that sent heat pooling low in my belly. His thumb traced my lower lip again, his eyes sparkling with amusement at my shocked expression.
"I know, Theodore," he said softly. "For someone who lies a lot, you are a terrible liar. You’ve been one from the day I hired you."
I was stunned. He’d known all along. And he’d still kept me.
He knew that I was an omega?
And he let me go around thinking I had fooled everyone for three years straight?!
What the actual fuck!
He leaned back slightly, releasing my chin but not the intensity of his gaze. "So," he murmured, his voice smooth like velvet over steel. "Teach me...teach me how to really let loose tonight."
I knelt there on his ridiculously expensive rug, heart racing, slick ruining my underwear, my career hanging by a thread that had somehow morphed into silk rope, and realized I was completely, utterly screwed.
In the best way possible, of course.