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I couldn’t help the sly grin creeping onto my face as I saw Mr. Fairchild staring at me, his storm-gray eyes wide with a mix of shock and fascination. He always knew I had experience...he practically called me out on it earlier with that whole "fucking alphas left and right" talk, but I doubt he’d ever imagined me like this. Not really.
In his view, omegas were meant to be soft, shy, blushing types who melted at the first sign of alpha attention, meek, quiet, submissive.
But here I was: a bold, cheeky little minx, practically purring as I watched him fall apart, reveling in every shaky breath and tight jaw. It was an exhilarating rush of power.
Leaning in closer, I traced my thumb across his swollen lower lip, still tender from our earlier kisses.
"Lesson two, sir," I whispered, my voice low and teasing. "I’m about to show you how to touch an omega until they see whole constellations."
His breath hitched, and I could practically feel it against my skin. I took one of his large, veiny hands...the very hand that commanded boardrooms and inked eight-figure deals and intertwined our fingers, fascinated by how perfectly my hand fit into his. I turned it over, running my fingertip along the prominent veins, then lifted my gaze to his with a wicked grin.
"I always thought these hands would look incredible wrapped around my throat," I said, letting my words linger in the air like smoke.
Mr. Fairchild gulped, I mean actually gulped, the sound breaking the silence of the room and the hunger in his eyes sharpened to something almost primal. I could feel his fingers flexing against mine, as if he was seriously contemplating it right then and there.
I chuckled softly at the effect I had on him, the sound breathless and delighted, before I deliberately slid off his lap. Standing in front of him, I began to undress...no rush, no frenzy. Just slow, teasing reveals: I shrugged off my jacket and let it fall to the floor, undid my shirt buttons one by one while holding his gaze, and eased my pants down my hips until they pooled at my feet. I stepped out of them and kicked off my shoes, finally sliding my thumbs into my underwear and letting them fall too.
Now naked, I stood under the warm glow of the sitting room lights, allowing him to take a good look. My inner thighs glistened, my skin flushed, and my nipples hardened from arousal and the cool air. His gaze felt heavy...almost tangible as it swept over my chest, waist, the curve of my hips, all the way to where I was unmistakably ready for him. He looked captivated, lips parted, chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.
"Oh? What’s the matter?" Tilting my head, I grinned. "Cat got your tongue, sir?"
He shot me a half-hearted glare, more heat than actual annoyance, and I giggled, a light and unashamed sound, before turning and sauntering away. I didn’t even need to glance back to know he was following; I could feel the weight of his stare on my bare skin like a mark.
Finding the bedroom was easy like I was born for this mission alone, double doors at the end of the hallway, slightly ajar. I pushed them open to reveal a space that screamed Xavier Fairchild: understated, luxurious, and intimidatingly perfect. A massive platform bed dominated the center, dressed in crisp charcoal linens and a mountain of pillows that probably cost more than my rent.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, showcasing a breathtaking view of the snow-dusted grounds and distant city lights twinkling below. Recessed lighting cast a warm, golden glow, and a sleek fireplace in the corner crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on the dark hardwood floors. Everything had a faint scent of him, cedar and something pricey and alpha and I wanted to roll around in it like a cat in catnip.
I climbed onto the bed without a second thought, stretching out on my back in the center, propping myself up on my elbows to watch the doorway. A moment later, he appeared, pausing at the threshold, slowly rolling up his sleeves, his forearms flexing, veins standing out sharply, his eyes locked onto me. The intensity of his gaze felt like it could melt steel.
I crooked a finger, my voice playful. "Come here, Mr. Fairchild. Your next lesson is waiting... and I promise it’s going to be hands-on."
I stretched out on the massive bed like I owned it, which, let’s be real, I absolutely did not...but a guy can pretend when he’s naked and turned on in his boss’s bedroom. I let my knees fall apart slowly, deliberately, until I was completely exposed to him. The cool air caressed my heated skin, sending shivers down my spine, but the real heat came from Mr. Fairchild’s gaze, heavy and burning as it traced every inch of me.
I reached down with both hands, fingers sliding through the slick that had been teasing me all night, and opened myself up for him, letting out a soft, shameless moan that echoed off the high ceiling.
"C...can you see this, sir?" I asked, my voice sultry and teasing, circling my entrance with one finger just to see his jaw tighten. "I’m absolutely drenched for you. Been like this since the club, honestly. It’s pretty rude to keep an omega waiting this long, you know. Maybe I should file a complaint with HR."
Mr. Fairchild stood frozen for a moment longer in the doorway, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms tense, looking like a man who just realized the spreadsheet he’d been poring over was pure sin.
His eyes were glued to my legs, dark and hungry, pupils dilated so much that the gray was barely visible anymore. I could almost hear his self-control fraying.
He took a slow step into the room, then another, rolling those sleeves higher as he approached the bed like he was stalking prey he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to devour yet. The fireplace crackled softly behind him, casting golden light over the sharp lines of his face, and his scent, rich, warm alpha...washed over me like a wave that made my toes curl into the sheets.
"Theodore," he said, his voice low and gravelly, almost a warning. "You’re going to be the death of me."
I beamed up at him, spreading myself a little wider just to be the teasing little shit I knew I was.
He halted at the edge of the bed, looming over me, hands flexing at his sides like he was battling the urge to leap at me. "You’re unbelievably bold for someone who was apologizing for his life just twenty minutes ago."
"Occupational hazard," I replied casually, sliding one slick finger inside myself, gasping slightly, half the sound theatrical. "Working for you has given me nerves of steel. And apparently zero self-preservation."
His gaze followed my finger like it was the most captivating sight he’d ever encountered, swallowing hard as he tried to maintain control. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice rough at the edges, as if it cost him to hold back.
I pulled my finger out slowly, deliberately, and held it up between us...shiny in the firelight, before bringing it to my mouth and licking it clean while holding his stare. "I want you to stop standing there looking like a very hot Greek god and start touching me, sir. Preferably with those big hands you’ve been torturing me with for years."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Demanding little thing."
Mr. Fairchild exhaled through his nose, sounding half growl, half surrender, and finally, finally climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settled between my thighs.
"Lesson two," he murmured, his voice smooth and rough as his hands slid up my legs, thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. "Consider me a very attentive student."