Torture

ZANDER

Ivan's body melts into mine, soft and pliant, as if he belongs there, molded perfectly against me. The kiss is everything—hot, consuming, and dangerous. His lips move against mine with growing urgency, and I realize something: his pheromones are flooding the air, intoxicating me, overwhelming every shred of restraint I have left.

I never thought of myself as one of those pathetic, pheromone-addicted Alphas, clinging desperately to a sweet scent like it's life itself. I'd scoffed at the very idea. But now? I might have been too quick to judge.

Because Ivan's scent… It's maddening. Addictive. Like the sweetest sin, and it's coursing through me, settling deep in my core. I can't get enough of it. My pants feel impossibly tight, every muscle coiled with tension. All I want is to pin him down, bend him over, and lose myself in him, again and again, until there's no line between where I end and where he begins.

Ivan lets out a soft, breathy moan against my mouth, and it's my undoing. I pull back just enough to look at him, his flushed face and swollen lips making my breath hitch. His green eyes meet mine, glassy and pleading, and for a moment, I almost lose it. Almost.

Instead, I take a deep, shaky breath and turn him around, my lips brushing against his ear as I whisper, "Your clothes are in the closet."

He freezes, then slowly turns his head to look back at me, his expression a mix of shock and betrayal, his disappointment almost comical. I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

"Get going," I say firmly, my tone laced with teasing authority. And before he can respond, I give his perfectly round, perky ass a sharp smack, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. Ivan jumps, a startled yelp escaping him as he shoots me an incredulous glare, cheeks flushed deeper now.

I chuckle, watching as he hurries toward the closet, his steps quick and his shoulders stiff with indignation. 

*

Ivan stands before me, dressed in a sleek black outfit that clings to him perfectly, accentuating every curve and line of his body. The shorts show off his long legs, while the leather collar around his neck sends a jolt straight through me. His blonde hair falls in soft waves around his face, framing it like a portrait, and his eyes—lined with that cat-eye thing Omegas use—glint with a confidence that has me completely entranced.

He's breathtaking, every bit of him tailored to draw attention, to command it. My gaze travels down to his small waist, and before I can think twice, my hands find their way there. I pull him close, my fingers pressing into the soft curve of his waist, savoring the feel of him under my touch.

"Ready?" I ask, my voice huskier than I intended. My eyes flicker down to his lips, slightly red, as though he's been nervously biting them—or maybe I left them that way. The thought sends a spark of heat through me, and I can't help but wonder how they'd look wrapped around my—

"Yeah," Ivan interrupts, his voice cutting through my dangerous thoughts.

I blink, snapping out of it, and force myself to focus. Clearing my throat, I let my hands slide away from his waist, though my fingers itch to hold him again. "Good," I say, stepping back slightly, though the space between us feels like torture.