Chapter 8: Crossing The Line

Noah should have left.

He should have shoved Theron away, thrown some sharp remark over his shoulder, and walked out of the clearing like the kiss meant nothing.

But he didn't.

Instead, he stood there—breathless, burning, body betraying him in ways he refused to acknowledge.

And Theron?

Theron noticed.

The alpha tilted his head, golden eyes dark with something Noah couldn't name. Something dangerous.

"You're still here."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement—a challenge.

Noah clenched his fists. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to apologize."

Theron huffed a low, amused sound. "For what?"

Noah's jaw tightened. "For—"

Before he could finish, Theron moved.

One second, there was space between them—the next, Noah was pinned against the tree, Theron's body caging him in, heat and dominance pressing against every inch of him.

Noah gasped, his hands automatically flying up, but Theron caught his wrists, gripping them tight and firm against the rough bark.

His lips brushed Noah's ear. "I'm not sorry."

Noah shuddered.

Theron's grip tightened just slightly. "And you don't want me to be."

Noah's stomach twisted. He should fight back, throw out some defiant remark—something to gain the upper hand.

But Theron didn't give him the chance.

Because the alpha dipped his head, lips grazing the column of Noah's throat—slow, deliberate, cruel.

Noah's breath hitched.

Theron smirked against his skin. "Still waiting for that apology?"

Bastard.

Noah's pride screamed at him to bite back, to tell Theron to go to hell, but his body—his traitorous, treacherous body—reacted before he could think.

His pulse skipped, his breath shuddered, and Theron felt it.

A low, pleased growl rumbled from the alpha's chest, vibrating through Noah's skin like a damn warning.

Or a promise.

"Yeah," Theron murmured, voice dark, teasing. "That's what I thought."

Noah barely had time to curse before teeth—sharp, dangerous—nipped at the sensitive spot right below his jaw.

A shock of heat shot through him, his fingers twitching against Theron's grip.

It wasn't a mating bite. Not even close.

But it was a claim.

A warning that Noah wasn't sure whether to hate or crave.

He gritted his teeth. "You think you can play with me, Alpha?"

Theron chuckled, his lips skimming lower, pressing slow, lazy kisses along Noah's throat. "I don't think, little omega." He exhaled, warm and purposeful. "I know."

Noah sucked in a sharp breath. "You're insufferable."

Theron smirked against his skin. "And you're shaking."

Noah cursed, hating that Theron was right, hating that his own body was betraying him so damn easily.

Then—

Theron's knee pressed between his legs, trapping him, pinning him in place.

Noah inhaled sharply, his body tensing as a new kind of heat licked up his spine.

Oh, fuck.

Theron's lips brushed his ear again, smug as hell. "Nothing to say now?"

Noah wanted to snarl, wanted to shove him away, but Theron felt too good, too warm, too solid against him.

And the worst part?

Theron knew it.

The bastard was reveling in it.

His hands loosened their grip on Noah's wrists, but instead of pulling away, he dragged them down, slowly, deliberately, fingers tracing Noah's arms, over his ribs, lingering at his hips.

His thumbs brushed just under Noah's shirt, teasing at bare skin—light, wicked, unbearable.

Noah shivered.

Theron chuckled. "Sensitive?"

"Go to hell."

Theron hummed, his fingers pressing harder against Noah's hips, squeezing just enough to make Noah's breath stutter.

"I'd rather stay right here."

Then—

Theron bit him.

Not a full bite. Not deep.

But enough to make Noah's knees buckle.

Enough to make something deep and primal twist inside him.

Enough to make the truth undeniable.

Theron felt it.

Smelled it.

The moment of vulnerability. The moment Noah cracked, just a little.

And instead of pulling back—instead of stopping—Theron kissed him again.

Harder.

Deeper.

Filthier.

This wasn't teasing anymore.

This was control, possession, the unraveling of something neither of them could stop.

Noah's hands fisted into Theron's shirt, dragging him closer, hating that he wanted more, hating that Theron was making him need.

And Theron?

Theron growled, pressing him firmly against the tree, molding their bodies together in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

His grip was bruising. His breath was ragged.

And when he pulled back—just enough to speak—his voice was pure, unfiltered hunger.

"You feel that, Noah?" he rasped, his forehead pressing against the omega's. "That's what happens when you push me too far."

Noah's lungs burned. His head spun.

He should fight back. Should throw something sharp, something cutting, something to break the moment before it swallowed him whole.

But all that left his lips was a whisper.

"Do it again."

Theron groaned—deep, wrecked—before slamming their mouths back together, like he was done holding himself back, like he wanted to consume.

And Noah?

Noah let him.

Because fuck.

He was already ruined.