I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
“So,” I say, deliberately lightening my tone, “how many meetings does it take with a proper Omega before the relationship can be consummated? Asking for a friend, of course.”
Logan nearly chokes on his water, clearly caught off guard by my sudden change in direction. “I—what?”
“Well, we’re starting over, aren’t we?” I continue innocently. “I assume there are protocols, proper procedures. The Enclave was very specific about such things.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by a heat that makes my pulse quicken despite myself. “Traditional courtship would suggest at least three formal meetings,” he says, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver down my spine. “Followed by a chaperoned outing, then a formal request to the Omega’s family for permission to proceed.”
“How tedious,” I observe, maintaining my composure despite the warmth spreading through me. “And if the Omega in question isn’t particularly traditional?”
Logan’s lips curve in a smile that’s pure predator. “Then I suppose the timeline might be accelerated.”
“Accelerated how?” I press, enjoying the way his pupils dilate at my directness.
“That would depend entirely on the Omega’s preferences,” he replies, his voice controlled but with an undercurrent ofsomething raw and hungry. “A proper Alpha would never presume.”
“A proper Alpha,” I repeat, rising from my chair with deliberate slowness. “And are you a proper Alpha, Your Majesty?”
Logan’s eyes follow my movement, his expression shifting from playful to intent. “Not by anyone’s definition,” he says, echoing my earlier words.
“Good,” I say, circling the table to stand before him. “Because I’m about to behave in a manner that would scandalize the entire Enclave.”
“Is that so?” Logan remains seated, looking up at me with a mixture of curiosity and heat. “And what manner would that be?”
I gather my courage, channeling the boldness that has carried me through far more dangerous situations than this. “Get on your knees,” I command.
Logan’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise flashing across his features. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” I hold his gaze, refusing to back down despite the thundering of my heart. “On your knees, Alpha.”
For a moment, I think I’ve miscalculated. Logan’s expression is unreadable, his golden eyes searching mine as if looking for the meaning behind my sudden assertiveness. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face—not the calculated charm of a prince or the benevolent authority of a king, but something far more intimate. Something just for me.
“How scandalously forward,” he says, his tone mock-offended even as he rises from his chair. “We’ve only just met. What kind of Alpha do you take me for?”
“The kind who knows what he wants,” I reply, holding my ground as he towers over me. “The kind who isn’t afraid to let an Omega take control.”
Logan’s eyes darken, his scent sharpening with unmistakable desire. “And is that what you want, Maya? Control?”
The question cuts through our game, striking at the heart of what lies between us. Control—the thing I’ve been fighting for since the moment we met. The thing he took from me once, and now seems willing to give.
“Yes,” I say simply, honestly. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
Something shifts in his expression—understanding, perhaps, or acceptance. Without another word, he sinks to his knees before me, looking up with an expression that steals my breath. There’s no resentment there, no wounded Alpha pride. Only heat and something that looks dangerously like adoration.
“Like this?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.
I nod, suddenly unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. The sight of Logan—Alpha, prince, king—on his knees before me is more powerful than I expected. More affecting. More right.
“What would you have of me?” he asks, his hands resting on his thighs, making no move to touch me without permission.
I reach out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against my skin. “I want you to show me what that clever mouth can do,” I say, surprised by the steadiness of my voice despite the heat pooling low in my belly.
Logan’s eyes darken further, his lips parting slightly. “With pleasure,” he murmurs, his hands moving to the hem of my dress. “May I?”
The request for permission—so simple, so fundamental—sends a rush of warmth through me that has nothing to do with physical desire. This is what I wanted from the beginning. Not submission, but choice. Not control, but agency.
“Yes,” I say, the word both permission and command.
