Direct skin-to-skin contact with an alpha when my suppressants were already failing. Of course it would push me over the edge. I’ve kept my heat under control for years, and my body picks now of all times to betray me.
My knees buckle.
Months of planning and preparation, and I’m about to collapse at my enemy’s feet like some pathetic weakling.
Hands catch me before I hit the ground. Strong hands that grip my arms with surprising gentleness, steadying me against a chest that feels like a furnace, making me want to melt against it even as my mind screams in protest.
The fever burns through me, spreading from my gut to my limbs to every nerve ending in my body. My skin feels too tight, like I'm going to split open. And god help me, slick is already starting to pool between the crack of my ass.
“No,” I gasp. My voice even sounds wrong in my ears. “No… not like this. Not with you.”
Enzo goes terrifyingly still. His hands tighten on my arms. Then I hear the sharp inhale. Watch his nostrils flare as he breathes me in, confirming what his instincts are already telling him.
“You’re in heat.”
“Fuck you.” I try to push him away, but my muscles won’t cooperate. My hands just slide uselessly against his chest.
Everything hurts and burns. And underneath the pain is the want—the terrible, consuming, overwhelming need that makes me hate myself more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life.
I lean forward without meaning to, my nose finding the junction of his neck and shoulder. I breathe him in and my cock goes achingly hard in my pants.
“Oh God. Oh fuck, no—” I jerk back in horror. “No, no, no—”
His arms lock around my waist, yanking me back against his chest, and I feel the thick length of his cock pressing against my hip. My body responds instantly with a fresh gush of slick flooding out of me, soaking through my underwear. The humiliation is so intense I can’t breathe.
Suddenly, his scent starts filling my lungs by the second, making my head swim. I can’t seem to think past thealpha-alpha-alphachant pounding through my skull.
“Stop it.” I shove weakly at his chest. “Stop—stop releasing your fucking pheromones.”
“I’m not releasing anything.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “It’s just your heat heightening your senses.”
“Bullshit!” My hands fist his shirt. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re—mmph fuck!” I shudder against him uncontrollably as another cramp rolls through me, stealing my breath.
“Just... just kill me. Please. Just fucking kill me.”
His fingers dig into my waist, and another pathetic whimper escapes my throat.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Don’t—”
“Can you walk?”
I want to tell him to fuck off. I’d rather die on this terrace than accept a shred of help from him.
But the words die on my lips when another wave hits, and my legs give out completely.
Enzo catches me before I can fall. Lifts me like I weigh nothing. I see his lips moving but don't hear any sounds. And for someone who was just told his security analyst was here to kill him, his face is more etched with concern as he looks at me than when he was facing my gun.
The world tilts and shifts as he carries me back inside.
I want to fight. Scream. Do anything other than curl into him like he’s safety instead of danger. But his scent is wrapping around me like a drug, and his body heat is the only thing that doesn’t hurt.
“Please,” I gasp, but I’m not even sure what I’m asking for anymore. Death, maybe. Or mercy. Or for the clock to turn back five minutes to when I still had control of my body.
All I know is that I want the ache to go away. Anything to make it stop.
“I’ve got you.” I hear Enzo’s voice, but it sounds like it’s coming from a mile away. It’s the last thing I hear before everything in my world goes black.
