He nods and hums, hips wriggling as he keeps his feet rooted on the spot. When he’s finished his drink, he puts his glass in the dishwasher. As he bends over, I see a distinctive wet spot on his underwear. His boxer briefs are marle gray. A light, heather color with a clear dark spot where his asshole is.
Lust roars through my veins. My heart slams in my chest. Arousal rears up, ripping through my cells and blowing them out. Blood rushes downward, engorging my already erect cock. Turning it into a battering ram. Angering it. Making it hot.
My vision doubles and then tunnels. The rest of the room blurs, and the only thing that remains in focus is the omega I want.
Rough, rampant instinct takes me over.
I know myself well enough to know what has just happened: I’ve gone from man to beast.
“Lucien.” It’s my voice, but not my voice. It’s raw and stripped bare. It comes from low down in my belly. So low, only an alpha can produce it. “I am affected.”
He looks up, eyes widening, as he takes a step away from me.
“Go to the bedroom.” I speak quickly while I still can. Walls and floors vibrate as my voice travels through the space between us. “Close the door and lock it. Do it now. Don’t open it until you’re ready.”
He takes a few more steps back, pinching the tips of his fingers together near the base of his throat. His eyes are stretched wide. He looks concerned, but also visibly intrigued.
“Should I run?” he whispers. I answer with a growl that rattles the windows. “I think I’m going to run.”
I hold on to the counter and look down, trying not to watch him go for as long as humanly possible. I’m too far gone though. Conscious thought drifts, animal instinct takes over. Alpha instinct. The instinct to chase. Theinstinct to fuck. I want Lucien so much on a good day that on a day like this—when he smells like sex and his ass is leaking for me—there aren’t words for this kind of want.
Muscle bulges, biceps and pecs pleating deeply, as I will myself to keep looking down.
I lose the battle before long and let my gaze travel down the hall. I see the shape of Lucien, clad in nothing but stained boxer briefs, as he streaks down the hall. His legs are moving so fast that he’s little more than a blur of platinum-blond hair and pale skin.
So much skin.
Such hot, soft, pliable skin that the predator in me wakes from a deep, dreamless slumber.
Stalk him,it commands.
Chase him
Catch him
Fuck him
Fuck him
Fuck him!
I hold back for as long as humanly possible.
Then I vault over the kitchen island and give chase.
10
Lucien
Islamthedoor,heart pounding, as I barricade it with my shoulder and turn the key. My hands are shaking. So are my legs and my lungs.
A split second after the deadbolt slides through the strike plate, there’s a heavy thud at the door. It’s Branson. He’s at the door. He slams into it again, a dull impact that makes the timber visibly reverberate.
I step away from the door, jaw open, cock strangely intrigued by the latest turn of events.
I’ve never, ever seen anything like what just happened to Branson in the kitchen, except in the movies. He changed right in front of my eyes. He grew bigger, if that’s even possible. His stance widened. Muscles tensed and swelled impossibly. His voice lowered. Lower than lowered. It dropped so low, I didn’t hear it—I felt it in my balls and spine.
Hiseyes went black and when he looked up, they were different. Irises clearly lit up from within. Warm amber light burning through tiny striations.
