Page 6

Adrian

Midnight. The city outside was quiet, the soft hum of distant traffic a faint murmur against the glass walls of my penthouse office. The warm glow of my desk lamp cast long shadows over the scattered papers, and the screen before me pulsed with the faint blue light of unread messages.

Security reports. Territory updates. Correspondence from neighboring packs. Real work. Important work. The kind of work that kept everything running smoothly, kept the pack safe.

And yet, I couldn’t focus. Not entirely. My thoughts drifted, slipping away from negotiations and patrol schedules, veering toward a certain sarcastic, sharp-tongued woman who seemed to drag chaos behind her like a storm cloud.

Olivia.

I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my face. That dinner—watching her sit there, the tension in her shoulders, the fire in her eyes battling against the cold, dismissive words of her mother—it had been like watching a collision in slow motion. And yet, she’d survived it. Somehow, through sheer stubbornness and biting wit, she’d survived. But barely.

I picked up my phone, staring at the dark screen for a long moment before sighing and pressing a button. The call connected with a soft chime, and the front desk concierge answered almost immediately.

“Good evening, Mr. Laurent. How can I assist you?”

“I need to know if a guest is still in the bar. Olivia Carter.”

There was a brief pause, the faint sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard. “Miss Carter left the bar about an hour ago. She returned to her suite shortly after. Room service has since delivered ice cream… quite a bit of it… and a bottle of champagne.”

I closed my eyes, a mixture of exasperation and something else twisting in my chest. Of course. Of course, she would drown her misery in sugar and alcohol. Chaos even in solitude.

“Thank you,” I muttered, ending the call.

I leaned back, the cool leather of my chair pressing against my shoulders. She was fine. Probably sprawled out on her bed, drowning her sorrows in overpriced ice cream and bubbly. A mess, but not a dangerous one. I could leave it at that.

But I didn’t.

Ten minutes later, I was stepping out of the elevator, the quiet hallway stretching before me, soft, muted lights casting a warm glow over the plush carpet. Her room was at the far end, and with every step, I told myself this was unnecessary.

But then I thought of Karl and Sophie—both of them glowing with joy, desperate for a perfect ceremony, a perfect family moment. If Olivia did something reckless—something embarrassing—they would never forgive me.

I told myself that was the only reason I was here.

But as I approached her door, a faint sound reached my ears—music, soft but unmistakable. The slow, heavy strum of a guitar, a voice low and raw, spilling out lyrics that echoed down the hallway.

Metallica?

I stopped, staring at the door, the muted melody threading through the silence. Was she still awake? Still… okay? Or was she passed out, glass in hand, letting the music drown her?

I should leave. Walk away. She was an adult. Her choices were her own.

And yet, my hand hovered just an inch from the door, hesitation gnawing at me.

I could just knock. Make sure she hadn’t drowned in her own champagne. I could tell myself this was about responsibility—about keeping her from causing a scene, about protecting the pack from another of her reckless outbursts.

Yes. That was it. I was doing this for the safety of everyone in the pack.

I took a slow, steadying breath, clenched my jaw, and knocked.

When the door swung open, I braced myself for chaos—maybe Olivia sprawled on the floor, surrounded by melting ice cream and empty champagne glasses, a reckless mess in the aftermath of another bad decision. But that wasn’t what I found.

She stood there, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy, almost bored expression, one hand wrapped around the edge of the door, the other clutching a half-full glass of champagne. Her dark hair was tousled, wild and untamed, like she’d run her fingers through it one too many times. The makeup she’d worn at dinner was gone, leaving her face fresh, bare, and somehow even more striking. Those green eyes—sharp and cutting—now looked glassy, almost vulnerable. A faint redness clung to the edges of her lashes, and my wolf stirred, a low, uneasy growl rippling through me.

She’d been crying.

My wolf didn’t like that.

Didn’t like it one fucking bit.

“What?” she asked, her voice steady but a little rough, the hint of a challenge already curling around the word.

“I… changed my mind about that drink,” I said, a lie I wrapped in a lazy, easy smile.

Her eyebrow arched, and she leaned against the doorframe a little more, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, really? That offer was for the lobby, you know. When I was decent and dressed. We don’t know each other well enough for pajama sleepovers.”

And that was when I noticed— really noticed —what she was wearing.

A black satin nightie, delicate lace tracing the edges, thin straps hugging her shoulders, the smooth fabric draping over her curves and ending just above her thighs, leaving long, toned legs exposed. The moonlight from the window behind her caught the curve of her hip, the soft sheen of the fabric, the bare stretch of her skin.

My wolf’s growl changed, turning low and hungry, a different kind of tension coiling in my chest.

“Oh,” she teased, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Didn’t expect this, did you, Wolfzilla ?”

“Did you answer the door like that on purpose?” I shot back, trying—and failing—to keep my gaze firmly on her face.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She leaned in just slightly, the scent of champagne curling between us. “You knocking at my door at midnight wasn’t in my plans either.”

“Regret letting me in already?”

“Who said I’m letting you in?”

I stared at her, a thousand thoughts clawing at my mind, and yet all I could focus on was the way her lips curled into that half-smirk, the hint of a challenge flickering in those green eyes.

“Fine. One drink,” she sighed, stepping back and swinging the door open wider. “But if you start giving me another lecture about respect and pack politics, I’m throwing you out.”

“Fair enough.”

I stepped inside, the scent of sweet vanilla mingling with the faint, cold scent of champagne. A small mountain of ice cream cartons sat abandoned on the room service tray, two spoons sticking out at odd angles. The soft, slow strum of an electric guitar played from a speaker in the corner, the lyrics of Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters fading into silence.

Olivia grabbed another glass from the room service tray, filled it with a generous pour of champagne, and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I murmured, my fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. Warm, soft.

“For what? It’s your champagne,” she replied, flashing that sharp smile again.

She turned away, leaning against the small table, one leg casually crossed over the other, and I tried—gods, I tried—not to stare at the line of her thigh, the soft curve of her calf. But my wolf wasn’t interested in obeying. He was all too aware of her, of the way the black satin hugged her figure, the way those green eyes seemed to catch the light and pull me in.

But beneath all of that—the beauty, the sharp words, the careless confidence—was that emptiness. That void. No scent. No trace of a wolf. Nothing familiar. Nothing I could trust.

And it rattled me.

The song changed, a familiar, slow guitar riff filling the room. Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” The lyrics were a soft, bittersweet whisper, a perfect match for the woman standing before me. Beautiful. Sharp. Dangerous.

“You know,” I said, taking a slow sip of the champagne, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more perfectly described by this song.”

She laughed, a warm, reckless sound that somehow twisted in my chest. “Really? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Beautiful. Confident. Sharp enough to draw blood if someone gets too close.”

“And you think you’ve got me figured out?” she challenged, her voice low, almost daring.

And I tried—gods, I tried—not to stare at her. Not to let my gaze trace the curve of her neck, the delicate slope of her collarbone, the smooth, perfect line of her thighs barely covered by that black satin nightie. But my wolf had other plans. My wolf had been pacing since the moment she opened the door, and now he was watching—hungry, possessive, a primal need burning just beneath my skin.

I took another slow sip of the champagne, but it didn’t cool the heat twisting in my gut. It didn’t stop the flood of images that crashed against my control—her body beneath mine, that nightie sliding off, her bare skin warm and soft against me, her lips parting in a gasp—

Fuck.

I gripped the glass a little too tightly, forcing the rising heat down, dragging my mind away from the edge. Control. Order. I was in control. I always was.

“So… why did you invite me for that drink in the lobby?” I asked, trying to force the conversation back to something safer. Anything to keep from dragging her against me, pressing her against the wall, and—

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, and those sharp green eyes danced with mischief. “Oh, that’s what you think I meant?”

“What?”

She leaned forward, just enough that the faint scent of vanilla wrapped around me, her voice dropping to a low, playful whisper. “Do alpha-holes not know that’s code for sex?”

Something snapped.

One second, I was standing there, trying to keep my composure, and the next, my glass was on the table, and I was on her.

Her back hit the wall with a soft thud, and my mouth crashed against hers, fierce, desperate, a growl rumbling in my chest. Her gasp melted into a hungry, breathless kiss, her hands threading into my hair, pulling me closer, her body pressing against mine, warm, soft, perfect.

My hand found her waist, the silk of her nightie a whisper beneath my palm, and I pulled her closer, the heat of her body searing against me. Her leg slid against mine, bare skin brushing against my thigh, and my wolf roared, the need clawing at me, demanding more.

Her lips parted beneath mine, a soft, breathless moan escaping, and I dragged my mouth down, tasting the warm, delicate skin of her neck, her pulse a rapid flutter beneath my lips.

“Adrian,” she breathed, her voice a heady mix of surprise and desire, her fingers tightening in my hair.

“You’re trouble,” I growled against her skin, my teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. “You’re a fucking storm.”

Her lips curved into a wicked, breathless smirk. “That explains why I’m so wet.”

The words slammed into me, a hot, electric shock that shot straight to my core. My wolf roared, my pulse a relentless, pounding rhythm beneath my skin.

“You’re crazy,” I muttered, but even as I said it, my hand was already moving, sliding beneath the hem of her nightie, fingertips tracing the smooth, warm skin of her thigh, climbing higher—

And then I felt it. Heat. Soft, wet warmth against my touch. Not just teasing. Not just words. Fuck, she was soaked.

Her breath caught, her lips parting as I traced slow, torturous circles against her, my fingers slick with her arousal.

“See?” Her voice was a breathless whisper, her head falling back against the wall, those wild green eyes half-lidded with need. “So maybe you should loosen up for one night. Can you do that, Alpha?”

I bit her lip, a low, rough growl rumbling in my chest. “Only if you can be submissive in return.”

Her laughter was a husky, shameless sound, her nails raking against my scalp, sending a rush of heat down my spine. “Then we have a deal. A one night only deal.”

“Right,” I murmured, my voice a low, dangerous whisper. “One night.”

And then I moved faster. My fingers pressed against her, slipping through the slick, heated warmth, finding that sensitive spot that made her gasp, her body arching against me. Her hips rocked against my touch, desperate, instinctive, her breath coming in sharp, ragged pants.

Her nails dug into my shoulders, her head tipping back, exposing the long, elegant curve of her throat, and I couldn’t resist. My mouth crashed against her skin, kissing, biting, tasting the soft, trembling pulse beneath her jaw.

“Adrian,” she whimpered, her voice a heady mix of surprise and desperation, her thighs squeezing around my hand.

“Shh,” I whispered, my voice a low, commanding growl. “Be good. Remember our deal.”

Her laugh was a breathless, broken sound, but she nodded, her lips finding mine, fierce and hungry. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Good girl,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them, a possessive heat curling in my chest.

Her eyes flashed, that wild spark burning even brighter, but she didn’t pull away. She leaned into me, her body a desperate, pleading heat against mine, her hips moving in rhythm with my touch.

My fingers moved faster, circling, teasing, driving her higher, and I drank in every gasp, every moan, every frantic kiss she crushed against my lips. Her body trembled, her thighs tightening, her breath catching, and I knew she was close—so close.

Her gasps were sharp, her body a trembling, desperate heat pressed against mine. Each ragged breath, each quiet moan, drove me closer to the edge of control. My fingers moved faster, slipping through the slick heat between her thighs, pressing against that sensitive spot that made her hips buck against me.

“Yes…” she whimpered, her voice a breathless, pleading whisper. “Don’t… don’t stop.”

“Not a chance,” I growled, my lips trailing down her neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin just above her collarbone. Her taste was intoxicating, a sweetness mixed with the faint, salty trace of her sweat.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, pulling, her other hand clutching at my shoulder, nails digging in hard enough to sting. I loved it. Every bite of pain, every desperate gasp—it was all fire, all chaos, and I was drowning in it.

Her head fell back, the wild cascade of her dark hair spilling against the wall, her eyes squeezing shut, lips parted, a soft, broken cry slipping free.

“Adrian…” My name on her lips was like gasoline on the fire already burning through me.

“Look at me,” I commanded, my voice a low, rough growl.

Her eyes fluttered open, those wild green eyes hazy with desire, her gaze locking with mine. I watched every flicker of emotion, every shiver that raced through her, the way her lips trembled, the way her breath hitched each time my fingers pressed just right.

“That’s it,” I whispered, a dark, possessive satisfaction curling in my chest. “So desperate. So fucking perfect.”

Her breath came faster, her hips rocking against my hand, her body chasing that edge, and I could feel it—her muscles tensing, her thighs quivering, the desperate, helpless need burning through her.

And then she shattered.

Her body arched, a sharp, gasping cry spilling from her lips, her nails clawing against my shoulders, her thighs clamping around my hand as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her eyes squeezed shut again, her mouth falling open, her breath coming in short, broken sobs of pleasure.

I didn’t stop. Not right away. I eased her through it, my fingers slowing, teasing, drawing out every last shiver, every last sweet, helpless whimper.

When her body finally sagged against me, her forehead falling against my shoulder, I pulled my hand away, sliding it up her back, letting my fingers tangle in the wild mess of her hair.

Her breath was warm against my neck, her heart racing beneath the delicate curve of her chest pressed against me.

“Still think I should loosen up?” I murmured, a rough, teasing edge to my voice.

Her soft, breathless laugh was a spark against my skin. “You’re getting there.”

I leaned back, tilting her chin up with two fingers, those wild green eyes finding mine again. “I could stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

The words were a low, reckless challenge, and that was all I needed.

In a heartbeat, I had her against the wall again, my mouth crushing against hers, fierce and hungry. Her hands were all over me—clawing at my shirt, slipping beneath the fabric, her nails dragging against the taut muscle of my back.

“Bedroom,” I growled, barely pulling away, my voice rough and ragged.

She laughed, a breathless, teasing sound, her fingers curling around my collar and dragging me toward the bed. “Whatever you say, Alpha.”

The mattress caught her fall, her hair spilling across the white sheets, her body stretched out beneath me, that black satin nightie a sinful contrast against her pale skin. I tore off my shirt, the fabric hitting the floor, and she watched me, her lips parting, those wild green eyes dragging over every inch of exposed muscle.

“Enjoying the view?” I teased, my voice dark, hungry.

“Not bad,” she shot back, her smirk wicked. “But I’ve seen better.”

“Liar.”

Her laugh was swallowed by another kiss, fierce, desperate, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me against her. My hands slid beneath the nightie, pushing it higher, and she lifted her arms, letting me drag it off, the fabric slipping free, leaving her bare beneath me.

And gods, she was perfect.

Curves I couldn’t wait to taste, soft, warm skin flushed with need, her wild, tangled hair fanned out across the pillow, and those eyes—those damn, defiant, laughing eyes—burning with a challenge.

My mouth crashed against hers again, my hands roaming over her body, mapping every inch, every curve, drinking in the warmth of her, the taste of her.

“Still think I’m chaos?” she whispered against my lips, her voice a breathless, teasing whisper.

“Absolutely,” I growled, my teeth grazing her jaw. “But tonight, you’re my chaos. ”

My lips traced lower, tasting the soft curve of her chest, the sharp hitch of her breath pushing me further, the heat of her body a perfect, maddening warmth beneath me.

“Tell me you want more,” I growled against her lips, my hand sliding down to position myself against her, feeling her wet, welcoming heat.

“I want it,” she breathed, her eyes wild, fierce, a storm that pulled me in. “I want you. All of you.”

And then I took her. I pressed forward, sinking into her, a deep, desperate groan tearing from my throat as her body wrapped around me, hot and tight and so perfectly mine. Her nails dug into my back, her head falling back against the pillow, her voice breaking in another gasp.

I moved, slow at first, savoring the sweet friction, the heat, the perfect way her body clenched around me, her cries mingling with the heavy, breathless sounds of our tangled, desperate dance. But slow wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed her.

My pace quickened, each thrust driving me deeper, her hips meeting mine, her fingers clawing at my shoulders, her voice a frantic, breathless plea against my ear

“Adrian—gods—don’t stop—”

“I won’t.” I growled, my teeth grazing the edge of her jaw, her pulse racing beneath my lips. “You’re mine tonight, Olivia.”

“Yes,” she gasped, her legs tightening around me, her body arching against me, her mouth catching mine in another fierce, desperate kiss. “Yours. Just tonight.”

But it didn’t feel like just tonight. It felt like everything—wild and reckless and perfect, a storm that threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. I didn’t want to.

Her cries grew louder, her body tensing, and I felt that familiar rush, that sweet, building tension spiraling higher, her thighs trembling around me, her fingers gripping me like I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“Yes—yes—” she cried, and then she shattered again, her entire body clenching around me, her cries breaking against my mouth, her nails raking down my back.

The heat, the pressure, the wild, frantic heat of her pulled me over that edge, and I followed her, a fierce, possessive growl tearing from my throat as I buried myself in her, my body shaking, the world blurring around me.

And when the rush faded, and the darkness settled, I stayed there—breathless, tangled with her, our bodies still pressed together, the heat of her skin burning against mine.

Her breath slowed, her chest rising and falling against mine, a soft, sweet rhythm that should have calmed me. But it didn’t. The heat of her skin pressed against me, the wild scent of her lingering between us, and I couldn’t shake the possessive, restless hunger still burning beneath my skin. My wolf wasn’t done. Not even close.

Olivia shifted, her fingers tracing lazy circles against my chest before she pushed herself up, slipping out of my grasp. For a split second, a fierce, irrational surge of frustration twisted in my chest. But then she smiled, wild and wicked, her hair a tangled, glorious mess around her shoulders.

“Champagne?” she asked, her voice light, teasing, as she wandered over to the abandoned bottle on the table, the black silk of her nightie sliding dangerously low, barely clinging to her curves.

I leaned back, still catching my breath, my body still thrumming with heat. “Yes?”

She laughed, the sound bright, sharp, a perfect contrast to the wild heat between us. “That’s not very Alpha of you, is it? All breathless and confused. You did say ‘ tonight ,’ didn’t you? As in the full night?” She poured the champagne, a faint, sparkling hiss filling the air. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Her words lit a fresh spark beneath my skin, and I pushed myself up on one elbow, watching her with a dark, hungry gaze.

“Not done?”

“Not even close.” She turned, holding out a glass to me, her eyes dancing with that wicked, playful fire. “I thought Alphas were supposed to have stamina. You know, the whole ‘ can go for days when an Omega is in heat’ thing.”

I snorted, taking the glass but never looking away from her. “One problem with that theory.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her champagne, the soft glow of the room casting a warm light over her bare shoulders.

“You’re neither an Omega… nor in heat.”

She leaned back against the table, one leg crossing over the other, the motion pushing the nightie higher, revealing the smooth curve of her thigh. “True. But I haven’t had sex in nine months. Does that count for something?”

I didn’t let her finish the next sip. I was off the bed in an instant, the glass of champagne slipping from my fingers to the carpet with a soft, muffled thud. I reached her, my hands sliding around her waist, pulling her back against me, my mouth finding hers with a fierce, hungry need.

“That fucking counts,” I growled against her lips, feeling her body melt against mine, the soft, surprised laugh that slipped from her swallowed by another hungry kiss. “Now let me make up for all the fun you missed.”

Her breath hitched, the teasing fire in her eyes flaring to something darker, something desperate. Her hand slipped into my hair, her nails grazing against my scalp, pulling me closer.

My fingers slid between her thighs, finding her again, slick and warm, and she bucked against my hand, her head falling back, a soft, breathless moan spilling from her lips. I traced slow, deliberate circles against her, feeling her body tremble, the tension coiling tighter and tighter beneath my touch.

“You're already dripping for me,” I whispered, my lips tracing the line of her jaw, her pulse racing beneath my mouth. “Nine months without this? I’m going to make you forget every second you spent alone.”

Her laugh was a breathless, broken sound, her body arching against me, her fingers clawing at my back. “Promises, promises…”

“I don’t make promises. I make guarantees.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her, her flushed face framed by that wild, tangled hair, her green eyes blazing with desperate need. And then I grabbed her hips, lifted her slightly, and drove into her, burying myself in her wet, welcoming heat with one smooth, powerful thrust.

I kissed the side of her neck, the faint taste of champagne on her skin, my other hand sliding up, cupping her breast, her hardened nipple pressing against my palm.

“Is this what you wanted?” I whispered against her ear, my voice low, a dark, possessive growl that I barely recognized as my own. “All those months without anyone to touch you, to make you feel this good?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her hips pressing against my hand, her breath coming faster, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Gods, yes.”

“Good.” I bit lightly at her ear, feeling her shiver. “Because I’m not done with you, Olivia. Not even close.”

Her laughter was a sweet, broken sound, her body a perfect, writhing heat against me. And I didn’t care about control. Didn’t care about anything but this—her taste, her touch, the wild, desperate way she whispered my name.

And I would spend the rest of the night reminding her exactly who she belonged to tonight.