Page 24 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)
What started as comfort had evolved into something more complex over the years at university.
Oakley's gratitude transforming into genuine submission, his need for my strength becoming the foundation of our pack bond.
He'd helped me through difficult times too, but always as the one who yielded, who bent, who accepted whatever I needed to give.
Eleven years of friendship had become three years of something deeper, more primal.
"Look at you," I said, closing the door behind me with deliberate finality. "All that righteous indignation, and you're still here on your knees, waiting for me to put you in your place."
His cedar scent sharpened with embarrassment, but he didn't move from position.
There was something almost nostalgic in his submission now.
The echo of that frightened boy who'd needed me to teach him that yielding could be strength rather than weakness.
My childhood companion, who'd once raced me across meadows and challenged me to climbing contests, now kneeling in perfect submission.
"Dorian."
"Alpha," I corrected, beginning to remove my clothes with methodical precision. "When you're naked and kneeling, you acknowledge the pack hierarchy properly."
"Alpha," he repeated, the word carrying the weight of years of friendship, three years of this deeper bond, shared secrets, shared need.
I stripped slowly, letting him watch, letting the anticipation build. His eyes tracked every movement, pupils dilating as my sandalwood scent filled the room with dominance pheromones designed to trigger submission responses.
It had taken months to train him properly after that first desperate encounter in the boathouse.
Teaching him that submission to me didn't make him weak.
It made him mine. That there was honor in yielding to a stronger Alpha, safety in surrendering control to someone who would protect him from a world that saw his gentleness as failure.
His father had called him "soft," "unnatural," "a disgrace to Alpha bloodlines." I'd shown him that his capacity for submission was actually rare, valuable. Something that made our pack stronger rather than weaker.
"You want to know the difference between us and scholarship Omegas?" I asked, moving to stand in front of him, my cock inches from his face. "The difference is that you understand hierarchy. You know when to submit."
The irony wasn't lost on me. We'd built our entire identity around the idea that designation determined behavior, yet here was proof that Alphas could be just as submissive as any Omega when the right dynamics were in play.
But that was different. We were a pack. We were choosing this dance of dominance and submission, finding strength in our complementary needs.
Before he could respond, I fisted my hand in his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Open."
His lips parted obediently, and I pressed inside without ceremony, hitting the back of his throat in one smooth thrust. The sound he made, part protest, part surrender, sent heat straight through me.
"That's it," I murmured, setting a steady rhythm. "Show me how an Alpha submits properly."
He relaxed his throat, taking me deeper, years of training evident in how perfectly he accommodated my size. His hands stayed planted on his thighs, maintaining position even as tears gathered in his eyes from the pressure.
"You question our methods," I continued, voice rough with pleasure as I used his mouth. "But look at yourself. Taking me so perfectly, desperate to please your Alpha. This is what proper submission looks like."
The humiliation in my words made him moan around my length, the vibrations nearly undoing my control. I pulled back before I could finish, leaving him gasping and disheveled.
"On the bed," I ordered. "Face down, ass up. Show me that pretty presentation."
He scrambled to comply, positioning himself exactly how I liked. Back arched, knees spread wide, presenting himself for my use. The position emphasized his submission, the way his body curved to offer itself despite his Alpha designation.
"Perfect," I said, running my hands over the smooth expanse of his back. "You see? This is what proper hierarchy looks like. You submit to me, just like she'll submit to us."
My fingers found the oil I kept in the nightstand drawer, preparing him with efficient movements that had him pressing back against my touch within moments.
"Please," he whispered, the word muffled against the expensive bedding.
"Please what?" I demanded, adding another finger, stretching him carefully despite the urgency clawing at my chest.
"Please, Alpha. I need—" He broke off with a gasp as I crooked my fingers, finding that spot that made him shake.
"What you need," I said, positioning myself behind him, "is to remember why you follow my lead. Why you trust my judgment about Vespera."
I pressed inside slowly, watching his body accept me with the ease of long practice. The tight heat of him, the way he surrendered completely despite his earlier protests. It was intoxicating proof that biology trumped ideology every time.
"Fuck," he breathed, pushing back to take me deeper.
I set a brutal pace, using his body to work through the frustration of his questioning, the possessive need that Vespera had awakened in me. Each thrust was a reminder of our hierarchy, of why his doubts were irrelevant compared to my certainty.
"This is what she needs," I panted, gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises. "What they all need. To understand their place, their purpose."
"Yes, Alpha," he gasped, his voice breaking as I hit that perfect angle. "Yes, fuck, please! Fuck me!"
His submission was complete now, all traces of moral objection dissolved in the face of physical domination. This was our truth. Not the careful rationalizations or ideological debates, but the primal reality of Alpha dominance and submission.
When I reached around to stroke his leaking cock, he came with a broken cry, his body clenching around me in waves that triggered my own release. I buried myself deep, marking him internally the way I'd mark Vespera soon enough.
Afterward, as he lay trembling beneath me, I pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.
"Do you understand now?" I asked quietly. "Why questioning me is pointless?"
He nodded against the pillow, completely pliant in the aftermath. "Yes, Alpha."
"Good." I pulled out carefully, watching my seed leak from his well-used body with satisfaction. "Clean up and get some sleep. We have a theater outing to prepare for."
As he headed toward my bathroom, I retrieved my phone and checked the latest surveillance update on Vespera. Still working late, still fighting to prove herself worthy of remaining at Northwood.
Soon, she'd learn the same lesson Oakley had just been reminded of. That biology was destiny, that submission was inevitable, and that fighting only made the eventual surrender sweeter.
I fell asleep, accompanied by dreams of blonde hair and defiant green eyes that would soon learn to look at me with the same surrendering devotion I saw in Oakley's.