Page 14 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter nine

Corporate Swag

Orion

Orion sat on Dante’s couch and stared at the blank wall across from him, trying to process what had just happened while fiddling with a soft Gensyn-branded blanket.

His body still hummed with aftershocks, the ghost of Dante’s touch lingering on his skin like branded fingerprints.

His wrists bore faint red marks where they’d been pinned above his head, and his lips felt swollen though Dante hadn’t even kissed him.

The suppressants kicked in fully, dulling the worst of the pre-heat symptoms, but they couldn’t erase the memory of Dante’s hands on him, couldn’t undo the way he fell apart against that wall like every defense he built meant nothing.

You enjoyed it.

The thought kept circling back, unwelcome and undeniable. Not just the physical pleasure—though that had been devastating enough—but the fight itself. The way Dante met his resistance with confidence instead of frustration. The way he seemed to enjoy Orion’s defiance instead of trying to crush it.

The drugs dampened physical responses without clouding judgment, which meant he couldn’t blame his thoughts on hormonal influence. This clarity was the worst part—knowing what happened and how deeply he responded to it.

That’s fucked up. You’re fucked up for wanting that.

But he did want it. That was the problem. Seven years of fighting his biology, of resisting every Alpha who tried to claim him, and the first one who knew what he was doing reduced him to a shaking mess in minutes.

And Dante knew it. That satisfied smile, the way he looked at Orion like he’d just solved a particularly interesting puzzle—it made Orion want to hit him and kiss him in equal measure.

Kiss him? Christ, listen to yourself.

Orion ran his hands through his hair, trying to focus on something other than the lingering scent of tea and cherries that seemed to cling to everything in this apartment.

But even that reminded him of how Dante smelled when his corporate mask shattered—hungrier, more primal, focused on taking what he wanted.

He didn’t ask permission. He just decided you belonged to him and acted accordingly.

That should have been terrifying. It was terrifying. But it was also... honest.

He just wants you. And he’s competent enough to take you.

The thought sent a thrill through him.

This is how it starts. This is how smart Omegas convince themselves that being owned by someone competent is better than freedom.

But even as his rational mind catalogued all the ways this was dangerous, his body was still responding to the memory of Dante’s touch. The way those long fingers mapped his chest with confident precision. The filthy things he whispered while systematically destroying Orion’s control.

“I want to finger you open while I suck your cock.”

His cocked twitched back to life at the memory, and Orion cursed under his breath. The suppressants were supposed to be managing this kind of response, but apparently they couldn’t do anything about his brain’s tendency to replay the most explicit parts of Dante’s threats.

Promises. They felt like promises.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment came the sound of running water—Dante in the shower, washing off the scent of what they’d done.

The image that conjured was immediately problematic: Dante under hot water, steam rising around that lean, controlled body, hands moving over skin that Orion had barely gotten to touch…

Stop. You need to stop thinking about this.

But his imagination had already supplied vivid details: water running down Dante’s chest, those clever hands that had just been on Orion now touching himself, maybe thinking about what he wanted to do next…

This is what he wanted. He wanted to get in your head, make you think about him, make you want more.

And it was working. Despite his anger, despite his fear, despite every rational reason this was a terrible idea, Orion found himself wondering what would happen if he went to that bathroom. If he pushed open the door and let Dante see exactly how much he’d been affected.

What would he do? Would he pull you into the shower with him? Would he push you to your knees and—

“Fuck,” Orion muttered, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. The suppressants were supposed to be giving him mental clarity, not making him fantasize about the Alpha who’d just sexually assaulted him.

Was it assault if you didn’t try to stop him? If some part of you wanted what he was doing?

That was the question that kept eating at him. Because he protested every step of the way, but he responded with enthusiasm that had nothing to do with pre-heat and everything to do with the way Dante handled him.

Like he knew what you needed even when you didn’t.

The shower shut off, and Orion’s pulse spiked with something that might have been anticipation.

In a few minutes, Dante would emerge from that bathroom, probably wearing nothing but a towel, steam still clinging to his skin.

And Orion would have to sit there and pretend he wasn’t thinking about what that body looked like, what it would feel like pressed against his with nothing between them.

You can’t stay here. Not overnight. Not when you’re thinking about him like this.

The realization hit him with sudden clarity.

Staying here, sleeping on Dante’s couch while surrounded by his scent, would be a mistake of epic proportions.

Because Orion’s self-control was already hanging by a thread, and proximity to the Alpha who’d just proven how easily he could be overwhelmed was not going to help.

You need to go back. Back to your cage, back to familiar territory, back to somewhere you can think clearly.

The sound of a door opening made Orion’s decision for him. He was on his feet and moving toward the apartment exit before Dante could emerge from the bathroom, before that post-shower scent could fill the space and make his already compromised judgment even worse.

The hallway stretched before him, fourteen floors of identical corporate housing arranged in neat, numbered rows.

His bare feet made no sound on the industrial carpet as he moved quickly toward Leo’s apartment, heart hammering with something between panic and determination.

Each step away from Dante’s door felt both like retreat and victory—running from danger while choosing his own path.

He paused at Leo’s door, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Coward. You’re running like a coward.

Maybe. But he was a coward who would wake up tomorrow still in control of his own choices, able to think clearly about his options. And right now, that felt more important than pride.

What are you going to tell him? How are you going to explain spending the evening with his corporate consultant?

The lie came to him easily—years of survival made him good at creative truth-telling.

Dante had talked him through some pre-heat management techniques and left him to rest in the main apartment while Leo dealt with work.

Nothing sexual, nothing inappropriate, just professional courtesy from one corporate employee to another.

Leo will believe it because he wants to believe Dante is helping him. Because he’s too incompetent to imagine someone might be playing a deeper game.

As he walked back in the apartment, his mind systematically evaluated his position.

This encounter changed the power dynamics between all three of them in ways he could exploit.

Leo’s desperation to believe in Dante’s help.

Dante’s obvious obsession that might be leveraged into protection.

Both Alphas wanted something from him and that gave him a currency of sorts.

Information was power, even for someone in his position. If he could manipulate the situation correctly, play the Alphas against each other while maintaining his own agenda…

But those calculations felt hollow against the memory of how his body surrendered to Dante’s touch .

The space felt different now—smaller, shabbier, somehow less real than Dante’s sterile corporate apartment.

Where Dante’s apartment smelled of him and control and expensive minimalism, Leo’s reeked of stale takeout containers, cheap wine, and the lingering scent of an Alpha who couldn’t maintain basic standards.

But it was familiar, and familiarity was what he needed right now.

His cage door was still standing open, an invitation back to safety that felt almost mocking.

The narrow mattress with its thin, institution-grade sheets.

The single shelf with his few possessions was meticulously arranged.

The small scratches along the wall where he marked days, then stopped when the counting became too depressing.

These were the boundaries of his existence, limited but known.

Orion stepped inside anyway, settling onto the mattress that had been his world for the past year, the springs creaking in their familiar pattern beneath his weight.

It wasn’t until he took in another deep breath that he realized he was still clutching the Gensyn blanket. The blanket that smelled like Dante.

This is pathetic. You’re choosing a cage over freedom because you can’t handle being attracted to someone, and now you’re trying to nest with stolen bed linens.

But it wasn’t just attraction. It was the way Dante looked at him afterward—satisfied, possessive, like he’d just confirmed something important about who Orion was and what he needed.

It was the casual confidence with which he discussed ownership, as if Orion’s autonomy was simply another variable to be managed.

He wants to keep you as you are while controlling every aspect of your existence. And some sick part of you finds that appealing.