Page 47 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter thirty-four

Surrender

Orion

The ice water hit his overheated skin like a jolt of electricity, stealing his breath and sending shock waves through every nerve ending.

Orion didn’t care. He sank further into the makeshift tub with desperate relief, boots and all, letting the frigid water close over his chest as his body finally, mercifully, began to cool.

“Fuck!” he gasped, gripping the metal edges so hard his knuckles went white. The contrast between the ice and his burning skin was painful, but it was the first real relief he’d felt in hours.

“Granny Lu wants to talk again this evening,” Sage called from the doorway. “Y’all try to get some rest before then.”

The door clicked shut, leaving them alone in the leather-scented quiet of Lilac’s borrowed house.

Orion sank deeper into the water, letting it lap at his throat as the worst of the fever-heat began to recede.

His body still ached with need—the pulsing emptiness low in his belly, the hypersensitive skin that made even the wet fabric of his clothes feel like torture—but at least he could think again.

Sort of.

Because Dante was kneeling beside the tub, close enough that Orion could see the worry etched into his features, and the way his eyes kept tracking the movement of water against Orion’s body.

His soaked shirt clung to every line of his chest and abdomen, transparent in places where the fabric stretched thin.

Orion forced himself to focus on Dante’s face. He needed a distraction. Conversation. Something to keep his mind occupied while his body tried to tear itself apart with want.

“So,” he said, his voice only breathless, “what’s Gensyn t-territory like? Your day-to-day life before all this?”

Dante blinked, caught off guard by the question. His hand hovered near the edge of the tub like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how. “It’s... efficient. Everything runs on schedule. Optimal climate control, regulated nutrition, productivity-based housing assignments.”

“Sounds thrilling.” Orion shifted in the water, trying to find a position where his clothes weren’t torturing him. “What about family? Parents, siblings?”

“Not anymore. When I entered training at 12, I became a ward of Gensyn.” The answer came quickly, matter-of-fact. “Gensyn doesn’t encourage family structures for operatives. Divided loyalties compromise performance.”

The casual way Dante said it—like it was normal to be deliberately isolated from human connection—made him devastatingly sad. “So you j-just... lived alone? Worked alone?”

“Corporate housing provides everything necessary for optimal function.” Dante’s voice carried that clinical tone that meant he was quoting training materials. “Social interaction occurs through professional channels and approved recreational activities.”

Orion thought his own life was constrained, but at least he’d had memories of his father, the knowledge that someone loved him once. “What about food? What do you miss from home?”

Dante’s expression softened. “There’s this.

.. It’s ridiculous, but there’s a café near a Gensyn research complex that makes these honey cakes.

Real honey, not synthetic. They’re inefficient from a nutritional standpoint—pure calories with minimal protein or essential vitamins—but they taste like.

..” He trailed off, looking almost embarrassed.

“Like what?”

“Like happiness,” Dante admitted. “If happiness had a flavor.”

The honesty in his voice did something dangerous to Orion’s chest. Here was this man who’d been conditioned to view everything in terms of efficiency and optimization, and he missed cake that tasted like happiness.

Orion’s body pulsed with another wave of need, stronger this time, and he had to close his eyes and breathe through it. When he opened them again, Dante was watching him with undisguised concern.

“The water helping?” Dante asked, his voice rougher than before.

“Some.” Orion’s voice came out strained. The ice was keeping the worst of the fever at bay, but it wasn’t doing anything for the deeper ache, the emptiness that made him want to press against something, someone, until it stopped hurting. “Tell me about something else. Anything.”

Dante was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to where Orion’s hands gripped the tub edge. “What do you want to know? ”

“Why did you buy that kid a lollipop?” The question slipped out before Orion could stop it, carrying more weight than it should have. “At the market. The little boy who was crying.”

Dante went very still. “You noticed that.”

“Hard to miss. One minute you’re this terrifying suit, the next you’re crouched down bribing a crying child with candy.” Orion studied Dante’s face, noting the way something shifted in his expression. “It wasn’t calculated. Wasn’t part of some plan. You just... did it.”

“He reminded me of someone,” Dante said, his voice so quiet Orion had to strain to hear it over the gentle lap of water.

“Who?”

“Myself. When I was that age.” Dante’s hands clenched where they rested on his knees. “Before Gensyn recruited me. I used to cry like that when my parents would fight, and my grandmother would give me these peppermint sticks to make me feel better.”

Orion felt his heart do something complicated, a sensation that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with the man kneeling beside him—this perfectly controlled operative who bought crying children candy because it reminded him of being small and scared and comforted.

“Dante,” Orion started, but the heat vanished like someone flipped a switch.

Cold crashed over him with devastating intensity, not the relief of the ice water but something that went bone-deep and vicious.

His teeth started chattering, his whole body seizing up as if the temperature dropped fifty degrees in an instant.

“Shit—” Orion scrambled out of the tub, water cascading everywhere as his body shook uncontrollably. The wet clothes were now frozen sheets against his skin, making everything worse .

Dante was immediately reaching for him, hands moving toward his soaked shirt. “We need to get you—”

“Don’t.” Orion shoved him away, stumbling backward as water dripped from his clothes and hair, leaving a trail across the wooden floor. His whole body was curving inward, trying to conserve heat that wasn’t there, and he felt like he might be sick from the violent temperature swing.

He made it to the bedroom and collapsed against the side of the bed, pulling the thick comforter down around his shaking shoulders. The fabric smelled like lavender and whoever Lilac was, but it was dry and soft, and he buried his face in it as another violent shiver wracked his frame.

Dante followed him into the room, moving like he was approaching a wounded animal. “Orion—”

“I’m f-f-fine,” Orion managed through chattering teeth. His body felt like it was at war with itself—boiling and freezing and aching all at once.

“Your boots are soaked,” Dante said, kneeling in front of him with that same gentle determination he’d shown with the crying child. “They’re new. They’ll be ruined if we don’t get them off.”

Despite the pain, the cold, the fact that his body was falling apart, Orion almost laughed. “You’re worried about my boots?”

“They’re good boots,” Dante said seriously, his hands already working at the laces with efficient care. “Waste of functional footwear.”

The absurdity of it—Dante crouched on the floor, methodically unlacing wet boots while Orion shivered under a stolen comforter—was so ridiculous that Orion did laugh, a short bark of sound that was half hysteria .

“There,” Dante said, setting the boots aside. When he looked up, his eyes met Orion’s, and something in his expression shifted. “Better?”

Orion was still shaking, still wrapped in the comforter like armor, but Dante’s careful attention to something as mundane as footwear had somehow grounded him. Made this feel less like a medical crisis and more like... care.

His body trembled with another violent wave—this time a surge of heat that left him gasping, his abdomen twisting itself into impossible painful knots as sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold shivers.

The conflicting sensations were maddening, his nervous system unable to decide whether it was freezing or burning.

In that moment, as another clenching ache radiated through his core, Orion realized the truth that he’d been fighting since their first meeting: he needed help.

Not just anyone’s help—Dante’s help specifically.

His body was crying out for the Alpha’s touch, for the relief that only Dante could provide.

The thought terrified him. For years, his entire identity had been built around resistance, around never giving anyone power over him. Surrendering control, even for a second, felt like losing a fundamental piece of himself.

But the alternative—suffering through this alone, fighting his own body until it broke him—suddenly seemed like nothing but stubborn pride.

“Help me,” Orion whispered, the words carrying more meaning than just relief from the temperature swings. “Please.”

But as soon as he said it, as soon as he saw the way Dante’s eyes lit up, Orion realized what he was asking for. What his body was demanding. The ache between his legs was getting worse, the emptiness clawing at him from the inside, and he needed—

“I need you t-to leave the room,” Orion said quickly, pulling the comforter tighter around himself.

Dante’s brows drew together. “Why?”

Shame flooded Orion’s face. “I’ll... I’ll try to take c-care of it myself.”

The hungry look that crossed Dante’s features was immediate and devastating.

“Dante.” Orion’s voice carried a warning, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty that hadn’t been there before. His body wanted this—wanted Dante—with an intensity that frightened him. “Leave. Now.”

Instead, Dante’s hands moved to rest on Orion’s legs through the comforter, his touch gentle but possessive. “Let me help.”