"You make it too easy," She whispered and pressed her lips to his.
Her lips were warm—too soft, too swollen from the countless kisses he'd already given her. Her skin glistened with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and something rawer. A reminder of what they'd just done. Of what lines they'd crossed.
He kissed her back, deeper this time, sliding his tongue into her mouth and tasting the need still lingering between them. Her fingers skimmed lightly across his chest before cupping his face in her small hands, as if she couldn't believe he was real—like she feared he might vanish if she blinked.
She pulled back, breathless, eyes wide and locked on his. God, she was beautiful. Devastatingly so. Every inch of her—everything he'd touched, kissed, licked, claimed—every moan, every shiver, every desperate grip on his hair, was branded into his memory. She had bitten her lip so hard trying not to scream he thought she might draw blood.
Her husband was upstairs, on the top floor, probably wrapped up in politics with his ministers, trying to save the pack or whatever. Meanwhile, he was here—inside the very woman he was sworn to protect.
His boss' wife.
It was just sex. That's what he told himself. Over and over. Like a goddamn mantra.
She began trailing kisses down his chest, slow and lazy, her tongue teasing his skin in a way that made it harder to hold onto reason. They weren't supposed to go this far, not again. They were just... caught in the heat. Overwhelmed. He kept telling himself that too, trying to cling to logic even as she hummed one of those old waltz tracks she always danced to. Even as she adjusted his suit earlier, brushing imaginary lint off his lapel—that small, innocent gesture had spiraled into this.
Into them. Naked. Tangled. Lost.
He hated that her husband pleased her on the very bed that he had claimed her. The thought churned his stomach.
"I've never felt this way before," she confessed quietly, eyes searching his for something—validation? Forgiveness? Permission to keep going?
She looked so damn innocent when she said things like that. But he knew better. She was guarded. Reserved. Walled up in ways he was only just starting to understand. But those blue eyes? They undid him.
"What way?" he asked, pulling the sheet over her bare body, trying to focus on her face and not the places he wanted to taste again. He laced his fingers with hers, grounding her. Grounding himself.
"All of this. Everything you make me feel," she whispered, barely above a breath. "It's different. And I love it all."
She spoke as if she could hear his thoughts—like she knew he was fighting to stay detached and failing miserably.
"I love it all… too. You're perfect and I—"
A knock.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
They both froze. Her body tensed beneath the sheets as they sat up, breaths caught in their throats.
"Odessa!" Alpha Darius's voice boomed through the door.
Shit.
He glanced at her. Her eyes were wide now, fear creeping in. This was it—the moment her mind spun out. He saw it happen: the regret, the panic, the sudden realization of everything she'd done. Her husband was knocking while she was still sore from being with her bodyguard.
And he hated it.
He wanted to shake her out of that spiral. Wanted her to look at him and remember what they'd just shared—what they'd been sharing for weeks now. Wanted her to understand that she was his now—even if she was too scared to say it out loud.
Before she could reach for her robe or overthink her way into guilt, he was on top of her again. He pinned her wrists gently above her head, holding her in place as she gave a soft protest. But he kissed her—not with lust this time, but something calmer. Reassuring. Steady.
"Tell him," he whispered against her lips, "that you're attending to important matters."
And he kissed her again—because if this was the last time he ever got to touch her like this, he wanted it burned into both their souls.