Dominic pov
I should have left.
I meant to leave.
But then he looked at me like that wide-eyed, breath uneven, anger and want tangled in a way that made my blood burn.
And I knew.
I wasn't going anywhere.
Ashen's fingers were still curled into my shirt, his chest rising and falling like he couldn't quite catch his breath.
Neither could I.
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and something primal in me snapped.
I reached for him again, slow enough for him to pull away if he wanted. If he truly didn't want this.
But he stayed.
So I took what was mine.
I kissed him again, harder this time. Less teasing, more claiming.
He gasped against my lips, but he didn't push me away. His hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer like he hated himself for it, like he didn't know if he wanted to fight me or let me ruin him.
Both.
Always both.
I gripped his waist, dragging him against me until there was no space left, until I could feel the heat of him searing through the thin towel still hanging low on his hips.
He let out the softest, most frustrated sound against my lips, and I felt it more than I heard it.
And fuck—
I wanted more.
I kissed him like I could take every ounce of his defiance and make it mine. Like I could devour the fight out of him, force him to accept what we both already knew.
That he belonged to me.
That he had always belonged to me.
But then—
Ashen bit my lip.
Hard.
I pulled back with a growl, the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. His breathing was ragged, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with something unreadable.
"I'm not yours," he rasped.
I wiped my thumb across my bottom lip, smirking when I saw the faint trace of red.
I tilted my head, voice low. "No?"
He shook his head, but his hands were still on me. Still holding on.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against his jaw, barely resisting the urge to mark him right then and there.
"You can lie to yourself all you want," I murmured against his skin. "But your body tells the truth."
He shuddered.
Fucking perfect.
But then, before I could press further, before I could strip away whatever fragile resistance he had left
He shoved me.
Hard.
I let him push me back a step, watching as he turned away, running a shaking hand through his damp hair.
His voice was raw when he finally spoke. "Get out."
I should have been pissed.
I should have thrown him right back onto that bed and made him say it again.
But instead—
I smirked.
Because no matter how much he denied it, no matter how much he fought.
I had felt it.
The way his body melted against mine. The way his heart raced when I touched him.
I licked the last trace of blood from my lip, stepping toward the door.
"I'll let you have this little illusion of control," I murmured. "For now."
Ashen didn't turn around. Didn't speak.
But his fists were clenched. His pulse still thrummed.
And I knew—
I left his room, but the scent of him clung to me like a brand.
Like a fucking claim.
My jaw tightened as I stalked down the hall, ignoring the way my muscles coiled, the way my wolf prowled beneath my skin, restless and unsatisfied.
I had tasted him.
I had felt him tremble under my hands, his breath hitching, his heart racing like a caged animal caught between fight and surrender.
And then he pushed me away.
I should have been furious.
I should have grabbed him by the throat, pinned him down, and made him accept what we both already knew.
But instead—
I smirked.
Because this was a game.
And Ashen?
He had already lost.
I made my way to my office, barely acknowledging the pack members who stepped aside as I passed. Some cast wary glances at me, no doubt still whispering about the fight earlier. About how the warrior they thought they knew was actually something else.
Something forbidden.
An Omega.
My Omega.
The thought sent a sharp pulse of heat through me, my possessiveness flaring.
Mine.
The word settled deep in my chest, undeniable.
When I reached my office, Ryker was already there, leaning against the desk like he owned the place. His sharp gaze flicked to me, taking in my disheveled shirt, the faint trace of blood on my lip.
His mouth curled into a smirk. "Rough morning?"
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, pouring a glass without answering.
Ryker huffed a laugh. "I take it Ashen still thinks he can resist you?"
I knocked back the drink, the burn doing nothing to cool the fire raging beneath my skin.
"He'll break," I said, voice low.
Ryker raised a brow. "You sound confident."
I set the glass down with a thud.
"I don't need to be confident," I murmured. "I just need to be patient."
Because no matter how much Ashen fought—
He was already mine.
And soon?
He'd realize it too.
Patience had never been my strong suit.
Especially when it came to things that belonged to me.
And Ashen?
He was mine. Whether he admitted it or not.
Ryker watched me over the rim of his glass, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So, what's the plan? Keep cornering him until he stops pretending he doesn't want you?"
I smirked. "Something like that."
He chuckled. "You know, most Omegas don't fight this hard."
"Ashen isn't like most Omegas."
That much was obvious.
Most Omegas would have folded the second I kissed them. Would have bared their throats, gone soft and pliant in my hands, begging for more.
Ashen?
He bit me.
The sting of it still lingered, sharp and fucking perfect.
I could still feel the shape of him against me, the way his breath hitched when I pulled him close, the way his body froze like he was afraid of what he might do if he let himself want.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my wolf back down before the possessiveness made me reckless.
"I'll give him space," I muttered. "Let him think he has control."
Ryker gave me a knowing look. "And when he lets his guard down?"
I grinned. "Then I'll take what's mine."
--
For two days, I didn't touch him.
Didn't push.
Didn't corner him in empty hallways, didn't invade his space just to watch the way his body reacted before his mind could catch up.
I could feel him waiting for it.
For me.
And that was the beauty of patience.
Because the more I ignored him, the more he noticed me.
The more his eyes tracked my movements, the more his breath hitched when I passed too close, the more his frustration grew.
He was unraveling.
And when he finally snapped?
I'd be right there to catch him.
The waiting was almost too easy.
Ashen was like a tightly coiled spring, wound up so tight he was bound to break. The more I ignored him, the more I felt him react to my absence.
His eyes followed me when he thought I wouldn't notice.
His fists clenched whenever I brushed too close.
His scent spiked with frustration every time I walked away.
He wanted the fight. Needed it.
But I wouldn't give it to him.
Not yet.
I just had to wait for him to come to me.
And sure enough—
He did.
I was in the training hall when he finally snapped.
The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the room. I didn't look up immediately, didn't acknowledge him right away.
Because I wanted him mad.
I finished wrapping my hands, flexing my fingers before finally turning to face him.
Ashen stood at the entrance, chest rising and falling in quick, frustrated breaths. His dark hair was a mess, like he had run his hands through it too many times. His eyes burned with something sharp anger, confusion, something else I knew he didn't want to name.
Perfect.
I smirked. "You lost?"
His lips curled back. "You've been avoiding me."
I arched a brow. "Have I?"
His hands balled into fists at his sides. "Yes."
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders. "And?"
"And—" He gritted his teeth. "And I want to know why."
I let a slow smile spread across my lips.
Because he noticed.
Because it bothered him.
I stepped closer, watching the way his breathing stuttered just slightly, the way his body tensed like he wanted to run and fight at the same time.
I tilted my head. "You missed me, didn't you?"
His nostrils flared. "No."
"Liar."
His jaw clenched. "You think this is a game?"
I reached out, gripping his chin, tilting his face up just enough to make him hold my gaze.
I leaned in, lips hovering over his, just enough to tease, to taunt.
"This isn't a game, Ashen," I murmured. "This is me winning."
And then—
I kissed him.
Hard.
His breath hitched, his body frozen for half a second before—
He kissed me back.
Fury and frustration, heat and hunger, his hands fisting in my shirt as he yanked me closer, like he hated me, like he needed me, like he didn't know how to stop himself anymore.
Perfect.
Because I wasn't stopping, either.