Chapter 47: Knotted by my corporate rival -2

Silas stopped an arm’s length away. Close enough that his scent thickened in the air between them. Kael’s cock stirred again inside his trousers, half-hard and sensitive. A fresh trickle of slick dampened his underwear. He kept his face blank through sheer force of will.

"You already agreed," Silas said. "It’s in the documents you just signed. Clause twelve. Immediate shared residence. My penthouse. Your things will be moved this afternoon. A car will collect you at seven."

"I need my own space."

"You don’t get it." Silas stepped closer. "Not anymore."

Kael’s back met the edge of the table. He could feel the heat rolling higher, slow and insistent. His nipples were tight against his shirt. Every breath pulled more of Silas’s scent into his lungs and his body answered with another clench, soft and empty.

Silas’s eyes dropped, just for a second, to the flush rising on Kael’s throat. "You’re warm. Suppressants still holding?"

"Fine."

"Liar." Silas’s voice dropped lower. "I can smell the edge of it. Sweet. Soft. You’ve been fighting it for years, haven’t you? Hiding what you are while you played the cold heir. Did it ever get hard, Kael? Sitting in meetings with Alphas all around you, pretending your body didn’t want to open?"

Kael’s breath caught. The words hit too close. In his head the fantasy rose fast and filthy: Silas’s hand on the back of his neck, forcing him down over this same table, trousers shoved to his thighs, thick fingers pushing into the slick mess between his legs while that smug mouth murmured praise against his ear.

"Shut up," Kael said, but the words came out thinner than he wanted.

Silas leaned in until their chests nearly touched. "You’re already wet, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you’re standing. Legs pressed together. Trying to keep it from showing. How many times did you touch yourself thinking about this? About me finally catching you?"

Kael’s cock was fully hard now, straining against the fabric. Another pulse of slick escaped. He could feel it sliding down the inside of one thigh. The suppressants were crumbling under the stress and the scent and the proximity.

Silas’s hand rose. He didn’t touch skin. He rested his palm flat on the table beside Kael’s hip, caging him in without contact. "Tonight you move in. You sleep under my roof. You wake up breathing my scent. And if the press wants photos of us together, you will smile and let me put my hand on you like I have the right."

"You don’t."

"I will." Silas’s mouth curved. "And when your blockers finally fail completely, I will still be there. Close. Waiting."

Kael’s hips shifted without permission, seeking friction he refused to give himself in front of this man. The ache between his legs was sharp now. He wanted fingers. A mouth. Something thick to fill the empty clench that kept fluttering open.

Silas noticed. Of course he did. His gaze flicked down, lingered on the obvious line of Kael’s cock, then rose again, darker.

"Interesting," he murmured. "The cold heir is hard for his rival. Does it feel good, Kael? Letting yourself want it for once?"

Kael’s voice came out rough. "Get away from me."

Silas stayed exactly where he was for three more heartbeats, then stepped back. The loss of his heat and scent made Kael’s body protest with another unwanted rush of wetness.

"Seven o’clock," Silas said, already turning toward the door. "Pack light. You won’t need much. Everything you require is already at my place."

He unlocked the door and paused with his hand on the handle. "One more thing. Stop taking the heavy suppressants. They’re poisoning you. I can smell the damage. From tonight on, you take what I give you, or nothing. Your body already knows which it prefers."

The door closed behind him.

Kael stayed braced against the table, breathing hard. His cock throbbed. Slick had soaked through the fabric of his trousers in a small, humiliating patch. He shoved a hand down, gripped himself through the cloth, and stroked once, twice, three times while the memory of Silas’s voice replayed in his head.

"You’re already wet, aren’t you?"

Kael came with a bitten-off sound, spilling into his underwear, hips jerking against his own fist. The orgasm left him shaking and still half-hard, the heat nowhere near satisfied.

He cleaned up as best he could, straightened his clothes, and walked out of the conference room with his usual cold expression locked in place.

At seven the car would come. And Silas would be waiting.

---

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.

Kael stepped out with one small bag and the last of his composure. The space was vast, all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling glass looking over the city. It smelled like Silas. Deep. Territorial. Alpha. The scent hit him the second the doors closed behind him and his body answered with an immediate clench and a fresh rush of slick.

Silas was already there, sleeves rolled up, waiting like he had all the time in the world.

"You’re late," Silas said.

"Traffic."

"Liar. You circled the block twice." Silas’s mouth curved. "Trying to talk yourself out of walking through my door."

Kael set the bag down. "Where is my room."

"Our room is down the hall. Second door."

"I want a separate room."

Silas walked closer, unhurried. "The contract says shared residence. Shared bed if the press asks. There is a guest room if you need to pretend for an hour, but you sleep where I can reach you. That is non-negotiable."

Kael’s pulse was already climbing. The heat that had started in the boardroom was still simmering under his skin, made worse by every breath of Silas’s scent. His cock stirred against his thigh. He could feel the wetness gathering again between his legs.

"I need space," Kael said. "You do not get to dictate every inch of my life."

Silas stopped in front of him. Close. Too close. "I already do. You signed the papers. Now take your bag and walk down the hall, or I will carry you."

Kael held his ground for three seconds, then picked up the bag and moved. The master bedroom was large, dominated by a wide bed that already smelled like Silas. Kael’s hole fluttered at the thought of lying in it. He dropped the bag near the closet and turned.

"I am using the guest room tonight."

Silas leaned in the doorway, watching him. "No. You are not. Come here."

"Fuck you."

Silas’s voice stayed calm. "Come here, Kael."