Chapter 119: I Want You More Than I Should...
— While Ellis Slept —
The room is suspended in a hush of gold and shadow, the lamplight pooling across the bed like honey spilled from an overturned jar. Outside, the rain has settled into a steady, patient rhythm—a soft percussion against the glass, a murmur that fills the silence without breaking it.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, the garden has dissolved into shades of gray and silver, the winter jasmines barely visible through the veil of rain streaming down the glass.
On the bed, Ellis and Silas lie tangled together beneath the weight of the blanket, their bodies curved into one another like two halves of something whole. The fabric is rumpled around them, soft and warm, holding the lingering heat of shared sleep. Ellis’s breathing is deep and even, the slow rhythm of a man who has finally found rest.
His arms remained wrapped around Silas, holding him close, their faces resting only inches apart. In sleep, the sharp lines of his features had softened, the tension that usually lingered along his jaw and brow melting into something almost peaceful.
Silas’s eyes are open.
They glow in the dim light, brown and gold, soft with quiet devotion. He does not move. He does not blink. He simply lies there, watching Ellis with the quiet intensity of someone trying to memorize every detail of a face they fear they might one day have to remember instead of see.
Slowly, Silas’s hand rises. His fingers slip through the dark tangles of Ellis’s hair, brushing the strands back from his forehead with a tenderness that feels almost sacred. The touch is featherlight, as though he’s afraid Ellis might wake—or afraid he might shatter the fragile spell of the moment.
His fingertips trace the gentle curve of Ellis’s brow, the dark fan of lashes resting against his skin, then linger in the soft hollow of his cheek. He follows the path of his touch with quiet eyes, drinking in every familiar feature as though simply looking at Ellis could never be enough.
My beautiful Alpha.
The words never leave his lips. They remain tucked behind his ribs, pressing against his heart like a prayer too precious to speak aloud.
His thumb strokes lightly across Ellis’s cheek before drifting to the corner of his mouth. For a heartbeat, it lingers there, hesitant, as though crossing an invisible boundary. Then, with infinite care, he brushes the curve of Ellis’s lips—a touch so featherlight it feels less like a caress than a promise made only to himself.
His gaze drifts downward—past the sharp line of Ellis’s jaw, along the graceful column of his throat, to where his shirt has fallen open in sleep. The fabric lies loose, the top buttons undone, revealing the pale skin beneath.
There, resting between the planes of his chest, is the moonflower birthmark.
It glows faintly in the amber light.
Silas’s breath catches. He simply looks at it for a long, quiet moment, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths.
Then his trembling fingertips drift lower, coming to rest over the mark. The touch is featherlight, reverent, as though he is laying his hand upon something sacred. Beneath his palm, he feels the slow, steady rhythm of Ellis’s heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.
A whisper slips from his lips, so soft it is nearly lost beneath the rain.
"Everything about you is so rare... so special..."
The words linger between them, fragile enough to disappear into the quiet. But the moment the words leave his lips, something shifts.
A sharp, electric heat coils at the base of his neck—quick, insistent, a warning he recognizes too well.
His rut.
It’s beginning.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull away. He simply lifts a hand to the back of his neck, pressing his fingers into the sensitive skin, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as though he could force the sensation back down.
But the heat is already there, coiling beneath his skin like a serpent stirring from a long sleep.
His eyes drift closed. His breath deepens. Beneath the blanket, his pheromones begin to rise—slowly at first, then steadily, heavy, sweet, poisonous, impossible to contain.
Oleander.
It unfurls through the room like smoke, weaving itself into the warmth, wrapping around everything it touches.
Then Ellis shifts.
Even in sleep, his arm tightens around Silas, drawing him closer until their bodies fit together once more. An unconscious movement. Pure instinct. Possessive without thought, absolute without intention.
Silas’s eyes open.
Their faces are only inches apart. Ellis’s breath ghosts across his lips, warm and steady. The space between them is paper-thin, fragile as glass.
Are you teasing me in your sleep, my Alpha?
The thought is quiet, almost affectionate. But beneath it, something is beginning to unravel.
Silas lifts his hand again—this time to Ellis’s face. He cups his jaw, his thumb slowly stroking the line of his cheekbone with aching tenderness. Then, without thought, without resistance, he closes the last distance between them and presses his lips to Ellis’s.
The kiss is soft. Lingering. A question and a promise all at once—the barest brush of lips, the faintest taste of the man sleeping in his arms. It holds everything he cannot say, everything he cannot voice, everything burning quietly beneath his skin.
His lips drift from Ellis’s mouth to his cheek, down the sharp line of his jaw, lower still to the curve of his neck. He presses a kiss there, his nose brushing against the skin, searching, breathing him in.
Ellis’s scent reaches him.
Faint, but undeniable. Irresistible. His moonflower pheromones linger even in sleep. Soft. Clean. Addictively sweet.
Silas’s eyes drift closed again, lost in his scent. He breathes him in—hungrier now, deeper—the scent settling into his lungs like something he’d been craving for far too long.
My Alpha smells so good.
His grip tightens. His body presses closer, chasing more warmth, more of that intoxicating scent. The heat inside him swells, relentless and consuming. He wants to disappear into Ellis’s embrace, to lose himself in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin.
Then—
He stops.
His eyes snap open, burning gold in the dim light—wild, bright, barely restrained. The line he’s about to cross blazes before him like a wall of fire.
No... I can’t hurt my Alpha.
The thought cuts through the haze like a blade.
He pulls back, forcing distance between them, forcing his body to obey when every instinct screams at him to stay.
His breathing is ragged. His body trembles with the effort of holding back. His pheromones flood the room now, wrapping around everything, sinking into the fabric, into the air, into the very walls. Unstoppable.
He moves carefully, easing himself from Ellis’s arms, every motion deliberate and controlled. His fingers linger against Ellis’s skin for just a moment longer than necessary—a silent goodbye.
The blanket shifts, cool air rushing into the space their bodies had shared. He tugs the fabric back into place, covering Ellis completely, tucking it gently around his shoulders with a tenderness that contradicts the turmoil raging inside him.
Ellis stirs—a soft sound, a slight shift—but he doesn’t wake.
Silas stares down at him. His burning gaze lingers for a long moment, rut-driven hunger flickering beneath the restraint in his eyes. The slow rise and fall of Ellis’s breathing is the only movement in the room.
His hand finds the back of his neck again. His nails dig mercilessly into the skin, grounding himself in the sharp bite of pain.
Then he leans down, quick and desperate, and presses a kiss to Ellis’s temple.
The kiss lingers for a moment too long.
Then he turns, grabs his phone from the bedside table, and walks out of the room.
The door closes behind him without a sound.
In the hallway, the air is cooler, but his body is burning. Dim light stretches across the polished floor, casting long shadows that follow him as he moves. His steps are deliberate, measured, even as his control begins to fray at the edges.
He unlocks his phone. Calls Nick.
One ring.
"Boss?"
Silas’s voice is low—strained, but steady. The effort of keeping it that way shows in the tight set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders.
"Nick. My rut is starting. Book a hotel room."
A brief pause. His hand moves to the back of his neck, pressing against the heat building beneath his skin.
"In the morning, when he wakes, tell him I left for X Country. Urgent business. Tell him I’ll return soon."
"Yes, boss."
"And if he asks about my fever..." He closes his eyes for a brief moment. "Tell him I was fine when I left. Completely fine."
"Understood."
Silas lowers the phone. Ends the call.
He stands alone in the dim hallway, the silence pressing in around him. His breath is shallow, unsteady. His body hums with the force of what is rising inside him.
His eyes remain closed.
I want you more than I should.
My Alpha.
Comments