The glitzy event had finally concluded, leaving behind the echo of polite laughter, clinking glasses, and the suffocating presence of countless pheromones. Pierce Dolton, mafia boss and a man accustomed to commanding respect, had spent hours navigating the political minefield of alliances, tension, and veiled threats. However, what lingered most in his mind as he adjusted his cufflinks and followed his second-in-command to their car was something far more pressing: the sharp sting of jealousy radiating off his right-hand man all night.

Pierce had noticed it. How could he not? The way his second-in-command's jaw tightened every time one of those smug betas or bold omegas sidled up to him, brushing too close, laughing too loudly, and sending coy glances his way. Pierce was no fool. He knew his reputation and his alpha scent drew attention like moths to a flame, but tonight, it was suffocating. Omega pheromones clung to his suit like a second skin, each one laced with desperation and hunger. And through it all, he'd felt the scorching heat of his second-in-command's gaze—burning through the haze of cheap cologne and false charm with a possessive intensity that both thrilled and unnerved him.

The tension followed them to the car, a glossy black luxury sedan parked just outside the venue. Pierce had been about to summon the driver when his second-in-command—with an air of quiet defiance—snatched the keys, their fingers brushing against his own briefly. That was his first warning. The second came when the engine roared to life, and his lover pulled out of the lot with a sharpness that made Pierce's brows furrow.

"Not waiting for the driver, are we?" he drawled, leaning back into the leather seat, his tone calm but tinged with curiosity.

No answer. The car weaved through the dark streets, the city lights casting fleeting reflections on the tinted windows. Pierce didn't press further. He'd learned long ago that pushing his second-in-command when they were like this was a game best played carefully. Instead, he studied the sharpness in their movements—the firm grip on the wheel, the faint flush of their neck, and the simmering energy that practically filled the confined space.

It was almost suffocating. And Pierce? He thrived on it.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but his thoughts betrayed him. Jealous, are we? Over me? It wasn't new, but tonight... tonight it felt different. He'd seen the possessiveness in his second-in-command's eyes every time someone else got too close, every time an omega leaned in too far, and every time Pierce had politely—but firmly—distanced himself. It wasn't enough to satisfy his lover, though. Not tonight.

The car screeched to a halt, jolting Pierce forward slightly as his second-in-command swung them into a dark, abandoned lot. A single flickering streetlamp cast long, ominous shadows across the cracked pavement. His smirk faded, replaced with a spark of intrigue as the doors locked with a soft click.

Pierce barely had time to react before his second-in-command was on him, yanking the back door open and all but dragging him into the spacious backseat. He allowed it—barely suppressing the flicker of amusement that danced across his features. So this is where we're going.

The air inside the car thickened almost immediately, heavy with tension, possessiveness, and the faint remnants of omega pheromones still clinging to his clothes. But this time, it wasn't the suffocating attention from earlier. It was sharp, fiery, and entirely different.

The backseat's leather pressed against his shoulders as he settled, eyes darkening as his second-in-command leaned over him, their movements frantic and precise. Pierce's heartbeat quickened, a rare thrill coursing through him. His hands itched to grab control, to flip the situation as he so often did, but something in the air—the sheer dominance radiating off his lover—made him pause.

Well, well, he thought, his smirk returning as his breath hitched slightly. Jealousy does suit you, doesn't it?

The confined space amplified every sensation. The heat of their body close to his. The faint rasp of fabric against fabric. Pierce tilted his head back slightly, his silver-gray eyes narrowing with both amusement and desire as his thoughts began to spiral.

The flashes of earlier moments danced in his mind: the way omegas had batted their lashes at him, their sickly-sweet scents cloying as they leaned in too close. He'd brushed them off out of courtesy, but a part of him—deep down—had relished the way his second-in-command's hand had tightened on the glass they'd been holding. How they'd stepped just a little closer each time, as if to silently stake their claim.

And now? Now that possessiveness was spilling over, raw and unrestrained.

Pierce's lips parted slightly as his breathing deepened. He let out a low, quiet chuckle that vibrated in his chest. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement, "if you wanted my attention that badly, you could've just said so."

The response he received—whatever it was—left him no doubt. Tonight, he wasn't in control, and for once, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be.