“Yeah.” Riot paid for a reservation and headed back into the street.
The smart move would be to leave the Neutral Zone entirely. Head back to the settlement, ride out the shortage surrounded by Nulls who didn’t trigger his responses. He could lock himself in his quarters and wait for the chemistry to stabilize.
Instead, he found himself walking toward the market district, telling himself he was just looking for food, just killing time, definitely not hoping to catch another glimpse of golden hair in the crowd. His hindbrain had apparently decided that two days without suppressants was the perfect time to develop a stalking habit, and his higher reasoning was putting up only token resistance.
You’re pathetic, he told himself, scanning the evening crowd for a face he had no business looking for.Thirty-two years old, you survived Gensyn’s experimental program, you survived years in the Syndicate, and you’re going to lose your shit over a missionary who cried near you.
The self-mockery didn’t help. Nothing helped. Every blonde head made his pulse spike, every trace of sweetness in the air made him turn like a compass needle seeking north. This was what happened when a Berserker ran on fumes and the universe dangled an attractive Omega in front of him—all the carefulcontrol he’d built over the past seven months crumbled like wet paper.
Princess, he reminded himself.Untouchable. Too innocent to know what you’d be asking for, too sheltered to understand what saying yes would mean.
Except he could teach him. God, he could teach the Elysian so many things. Those delicate wrists pinned above his head. That long hair wrapped around Riot’s fist. The confused, overwhelmed expression shifting into something darker as Riot showed him exactly what his body was built for—
Fuck.
Riot stopped walking, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars. This was getting out of control. He needed to find somewhere to hole up until his order came in, somewhere far from crowds and compatible scents and the constant temptation to do something he’d regret.
There were cheap hotels near the market district. Anonymous places that didn’t ask questions. He picked one at random, paid for three nights, and locked himself in a room with good sight lines and a chair wedged under the door handle.
Two days, he told himself, sitting on the bed.Just ride it out. You’ve done harder things than not jerking off to thoughts of ruining an Elysian missionary.
He lasted about twenty minutes before the fantasies started winning.
It wasn’t even the explicit stuff that got him. It was the little details. The way Cass had trembled when their skin touched. The hitch in his breath when Riot’s hands had been gentle instead of rough. The complete lack of guile in those eyes, like the concept of ulterior motives was foreign to him.
Riot wondered if anyone had ever touched him properly. Elysian was all about spiritual transcendence and harmonic alignment—they probably had some bullshit ritual aroundphysical intimacy that stripped all the actual pleasure out of it. The kid probably thought sex was supposed to be a meditation exercise, all controlled breathing and elevated consciousness and absolutely nothing like what Riot wanted to do to him.
What would it be like to be his first real experience?
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Cass on his back, those wide eyes even wider as Riot took him apart with his hands and mouth and cock. The sounds he’d make—confused at first, then desperate, then completely overwhelmed as his body learned what it was capable of feeling. He’d be so responsive, so sensitive, and probably cum embarrassingly fast the first time and then Riot would just keep going, wring orgasm after orgasm out of him until he was sobbing and shaking and begging for—
Stop it. Stop it. You’re better than this.
Riot was on his feet and pacing before he realized he’d moved, his cock straining against his jeans and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong. The kid was innocent in ways that went beyond just sexual inexperience—he’d been raised in a system designed to keep him pliable and trusting, and here Riot was fantasizing about exploiting all that vulnerability.
He’s not a child, his hindbrain repeated.He’s an adult who made his own choice to come out here.
He was raised in a sealed community that controls every aspect of its members’ development, Riot shot back.He doesn’t know enough about the world to make informed choices about anything, let alone about getting fucked by a Berserker who can’t keep his thoughts out of the gutter.
The argument went around in circles, desire warring with conscience, and neither side winning decisively. Riot ended up in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and avoiding his own reflection because he didn’t want to see what he looked like right now.
You’re a protector, he told himself firmly.If you have to think about him, think about protecting him. Not touching. Not tasting. Not finding out what sounds he makes when he cums. Just... keeping him safe.
It was a flimsy barrier, but it was better than nothing.
He spent the next several hours constructing elaborate mental scenarios in which he saved Cass from various dangers without ever laying a hand on him inappropriately. It helped, marginally. The protective fantasies were easier to live with than the sexual ones, even if his body didn’t seem to appreciate the distinction.
Evening came slowly, the light through the window shifting from gray to darker gray to the orange-tinged darkness of the Neutral Zone at night. Riot hadn’t moved except to piss and drink water. His stomach was growling, but the thought of food made him nauseous, so he ignored it.
He was contemplating the merits of just knocking himself unconscious when the scent hit him through the window.
Not a memory this time. Real.Close.
Riot was at the window before he could talk himself out of it, scanning the street below. The Neutral Zone’s evening crowd was sparse, a few vendors closing up shop, some corporate refugees shuffling toward cheap accommodations, a group of kids running a dice game in an alley.
And there, walking toward the hotel entrance with hunched shoulders and a visible tremor in his hands: golden hair, flowing robes, and a posture that screamed exhaustion and defeat.
No. No fucking way.
