Sai
The new photographs are still warm from the printer. I stand in front of the wall and slide them into place, fingers adjusting each one until the edges line up exactly with the others. Two-hundred-and-five now. The latest ones are from the parking lot, Mavi bending to toss his bag into the backseat. The thin line of the thong cuts between the perfect curve of his cheeks anddisappears into shadow. One shot catches the moment just right, accentuating the dimples at the base of his spine.
My hand lingers on that image, my fingers brushing the surface just once. Then they drift lower without permission. I stroke myself through my pants, the heel of my palm pressing against the growing hardness as I stare at the visible line of the thong and the golden strip of skin above it.
Heat floods my face the moment I realize what I am doing, shame crashing in immediately. I yank my hand away like the fabric burned me. I was letting myself get away again. I was standing here in broad daylight touching myself while looking at stolen pictures of him like some animal that cannot control its own impulses.
I force my hands to my sides but don’t turn away from my wall. Over two hundred stolen moments arranged with the precision of a gallery exhibition. This is my private gallery. My private altar. My sickness made visible and pinned to the wall in perfect rows.
A knock at my front door steals my focus, two sharp raps, evenly spaced. My pulse spikes hard in my ears, in my wrists, and in the base of my throat. I stand frozen for half a second before making my way to the door, wondering which of my family members will be on the other side.
After my breakdown and lack of response, I am bracing for the moment one of them shows up unannounced to read the rules of the Hollis family.
Bracing myself for the worst, knowing that the chaos in my head is about to explode, I open the door.
Mavi is standing there in a charcoal silk robe, loosely tied, one shoulder sliding down to reveal the slope of his collarbone and beneath it nothing else. Just skin. Just warm, shower-damp, flushed skin. His hair is wet, pushed back from his face, and the water has darkened it to almost black.
His scent hits me all at once, honey and citrus, concentrated and heavy and warm from the shower, rolling off him in waves that fill my doorway and then my lungs and then every empty space behind my ribs where rationality used to live. It’s not subtle. It never is with him, but tonight it’s a physical force, a wall of Omega sweetness so thick I can taste it on the back of my tongue.
Every coherent thought in my head whites out. Like someone pulled a plug and the entire system shut down, leaving nothing but the hum of his scent and the devastating reality of him standing three feet away wearing almost nothing and looking at me like he already knows exactly what I was doing before I opened this door.
“Well, well.” His voice is honey-dipped, sickly sweet in a way that matches his scent so precisely it feels orchestrated. Everything about Mavi feels orchestrated, designed, a performance honed to the edge of perfection, and I am his most devoted audience. “I know you’ve been watching me, Alpha. Don’t worry, I like it.” A smile spreads across his lips as he tips his head up to meet my gaze better. “But I was wondering, maybe the real thing would be better?”
Some part of me wonders if he’s here because of the tip. It was a thank you wrapped up in shame but never did I think...
I try to organize my thoughts, telling myself that whatever happens next, whatever Iwantto happen next could derail everything I’ve built.
I want this Omega with every molecule in my body, every synapse, every cell that has spent months rewriting itself around the shape of him. But stepping into this, letting him into this apartment where the photographs are on the wall and my laptop holds the evidence and the Hollis name is hanging over everything like a blade, means risk. It means exposure. It meansthe family, the match with Elias, the careful architecture of my public life crumbling under the weight of what I actually am.
All of those reasons die on my tongue the moment Mavi steps closer and his hand presses flat against my chest, his fingers curl into the silk of my shirt, his scent is so close now that it is inside me, behind my eyes, and underneath my skin.
“Alpha.” His voice drops half a register. “I’ve been waiting for you to take what I’ve been offering. After that kiss in the hallway, I thought you would have come over by now.” The easy smile on his lips grows wider as his grip in my shirt tightens.
A gasp pulls from my throat as he whispers his next words, the vibration of his voice making my cock thicken between my thighs.
“You see, I always put in a little extra, knowing you were watching, Sai Hollis. But you didn’t watch the new ones.”
The shoulder of his robe falls further, showing off more skin. I try to manage a response and fail, too engrossed with having this Omega pressed up against me a second time.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Something shifts in his expression. The teasing doesn’t leave, but it layers as understanding dawns in those dark eyes. He tilts his head, studying me the way I’ve studied his photographs, with attention that borders on devotion. “Alpha, do you need me to tell you what to do?”
My vision narrows as the hallway behind him blurs. My heartbeat is so loud I’m certain he can hear it. The thought of someone else deciding, someone else cutting through every loop, every cycle, every endless spiral of calculation with one clear, clean sentence is music to my ears.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, the noise just stops. It’s not like when I watch his videos. This is absolute and pure peace, the idea of giving in absolutely what I need and a craving I’ve never been able to satisfy with the Hollis name hanging over my head.
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It sounds scraped raw, pulled from somewhere beneath the careful construction of who I’m supposed to be. “I want that.”
He gently pushes me into my apartment and I go, easily, watching every single movement as he closes the door. His next words have me nearly coming apart.
“Get on your knees, Alpha.”
I kneel, right there in the entryway of my immaculate apartment. The quiet that fills me is the most terrifying and beautiful thing I have ever experienced, every muscle in my body releasing at once, every wire going slack, every loop breaking open and spilling into stillness. I look up at him and know my face is showing everything, the terror, the relief, the desperate gratitude of a man who has been drowning and just broke the surface.
He slowly walks around me, his gaze on my shoulders, my back, and my hands pressed flat to my own thighs. Every nerve ending in my body fires in sequence, tracking his movement the way a compass tracks north. Being looked at like this, not through a lens, not from a safe distance across a hallway, but up close, with intent that makes the air between us feel almost overwhelming.
He stops in front of me, his hand finding my face, fingers tracing along my jaw, tilting my chin up until I’m looking directly into his eyes. Mavi runs his thumb across my lower lip, testing my response as my eyes flutter shut and a low, broken sound escapes me. Something between a breath and a plea. I couldn’t have stopped it if my life depended on it.
“Look at you,” Mavi murmurs, his voice as smooth as velvet. “You’ve been falling apart, haven’t you? I could hear you through the wall. Every night.”
