I don’t fully take in the shift until my back hits the classroom floor and Hongjoong’s weight is pressing me down, his body covering mine, and the solid heat of him on top of me knocks the air out of my lungs in a rush. He’s hard. I can feel the thick line of his cock pressing against mine through the layers of our clothes, and when he rolls his hips in a desperate, grinding thrust, friction dragging along the length of me, I whimper in a high, needy sound, and Hongjoong swallows it with his mouth still on mine.
My legs fall open. Hongjoong sinks into the space I’ve made for him, his hips slotting against mine, and the new angle presses his cock harder against me and I arch up off the floor with a gasp that breaks the kiss.
He pants against my mouth, hot and strained, his forehead pressed to mine, and his hips roll again, a slow grind that sends sparks scattering through my nerve endings and makes the slick pooling beneath me spread wider on the cold floor. I can feel it under my lower back, warm and wet, soaking through my slacks completely now, and I should care about that, should care aboutthe mess and the evidence and what it means, but I don’t. I don’t care about anything except the weight of him on top of me and the way his breath hitches every time he grinds down and the fact that this is happening, this is actually happening, after years of wanting it so badly that I had to teach myself to stop wanting it just to survive being near him every day.
My hand is still fisted in the front of his shirt. I don’t let go. I pull him closer instead, my other hand coming up to grip the back of his neck the way he’s gripping mine, fingers sliding into the damp hair at his nape, and I hold him against me and let him rock into me and I stop fighting.
I just stop fighting.
Chapter Two
Now
Ishrug out of my jacket one arm at a time as I walk into my apartment. I hold my phone to my ear with my shoulder, half-listening to Jinkyung ramble about scheduling conflicts and a cancellation from last week’s inquiry that fell through. I toe off my shoes at the door and line them up against the wall out of habit, padding across the floor in my socks toward the kitchen.
I’m reaching for the cabinet above the stove when Jinkyung says something that makes my hand stop mid-air.
“Wait,” I say, pulling the phone off my shoulder and pressing it properly to my ear. “Say that again.”
“A potential client,” Jinkyung repeats, and I can hear the careful optimism he’s trying to keep out of his voice, like he doesn’t want to get my hopes up but can’t quite help himself. “Long-term contract. Could be six months minimum, possibly longer depending on compatibility.”
I lean my hip against the counter and fold my free arm across my chest. “And he’s interested in me specifically?”
I can’t keep the doubt out of my voice. I don’t even try. It’s been three weeks since my last client, a one-night job that paid enough to cover groceries for the month and not much else, and it’s been nearly a full year since anyone offered me anything longer than a single session. My last actual contract was six months with a beta-pharmaceutical executive who dropped me the second a twenty-three-year-old with wider hips and a sweeter scent profile crossed his desk. Even that contract had felt like a miracle at the time, a stroke of luck I didn’t expect to repeat. I’m thirty-four. In this industry, thirty-four is ancient. The gaps between jobs have been getting longer, the calls from Jinkyung less frequent, and the clients less interested when they pull up my profile and see my age, my build, the fact that I’ve already had a kid. Most alphas looking for a rut companion want someone young and soft and untouched, someone who’ll whimper prettily and fold in half without complaint. They don’t want an omega built like me, with shoulders too broad and hands too rough and a body that’s been used hard enough to show the wear.
“Well,” Jinkyung hedges, and there it is, the catch. “Not you specifically. Not yet. But hear me out before you shut me down.”
“I’m listening.”
“This particular client is having a hell of a time finding a suitable companion. He’s gone through omega after omega, Yoonjae. I’m talking double digits. Every single one he’s found unsatisfying, sends them back after one session, sometimes doesn’t even finish the session. The agency is tearing their hair out trying to match him, and he’s willing to offer very favorable terms to any companion who can actually please him.”
I close my eyes and let my head tip back against the upper cabinet. “So he’s impossible to satisfy and you want to throwme at him. Jinkyung, I’m not going to meet this guy’s standards either if nobody else has. If he’s rejected omegas half my age with twice my appeal, what exactly do you think I’m bringing to the table that they couldn’t?”
“You don’t know that,” Jinkyung says, his tone shifting into placating. “That’s the thing, Yoonjae, nobody knows what this guy wants because he apparently doesn’t know either. He just knows that none of the pretty young things the agency keeps sending are doing it for him. He’s stopped looking at profiles entirely. He told the agency to just send whoever they’ve got, he’ll decide after he meets them. He doesn’t care about age, he doesn’t care about type, he just wants someone who works.”
“So he probably hasn’t seen my age or my history,” I say flatly.
“He hasn’t seen anyone’s anything. That’s the point. You’re going in blind and so is he, which means for once your file isn’t going to be the thing that knocks you out of the running before you even get through the door.” Jinkyung pauses, and when he speaks again his voice drops lower, more serious. “This could be exactly what you need. If this client likes you, you could have stable income for a year, maybe longer. The guy is so starved for a good match that you’ve got just as much of a shot as anyone younger. More, maybe, because you’ve got experience and you know how to handle a difficult alpha, which is clearly what this situation calls for.”
I chew the inside of my cheek and stare at the ceiling. A long-term contract. Stable income. The words alone make the knot of tension inside me loosen slightly. I think about the stack of bills on the counter behind me that I shuffled into a neat pile this morning so Sungyoon wouldn’t see how many there were. I think about the tutor I hired for Sungyoon’s math, the one I’m two payments behind on. I think about his school fees due at the end of the month and the college fund that’s barely a fund at all,more of a hopeful savings account with a balance that makes me wince every time I check it.
“Does the client have a profile I can look at?” I ask.
“Confidential,” Jinkyung says, and I can practically hear him shaking his head. “Very hush-hush. High-profile individual, the agency won’t release any identifying details until after the initial meeting and only if both parties agree to move forward. But I can tell you he’s been thoroughly background checked, no red flags, no history of violence or complaints from previous companions. Clean bill of health. The agency vouches for him.”
I blow out a long breath through my nose. “Fine. When’s the meeting?”
“Tonight.”
I jerk the phone away from my ear and stare at it, then press it back. “Tonight? Jinkyung, that’s—I can’t just drop everything on a few hours’ notice, I have Sungyoon, I haven’t even—”
“I know, I know,” Jinkyung cuts in quickly. “Listen, it’s just a trial run. One night only, no commitment beyond that. If it doesn’t work out, you both walk away clean. But the client is offering to pay the full one-night fee upfront, before you even get there, non-refundable regardless of outcome.”
I pause. “How much?”
When Jinkyung says the number, I nearly drop the phone. I pull it away from my ear again and look at the screen as if the call display will somehow confirm what I just heard, then press it back to my ear.
“I’m sorry, how much? Can you repeat that?”
