It nearly snapped its collar at that nightclub. God, I was a heartbeat away from pulping that fucking bitch. The only reason I didn’t is that it would’ve hurt Jamie. He would’ve inevitably felt responsible, and incorrect as that is, I’m learning Jamie is stubborn in his own way.
I’m still in control. But it’s normally easier than this. I re-prioritized the last couple of days, spent less time in the gym. That deviation can’t persist. The beast has too much energy.
After the nightclub, I don’t like leaving Jamie alone. The beast is getting protective. Possessive. Adding him to my massage had seemed like a good idea, but allowing the masseuse to touch him was... challenging. Easier once I smelled the effect I have on him—but then I was fighting the urge to touch him myself.
I took an extra suppressant dosage this morning, and it’s taken the edge off, but only just. The beast still crawls under my skin in this small space thick with Jamie’s scent.
It’s my responsibility to not give in to those baser instincts—and I’m well-equipped to maintain that responsibility. It’s the entire fucking point of my life’s work, after all.
I took on this level of challenge intentionally. Spending this much time with Jamie, getting under his skin… I started this, and I can finish it.
I review Eileen’s daily update of the event feedback. It’s glowingly positive. Jamie is coming across as comfortable, authentic, relatable. We’re five percent ahead of the donation goal so far—which is ten percent behind my personal goal, but I’ll send a few reminders, lean on some folks, and make that right.
This campaign is working, and I can’t let anything compromise that.
I shift some things on my calendar, cancelling a few meetings to make room for extra time at the gym. I’ll manage this.
I always do.
#
I’d planned to take an investor dinner solo, but I don’t want to give Jamie enough free time to get himself into trouble again, so I pivot. I bring him to the dinner, and he does a brilliant job of softening them up. It’s hard to resist the omega’s quiet charm and persistent bewonderment.
It’s good for the investors to remember that not everybody thinks in terms of EOY ROI. People like Jamie are just trying to live their lives.
And it’s a good thing that there are three other people at the table, because if there weren’t, I’d make someverychoicecomments about how Jamie is eating the chocolate mousse that comes for dessert.
In the car on the way back to the hotel, Jamie watches out the window, marveling at the city as we pass through.
I watch him, tracing his ear, his neck, the curve of his knee.
We hit the suite and I head straight for my room—easternmost for the morning sun—telling Jamie to take his pick of the other three.
I should be working, but my ears are piqued, listening as Jamie goes through his nighttime routine. It’s not until he’s sound asleep in the room with the corner view that I actually start replying to emails.
That takes most of the night, then it’s a ninety-minute power nap before I hit the gym hard. My head clears.
All according to plan.
Chapter 20
JAMIE
I dream of Morgan. We’re out golfing, and the heat is unbearable. I peel my sweater off. Then my shirt. Morgan watches with quiet approval, taking us to a hotter part of the golf course. I can’t handle it—the denim of my jeans sticks like tar, threatening to drown me. I peel them off, leaving only my briefs.
“Commit or don’t,” Morgan quips, in that way of hers.
My heart pounds.
I drop my briefs, and my cock is at full attention.
“Hm. Acceptable,” Morgan says.
Suddenly the golf course is in the desert, all sand and heat. She sways her hips ahead of me, revealing pants slit up the sides, and I catch glimpses of her long, bare legs with each stride.
I’m dripping sweat, dripping from my cock, and Morgan turns to me with a cool half-smile. I melt.
Rolling over wakes me suddenly, my boxers tugging against my morning wood. A beam of sun has fallen across me with the late hour, heating my body and apparently sending my dreams haywire.
