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If I was hoping to anger him, it doesn’t work. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh. “Okay, I can give you that.”

Before I can respond, Orien stands, and I have to catch my balance as my hand loses its grip. In a smooth motion, he steps around me toward the door that leads into the employee only area of the club.

My pulse kicks harder.

He pauses once near the entrance and raises one eyebrow in challenge.

My heart leaps into my throat as I stand to follow. This is what I’ve been after from the beginning. Another chance beyond the Blue Note’s security doors. Another opportunity to map the hidden spaces and piece together how the organization operates. I should be thrilled.

Instead, all I can think about is the Alpha leading me there.

Orien punches in a code and steps through without waiting for me to reach him, forcing me to quicken my steps.

The corridor beyond is brighter than the lounge area, and the music fades to a dull throb as the door closes.

I catch up with Orien at the far end, where the corridor turns toward what must be the back offices. I file away layout and security measures as we walk, some small part of my mind still aware of the job I have to do here.

Orien leads me into a staff break room. As soon as I enter, he reaches past me to close the door and turn the lock, sealing us inside.

Then he turns to me, his back to the door. “Well? Didn’t you say you wanted a taste?”

I should have seen this coming. Every step of the way, Orien has made me come to him, made me cross the room first, made me lean in first, made me be the one wanting. Of course, I would end up here, too, dropping to my knees on the cold hard floor, my fingers working his belt open with a focus that has nothing tactical left in it.

The leather is warm from his body as I slip it free from the buckle and draw down his zipper. I tell myself this is leverage. Submission is a strategy. I repeat these lies as I meet his eyes, and he stares back down at me, unhurried, as if he has all night for me to get on with this.

The lack of direction or demand leaves me off balance, hyperaware of what I’m doing as I tug down the waistband of his boxers. His cock springs free, bigger than I expected, thick and flushed dark at the tip, curving toward his stomach.

For a moment, I kneel there, my senses overwhelmed. His pheromones are thicker here, mixed with salty musk, and my mouth goes dry, my pulse loud in my ears, every carefully constructed thought about leverage and intelligence dissolving into a far simpler and much more inconvenient base desire.

With a knowing smirk, Orien tilts his hips forward in a slow, deliberate roll to brush the head of his cock across my mouth. “Well? How do I compare to your dildo?”

“Better,” I murmur, the word forming over his flushed cockhead, and then I stop thinking altogether.

My hand wraps around his base, and I lick along the thick vein on the underside, slow, deliberate, his pulse throbbing on my tongue. My mouth opens over his cock head, and my hand tightens around his base as I take him in.

Hot and salty, he fills my mouth with a primal blend that sends a shiver down my spine. My lips stretch around his shaft, and my free hand grips his thigh, the corded muscles tense through his slacks as I begin to bob my head, trying to take him deeper.

His cock hits the back of my throat, and I choke a little, tearing up as I struggle to accommodate his size. Drool spills from the corners of my mouth, making it easier to slide him in and out. My breath comes in ragged gasps through my nose as I work him deeper, the scent of his pheromones filling my senses and sending a rush of heat straight to my groin.

A needy whine that vibrates around his cock escapes, and my hips shift, restless and searching, as I become aware of how hard I am, my dick straining within the confines of my pants. Orien’s pheromones are everywhere now, cloying at the back of my throat and sliding into my belly, along with his pre-cum.

Orien cocks his head to the side as he studies me. “Have you ever done this before? You’re not very good.”

A flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I redouble my efforts, hollowing my cheeks as I take him deeper. His breath hitches, and his hand shoots down to fist in my hair, yanking me back.

“Mind your teeth.”

The words are quiet, controlled, but the hiss underneath them isn’t. I swallow, my scalp stinging where he grips me.

“Open wider.” His hold tightens, tilting my face up toward his. “Cover your bottom teeth with your tongue.”

Once I do as he says, he guides me back onto him, and this time the slide is smoother, deeper, the drag of him across my tongue sending heat straight down my spine. His grip in my hair loosens, and his fingers drag slowly through the dark-brown strands, smoothing them back from my forehead. My heart squeezes at the gentleness of the touch, and my eyes sting.

I focus on the flex of his thigh under my palm and tell myself it means nothing. Orien’s approval belongs in the same category as every other variable. But as my hips rock, I know I’m not convincing either of us.

A breath shudders out of me as I sink into the rhythm of it, jaw aching, lips stretched, the thickness of him filling my mouth in a way that empties my head of everything else. His palm slides down to cup my jaw, thumb tracing the stretched line of my cheek where his cock bulges out from the inside, and the intimacy of the gesture, sends heat pooling in my hips, my ass clenching as slick leaks from me.

“That’s it. You’re a fast learner.” His other hand brushes my opposite cheek. “Now, play with my balls.”