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Perth Tanapon Sukumpantanasan owns three jazz bars in Bangkok.
Tonight, they're in his favorite one.
From the street, the place almost passes for typical.
Black painted brick and brass lettering, smoked windows glowing against the city night. Music bleeds through the walls, a saxophone dragging something slow and dirty through a progression, bass thumping underneath it.
Inside, it's darker.
Everything is wood and red leather. The kind of shit that looks old on purpose because apparently that's what qualifies as expensive taste. The air reeks of whiskey, perfume, stale tobacco, and the muted tinge of secondary genders. People sit around sipping overpriced drinks and pretending they're sophisticated.
Lee's never been to a place like this.
Would probably never have gotten in if it wasn't for the alpha he served.
The private room slash office is hidden behind a glass door and a velvet curtain on the second floor, far enough from the main bar that the music reaches them muffled and low.
Most of the far wall is occupied by a black leather couch. A low glass table sits in front of it, documents stacked neatly on one side and a crystal decanter of whiskey on the other. Everything is polished and expensive but dark and muted at the same time.
Five men stand along the walls.
Lee is one of them.
He's posted beside the door, the whole room in view, hands clasped behind his back and eyes fixed on the painting hanging above the couch.
Snowy mountains.
Painted crappily enough that you can barely tell they're supposed to be snowy mountains. He has no idea who decided that was art, but he's not getting paid to have opinions.
Perth sits in the centre of the couch looking right at home. Thick rings on every finger and whiskey glass in his grasp, his other arm thrown over the backrest.
After spending the whole day shadowing the boss for a series of meetings throughout the city, Lee's sure of one thing.
The suit Perth’s wearing would require him to sell his shitty apartment, his car, and at least one kidney to afford.
It sits somewhere between dark green and navy, he reckons. Italian, probably. Tailored so perfectly it barely looks like clothing and more like someone took measurements and stitched it directly onto the man.
No tie.
The word around the organization is that the boss never wears one.
Underneath, the first three buttons of his black silk shirt are undone, exposing a stretch of broad, tanned chest and a few dark lines of ink disappearing beneath the fabric. His sleeves are buttoned at the wrists and a watch Lee's too poor to make out the brand of glints under the low hanging lights.
His hair is slicked back, with only a single lock falling over his forehead, and it's been like that all day. His face gives absolutely nothing away, either, looking mostly bored as he sips his drink in silence.
Lee has to admit, the man is a looker. Even more handsome up close.
Sharp jaw, straight nose, dark eyes. Thick hair and brows, the lightest hint of stubble on his chin. The kind of face that looks carved out of marble, and almost an exact copy of his father.
Almost.
The big difference is that Perth is still alive.
His father isn't.
The old man owned the empire before Perth took it from him. Depending on who tells the story, it was a power struggle, a betrayal, a family dispute, or some combination of all three.
Lee's favorite version is the simplest.
Perth put a bullet through his father's skull.
Clean in and out, barely any blood.
That's what the rumor says, anyway.
Perth Tanapon is a man made almost entirely of rumors. You don't become one of the most powerful men in Thailand's underworld without collecting a few. And the funny thing is, it's usually the stories that sound completely insane that turn out to be true.
Lee's been working for him for a little over two years now, which sounds like a decent amount of time until you realize some of the men in this room have been around since before Lee had hair on his balls. He's heard enough bullshit to know which stories are exaggerated and which ones probably aren't.
Like the one about Perth never talking more than ten sentences in an hour.
Lee's learned today that that one's true.
The boss doesn't bark orders or waste time explaining himself. He says what needs doing once and expects it done. Quickly, quietly, efficiently.
Painfully, if necessary.
Perth takes land because he wants it. Businesses because they're useful. Routes because somebody else had the audacity to think they could control them. Drugs move through his hands, weapons do too. People, money, information.
Everything dirty eventually seems to find its way back to him. The city's underbelly belongs to men like Perth, and he's spent the good of the last decade making sure everyone knows it.
Then there are the rumors about Perth's scent.
Those are also true.
Alpha pheromones of gunpowder and ash. There's nothing warm or inviting about them. No sweet pretence designed to pull people in and lull you into a false sense of comfort. They're just heavy and oppressive and dangerous.
The kind of scent that hits the back of your throat and makes your body understand it's in trouble before you've thought about it.
Omegas supposedly go into heat at a whiff. Even Betas keep their heads down. Alphas learn very quickly that being strong doesn't mean shit when the man across from you can make every instinct in your body scream “submit” before you've even consciously registered his scent.
Lee's felt it himself.
Not the full force, thank fuck, but enough.
Even restrained, Perth's scent is enough to make the hairs along the back of his neck stand up. It's probably why the boss doesn't need to explain things with actual words.
And then there are the really dramatic rumors, the ones people tell after a few too many drinks. The ones that make Perth into some sort of fucking urban legend.
That the alpha isn't entirely human, that he doesn't sleep. That he can smell blood through walls and knows when someone's lying because he can taste the change in their pheromones. That he can taste fear.
That he's more beast than human, more in tune with his inner wolf than the modern man.
Enigmas are supposed to be a myth, a biological impossibility. Something people made up to explain alphas that are too strong, too strange, or simply too dangerous to fit neatly into everyone else's categories.
Lee doesn't know if any of that’s true. He only knows what he's heard and seen.
And if anyone qualifies as an enigma, it's Perth Tanapon.
Lee quietly checks the time on his watch.
11:12.
Nobody speaks, nobody shifts, nobody even clears their throat. The room is so saturated with Perth's scent that Lee’s attuned to his every emotion. Or every emotion he wants known.
The top file in the neat stack on the table is the reason they're all here.
Lee only knows the basics.
Siam Meridian Logistics, a transportation and freight company with warehouses scattered along the Chao Phraya, contracts running down through the southern provinces. They move machinery, agricultural equipment and imported goods.
On paper, boring as shit.
In reality, half their containers carry things nobody bothers declaring at customs. Weapons, drugs, cash. And, according to six months of intel, people.
The company has operated independently for twenty years but by tomorrow morning, it'll belong to the Sukumpantanasan Group. The owner was supposed to sign the final transfer documents tonight.
Except he's late.
Twelve minutes late.
Which is pretty much the same thing as volunteering to get yourself fucked.
That's another rumor Lee knows for a fact.
Piss Perth off and you die. Keep him waiting and you might die slowly. Fail him often enough and nobody will ever find enough of you to bury.
That’s why the men under him don't question orders, they simply follow them. That's loyalty in the Sukumpantanasan empire. You work for Perth, you bleed for Perth, and if it comes down to it, you die for Perth.
Lee considers himself loyal enough, but he's not an idiot. He follows the boss because his rule is the biggest fucking thing Lee has ever been part of, and he'd rather stand near the top of it than spend the rest of his life fighting over scraps underneath somebody else's boot.
It keeps him focused and committed, and it's probably why he's moved up the food chain as quickly as he has. Perth punishes failure brutally but he rewards success just as efficiently. Lee's last job had been ugly, but it was also his lucky break.
He and his men infiltrated one of the southern shipping routes after a local gang got greedy and decided a shipment of Perth's stolen weapons belonged to them. Lee took the weapons back and killed everyone who got in the way, before burning the rest of the operation to the ground.
Simple enough.
He walked away with burns running across his shoulder and retinal damage bad enough that sunlight still feels like somebody shoving hot needles behind his eyes.
So the sunglasses stay on.
To anyone else, standing guard in a bar while some rich asshole signs a stack of papers probably sounds boring as fuck. But Lee knows better. Because in this business, information is power, proximity is information.
And proximity to Perth Tanapon is about as close to the sun as a man can get without getting burnt to smithereens.
The other four guards stand just as still, mouths tight and shoulders rigid, hands clasped behind their backs and eyes pointed straight ahead. Concealed weapons sit heavy beneath their identical black suit jackets.
Lee fucking hates these suits.
They're stiff around the shoulders, too hot when you're standing for hours, and make his ass itch. But apparently looking identical is important when you're trying to intimidate people into shitting themselves.
Fern’s the only exception.
The closest person to Perth in the entire organization.
Lee still isn't completely sure how the hell she got that position. She's young and doesn't look particularly intimidating from where she's standing right beside Perth's couch. Yet she's who he turns to for information, the only woman in his personal security, and, interestingly, the only omega.
Lee’s never once caught her scent, but man, would he love to.
Maybe find out what she looks like under that suit while he's at it.
Through his shades, Lee's attention shifts back to Perth when the alpha moves. Just a slight turn of his head, dark eyes flicking toward Fern. Nothing changes in his expression or pheromones, but the omega moves immediately.
She pulls out her phone and starts typing.
If Lee had to put money on it, he'd bet something tragic is going to happen to the CEO of Siam Meridian Logistics before sunrise.
“Is there anything else?” Perth asks after Fern puts her phone away.
His eyes remain on the amber whiskey in his hand, voice low and calm.
“There are some documents to sign and dates to settle for the upcoming shipment,” the omega answers smoothly. “But we can settle it all in the morning, Khun.”
“No, let’s do it now,” Perth says without hesitation.
Lee's yet to see him hesitate.
“I won't be coming into the office for the next few days,” he explains.
The corner of the boss's mouth almost curves as he says the words, like he's thinking about something entertaining. Fern doesn't question anything, of course. She simply reaches toward the stack of files, probably about to pull out whatever needs signing first.
That's when the glass door slides open.
Fern freezes.
So does everyone else.
Lee's hand instinctively lifts to his gun.
“Down.”
It's Perth's voice, and there's an edge to it for the first time today. Lee immediately drops his hand at the command and that's when the scent hits him.
Fuck-
Pheromones like no other.
Strong enough to make his heart rate triple, thick and heavy, creeping into the room until it clogs his throat. Every instinct in Lee's body goes haywire even before the owner of the scent steps in through the doorway.
The velvet curtains are shoved aside hard enough that Lee still assumes they're under attack. But when he risks a glance at the other guards, their gazes are locked on the floor, hands clasped behind their backs.
Because Perth Tanapon's order is absolute.
Right.
Lee jerkily follows suit.
He lowers his head, but keeps his gaze tilted upward behind his dark sunglasses as a man dressed only in a silk robe steps into the room.
That means no weapons, at least.
Reddish blond hair is tied messily at the back of his head, loose strands hanging around his face. He's barefoot, pale skin flushed and sweating, moving with the sort of pissed off confidence Lee usually associates with men who either don't understand they're in danger or are completely certain nobody in the room would dare touch them.
And Perth, he's straightened on the couch for the first time tonight, looking like a dog that's just spotted its favorite bone.
That's the first thing Lee notices.
The second is the intruder's scent.
He would have initially guessed alpha, he'd have bet money on it. Decent height, a bit lean but good build, scent nothing like the sweeter, fruitier types he's used to from omegas.
Thunderstorms and wet earth, and something sharp underneath, heavy and wild. It's actually fucking overwhelming. But it's the very obvious scent of his slick that has heat rushing straight to Lee’s cock, stiffening fast against the front of his trousers before he can try and assess the situation fully.
Omega.
And not just an omega. An omega in heat.
Fucking hell.
Lee silently thanks all the gods for the foresight and shit ton of suppressants he took in the morning, the drugs helping to dull. The last thing he needs is his own scent leaking into a room with Perth Tanapon sitting a few meters away.
Because if Lee’s right about who this intruder is, getting shot between the eyes would be his most merciful outcome.
The omega doesn't seem remotely bothered by the fact that Perth isn't alone. Either he doesn't give a shit about the guards or he's simply used to treating them like furniture. He pads barefoot across the crimson carpet, his body trembling from heat and anger both.
Perth's lips quirk and it's the kind of smile Lee's sure most omegas would bend over and present for.
It vanishes just as quickly when the omega pulls his arm back and punches him straight across the jaw.
The crack is loud enough to make Lee's eyes widen behind his shades.
Jesus Christ.
It's a good punch.
Clean and full force, perfect aim too. Lee has seen grown men drop from less, and for one completely insane second, he's more impressed than concerned. Then he remembers who just got punched and the fear comes right back.
The boss's head snaps sideways, freezing for three seconds, and then he… laughs.
A deep, rich bark that nearly echoes around the room. There's a split at the corner of his mouth where the punch caught him, a thin line of blood starting to bead there but he looks absolutely fucking delighted.
“Good evening to you too, darling,” he drawls, tongue darting out to lick at the cut.
It's the most animated he's looked all day and Lee's ready to shit his pants because of it. It's jarring. Even his scent changes, gunpowder and ash deepening with an excited and charged edge.
“You fucking asshole,” the omega spits at his face.
His shoulders shake with anger, every word carrying enough venom to kill… Perth, probably. Lee can only see the back of his head from where he's standing, but it's obvious he's furious.
The omega plants one knee on the couch beside Perth's thigh and grabs both lapels of his expensive suit, shaking the boss hard enough that Lee winces internally.
But Perth doesn't resist, doesn't even try. He looks like he's enjoying every second of it.
“How dare you hide my suppressants?” the omega snarls. “Are you a psycho?”
His pheromones spike and Lee keeps his lungs locked down.
Perth's fingers close around the pale wrist clutching his jacket. His hand slides slowly down the omega's arm before disappearing beneath the edge of the silk robe.
“Don't be so mad, darling,” he coos. His tone is almost unrecognizable, all sweet and soft, almost whiny. “You heard the doctor. It's not good for you to suppress your heats. Not when you're still adjusting, Ta.”
Ta.
Santa Pongsapak Udompoch.
One of the biggest rumors surrounding Perth Tanapon.
A model who’d only recently returned to the country after walking runways in France and Italy. Youngest son of one of Bangkok’s most prominent families. Handsome, successful, rich enough that he could probably spend the rest of his life doing absolutely nothing and never feel the difference.
And, if the rumors were true, an alpha before he met Perth.
Lee had heard the stories. Everyone had.
Santa was supposedly the only person who’d ever gotten in the boss’s face and lived to tell the fucking tale. No flinching or shrinking, no ass kissing either. No folding under the weight of Perth’s pheromones like every other alpha with a semblance of survival instinct.
He’d just stood there and stared the boss down.
Their first few heated encounters, where Santa had very publicly told him to fuck off, had supposedly sparked some sort of twisted obsession in Perth. The kind that made a notoriously busy man start turning up at every event the model attended, conveniently appearing wherever Santa happened to be.
All because he wanted to get him into his bed.
A fellow alpha.
Fucking unheard of.
But like with most things Perth wanted, he eventually got it.
And clearly he sensed something no one else did because he succeeded not only at getting Santa, but at changing him. An extremely rare case of alpha pheromones being strong enough to alter secondary gender.
Lee’s heard about it before.
Never seen it.
Until now.
He wonders how much resentment someone could carry after having their entire life turned upside down by a man like Perth Tanapon. People had lost livelihoods, fortunes, even their lives because of the boss.
But having your entire secondary gender rewritten must be a whole different kind of fucking nightmare.
And yet, despite Santa being spotted with Perth at public events for the past six months, even the city's most trusted rumor mills still haven't figured out what they actually are. Can't state confidently if there's something as fragile as “love” involved, or it's all just physical attraction and pheromones.
Lee looks at Santa now, standing over Perth, furious and half dressed. Apparently completely unafraid of being in a room full of alphas, including the most dangerous man in Bangkok, even as he goes into heat.
Then he looks at Perth.
And the boss is still smiling.
Lee decides the rumors might actually be underselling just how volatile whatever the fuck is going on between them really is.
“I just did what’s best for you,” Perth insists, looking completely unapologetic.
The omega doesn’t hesitate. “Don’t act like you know what that is, Perth.”
“Ta, darling-”
“Stop calling me that!”
He’s still seething, but he doesn’t resist when Perth pulls him closer.
Santa drops onto the touch, climbing onto the alpha’s lap until he’s straddling him, pale bare thighs bracketing Perth on the couch.
“I hate this…” Santa mutters, just a bit unguarded. “It hurts.”
“I know,” Perth says simply, tugging free the hair tie holding up some of the omega's red locks.
Santa's back arches when the boss’s arms close around his waist, a shudder running through his frame when the alpha’s nose brushes along his throat.
“You smell divine,” Perth murmurs, voice dropping to a whisper. “I could just eat you up.”
As if to prove his point. teeth dig lightly into the sensitive and already swollen flesh of Santa’s scent gland, and the next thing the alpha whispers against his skin is too low for Lee to make out.
But whatever it is has the omega's face dropping into the crook of Perth’s neck, and just like that, there's a shift in his pheromones.
The anger doesn’t disappear, not completely. It just gets swallowed by something softer instead, frustration bleeding into comfort, his body instinctively giving in to the alpha that owns it.
Perth clearly notices too. The smug bastard’s mouth curls as he catches Santa by the jaw and tilts his face back up, forcing him to meet his eyes again.
“But darling,” he murmurs, gaze dragging slowly down Santa’s face before selling on the flimsy robe hanging loosely off his body. “Did you drive yourself over in this state? How dangerous.”
He doesn't sound remotely concerned.
Just pleased.
Crazy bastard.
“One of your stupid mutts brought me here,” Santa answers, a gasp catching in his throat when Perth's fingers move under the satin. “You should get rid of him. He’s a lousy driver. Almost- mmh, almost crashed the car a bunch of times.”
Lee isn’t surprised.
The poor bastard’s pheromones must’ve gone off the rails trying to drive around with an omega going into heat in the backseat. Especially one whose scent is as strong as Santa's.
“Were you jerking yourself off on the way, darling?” Perth asks, tilting his head slightly.
Santa shrugs. “Maybe.”
Perth only hums in response but Lee is willing to bet good money the slight tightening of the boss’s jaw means that driver is completely fucked.
He’s also beginning to realize that he and the other guards really are nothing more than furniture right now. Perth's entire attention is fixed on the omega in his lap, like nobody else in the room exists.
He quickly undoes loose ties of Santa’s robe with barely any trouble, head dipping, mouth brushing over the newly exposed skin. The sound of suckling fills the room a moment later, and Santa's reaction is just as loud, all high and broken in a way that sounds impossible coming from someone who’d spent his entire life as an alpha.
Lee tries to channel "furniture", but his mouth goes dry anyway.
The boss is taking his sweet time, enjoying himself as he makes a mess of his omega, licking and biting and bruising skin. With him preoccupied, Lee takes the opportunity to clasp his hands in front of himself instead, discreetly digging a thumb into the side of his aching cock to try and relieve some pressure.
Fern is the only one who notices, eyes flicking toward him for half a second, making him freeze.
Nosy bitch.
The room is getting harder to breathe in by the second, the aircon doing shit to battle the sudden heat. Santa’s pheromones are everywhere now, damp earth tangled thickly with Perth’s darker scent of ash.
Then it gets worse.
Perth's hand dips down between them, and Lee hears the wet sounds loud and clear as fingers dip inside soaked hole. Santa folds forward with a dragged out little whine, and the next wave of heat-saturated slick hits Lee hard enough to make his head spin.
Maybe being this close to the boss hadn’t been the blessing Lee initially thought it was.
It might turn out to be his last day on the job.
Last day on earth, maybe.
Santa whimpers, fingers tightening around Perth's shoulders, his voice half words and half moans.
“Your r-rings, ngh-”
“You know you love it, doll,” Perth murmurs darkly.
Fingers pump, in and out, too fast and obscene to be anything that resembles gentle and loving care. Santa takes it like a champ though, swiveling his hips like a pro as the boss fucks him open on his fingers.
“And as pleased as I am that you sought me out yourself,” the boss says over the dirty noises, tone turning just a bit mean, “I still have some work to do.”
“Whatever,” the omega chokes out, haughty even while breathless. “Just let me sit on your dick while you do it.”
Perth laughs but there’s nothing amused about the way his eyes darken when Santa’s trembling fingers push his shirt and jacket aside to tongue at the dragon tattoo that stretches across his left pec and winds down his arm.
Lee has seen that tattoo before only in photographs.
It looks more dangerous under bar lighting.
Perth shrugs out of his jacket while Santa works on undoing his belt, movements jerky and impatient but sure at the same time. The alpha groans two heartbeats later, eyes falling shut as his head tips back and jacket hits the carpet.
Holy fuckin’ fuck.
Lee's going to have to watch his boss fuck the first night of being a part of his personal security team.
He keeps his eyes peeled as the omega holding Perth Tanapon’s cock shifts onto his knees, robe slipping down one shoulder while he positions himself. The alpha leans further back against the couch, arms stretched along the backrest, pupils blown wide but a slow grin spreading over his face.
He looks entirely too comfortable letting Santa do all the work.
The omega sinks slowly, body going rigid, and it's a fucking shame Lee can't see cock stuff into hole with the robe falling over his ass. But his own cock can imagine it pretty vividly, throbbing along with Perth's when Santa moans loudly.
“So fucking big…”
Somehow, he sounds both pleased and annoyed by the fact.
Perth hums, gaze fixed on his omega. “All for you, doll.”
Once Santa's taken him all in, he practically melts, head dropping back into the crook of Perth’s neck. Perth’s mouth finds the shell of his ear, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses that Lee can hear from across the room.
The boss lifts his head. “The documents, Fern.”
Fern doesn’t even blink.
She moves like someone who’s clearly witnessed this exact situation enough times that it no longer seems out of the ordinary. She opens one of the folders on the table and holds out a pen.
Perth moves to take it, but then pauses when he notices the damp edge of his sleeve.
His whole right hand is covered in thick globs of slick, and Jesus Christ, that means either the omega's been dripping enough to cause that mess or the boss shoved his whole fist in there rather than just fingers.
Perth wets his lips and brings his hand to his mouth, lazily cleaning his fingers one by one before finally taking the pen. He even has the audacity to pull Santa’s robe back over his shoulder before returning his attention to the paperwork.
Almost like the omega isn't currently split open on his dick.
He shifts to reach the table, and Santa makes a sound so loud it practically punches through Lee’s crotch.
Damn, now he's really curious about how well endowed the owner of the Sukumpantanasan Group is.
But when Santa tries working his thighs and bouncing on alpha cock like he's now made to do, Perth's arm wraps around his waist. It’s a strong enough grip that it stops a horny omega without even looking like he’s trying.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Perth chides with raised brows, a wide and downright sadistic smile blooming as he turns to face him. “You only asked to sit, remember?”
Santa makes an annoyed noise and tries to pull back, not making it very far with how tightly he's being held.
“This is all your fault, you bastard.”
“Hm? Is it?”
“Hurry the fuck up!”
“With what?” Perth asks calmly, large hands wrapping around the omega's waist, fingers digging in. “What exactly do you want? Use your words, darling.”
Which just sounds like code for "beg" when a man like Perth Tanapon says it.
“I want you,” Santa answers through gritted teeth, “to get the hell out of my life.”
“That’s interesting,” Perth murmurs with a chuckle, “considering you’re the one who barged in here looking for my cock.”
His hands drop down to grab handfuls of ass under the robe, hips bucking up once.
“Now why do you think that is, darling?”
“It’s because of the heat,” Santa argues, even as a shiver runs through him, even as his fingers dig deeper into Perth’s shoulders.
The boss's smile turns unbearably smug. One hand slides up to the nape of the omega’s neck, holding him there as he leans up and presses a deliberately chaste kiss to his lips.
“It’s because your body is honest,” he whispers. “Unlike this pretty little mouth of yours.”
The next kiss is open mouthed but Santa barely kisses back, distracted by how Perth's hips are finally moving, delivering slow and languid thrusts that have his breath catching. But when the boss makes no attempt to pick up the pace, he makes a frustrated sound.
“Harder,” he demands, grabbing Perth by the jaw and pulling his face away from his throat. His teeth sink into the alpha’s bottom lip, tugging hard enough to wipe the smugness from Perth’s expression for half a second.
“Faster, Phi.”
Perth smirks at that, eyes going dark and predatory as he tilts his head.
“But darling, we have company.”
Lee stiffens, eyes instinctively lowering for a beat.
Santa snorts. “Never stopped you before.”
“True.”
Perth slowly lifts the omega by his hips before dragging him back down, rough enough to punch a breathless sound out of him. The squelch that follows is loud, unfiltered and fucking dirty. The room is starting to reek of sex, heat and pheromones thick enough that Lee's whole back is now drenched in sweat.
“But you care,” Perth murmurs, voice almost drowned out by the slapping of skin against skin. “You wouldn't even let me touch you in public before.” He delivers a particularly brutal thrust, Santa’s spine curving hard. “But now look at you. So desperate to hang off my cock that you don't care who sees.”
Santa chokes, unable to form words as Perth picks up his pace, the leather couch squeaking under them.
“I could walk downstairs and you'd immediately come running, wouldn't you, Ta?” Perth continues between pants, jaw tight but smile intact. “Bend over the bar and happily present that pretty ass of yours, hm?”
“I- I, I want-”
“What do you want, doll?”
“Wanna cum,” Santa breathes, body limp and voice slurring. “I’m gonna-”
The pounding stops almost immediately, the boss's smile cruel when Santa whines in protest. Where the omega had been gripping handfuls of his shirt, his hands now fly up to smack against the alpha’s chest in pure irritation.
“Why'd you stop?”
“Pretty please,” Perth instructs, voice almost coaxing. “Come on, doll. Say the magic words and I'll let you cum.”
Santa stares at him for a long moment.
Then he shoves hard at Perth’s shoulders, shifting as though he means to get off.
Perth doesn’t let him move an inch. “Where to, darling?”
“If you’re not gonna help,” Santa grits out, “I’ll find someone else who will.”
The alpha doesn't react. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” the omega shoots back, just as quick. “Maybe I'll bend over and present this pretty ass of mine to someone else in your bar.”
The amusement drains from Perth’s face so quickly that Lee might’ve laughed if the sudden shift in the room didn’t feel so dangerous. The air changes, the gunpowder sharpening, crawling down Lee’s spine like a warning.
Santa, meanwhile, seems completely unfazed by the look that flashes across the boss’s face.
“Let go,” he demands, twisting away and struggling against alpha’s hold.
Perth catches him by the jaw and his grip tightens until his knuckles pale, forcing the omega to face him again.
“You don’t mean that…” he murmurs.
His voice is so quiet Lee almost misses it. Santa doesn’t.
“What’s wrong, old man?” he spits back, words muffled in Perth’s clutch but the challenge in his voice obvious. “Afraid I’ll find someone who fucks me better than you?”
Perth moves so fast, Lee almost misses it.
One second the omega is perched on his lap, and the next he’s being turned and forced down, knees hitting the crimson carpet. His body folds over the edge of the table, silk robe slipping farther and leaving a lot more of his flushed skin exposed.
Before anyone can guess what's happening, Perth's yanking Santa higher by the hips and plunging his cock back in, wrenching a broken sound from the omega. His whole body arches so hard it looks like it fucking hurts, and now Lee can see everything.
Flushed and angry cockhead driving in and out of the omega's body, every movement rough enough to send Santa lurching against the table. The omega shudders from head to toe, fingers scrambling for purchase against the edges as his body is shoved forward with every deep snap of Perth’s hips.
The whole table rattles beneath them.
When Santa tries to lift his head, Perth’s hand is there instantly, shoving the side of his face back against the glass hard enough to thud. The next thrust has the whiskey glass and decanter slipping from the table and tumbling onto the carpet, alcohol further darkening the red.
The boss doesn’t let up.
His pace is brutal and relentless, driven on by every wretched gasp and needy whine his omega makes. With Santa’s body no longer blocking Lee’s view, Perth’s strength is obvious. Muscles contracting beneath his barely buttoned shirt, shoulders bunching with every movement, skin flushed and abs drawn tight.
Lee can practically smell the omega nearing his limit.
Santa goes rigid a moment later, a strangled and drawn out whine tearing from him, and there’s no mistaking what it means. But Perth barely slows down.
“You’re too tight,” he snarls, palm coming down hard enough against Santa’s ass that the slap sound almost echoes through the room. “Loosen up.”
“Wait-” Santa manages, gasping as he tries to lift his head, glaring over his shoulder. “I’m still- just, wait!”
The omega struggles, getting one knee onto the table before Perth catches him and pulls him firmly back, bottoming out again. He presses Santa into the glass, changing the angle he fucks into him in.
“Still complaining?” the alpha asks cruelly, slapping his ass again. “Even when you’re getting exactly what you wanted?”
Santa answers with a moan, the sound turning strained as Perth lifts him, manhandling him fully onto the glass table like he weighs nothing. Santa ends up on his elbows and knees, his own cock hard again, while Perth gets to his full height behind him.
His sweaty shirt clings to him as he pants raggedly. Hair no longer neat, expression no longer calm.
It’s… intimidating as hell.
Lee straightens on instinct.
And even though nobody can see where his eyes are behind his sunglasses, he lowers his gaze anyway.
“Perth-!”
Every sound and smell is automatically amplified as Perth sinks his thick cock back in from the higher angle, a groan leaving his chest when the omega pushes back to meet him halfway. Lee watches, transfixed, his own cock drooling and begging for attention in his pants.
“So good, darling,” Perth mutters, chest heaving and brows furrowed. “You're sucking me in so good.”
“Ngh- ugh, ugh, ugh,” the omega chants, delirious, planting his trembling palms against the table as he lifts his head.
Straight toward the door where Lee is standing.
It’s the first proper look he’s gotten at the boss's omega since he'd entered the room.
He's a complete mess.
Flushed skin. Red hair stuck to his temples and cheeks in damp clumps. Eyes squeezed shut and swollen lips parted, drooling from his mouth, every ragged breath he takes audible.
It's fucking hot, so erotic that Lee can practically hear his own pulse thudding in his ears.
There’s no makeup or jewelry on him. Nothing polished and yet somehow, he still looks elite. Untouchable.
And Lee gets it.
He gets why the head of the Sukumpantanasan Empire is so obsessed.
Why a man like Perth, someone who has spent his entire life with people falling at his feet, would bother chasing anyone at all. Why he would willingly tie himself down when he could have anyone he wanted without asking twice.
The thought of fucking such a gorgeous and proud face into submission would definitely get a man like Perth riled up. Breaking them on your dick, making a mess out of them while they beg for more would make him feel like the king of all kings.
Even a nobody like Lee can understand that much.
His cock pulses, curiosity burning alongside the heat in his veins. His gaze drags over the sharp lines of Santa's cheekbones and jaw, down the marked column of his throat and then lower. Unfortunately, he can't see much of his cock from where he's standing but he feels drool collect in his mouth at the sight of the omega's nipples.
Puffy and bitten raw, bruises surrounding the pale skin around them, the swollen buds jerking with every thrust Perth delivers.
When he looks back up, Santa’s eyes are no longer closed. Instead, large and dilated pupils stare straight back at him. Lee freezes, and there’s no mistaking it.
They’re making eye contact.
Santa’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk.
“Perth…” he purrs, still smiling even as his body’s pounded mercilessly, “I think your mutts want a turn.”
Lee's blood runs cold.
But Perth only chuckles darkly.
“They know not to watch.”
So fucking what, Lee wants to yell.
With all the pheromones and the sounds his bitch is making, even the blind and dickless would be struggling.
But clearly the boss is in the mood to be even more cruel because he reaches down to grab Santa by his nape, hauling him upright so that his back hits the alpha's front, one strong arm going round his middle to secure him.
The other goes down between Santa's legs and wraps around his cock.
Holy fucking shit.
Now Lee has a front row seat to the show.
There's bruises blooming already on Santa's waist and hips, his lower belly swollen with the outline of Perth's cock where buried deep inside him.
Lee watches like a man possessed as the omega fucks his flushed and leaking cock into the boss's fist, in the same rhythm that he's filled from behind. Santa's head lulls backwards onto Perth's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.
“So good…” he says in between thrusts, sounding airy and high. “So big, so mmh…”
“You know what would feel even better, doll?” Perth asks, lapping at the sweat on the omega's nape.
“If you filled me up with cum?”
Fuck, yeah.
Lee can't help thinking how impressive it is that the boss hasn't busted his load yet. If he had an omega like Santa hanging off his cock and saying things like that, he'd be coming like a teenager every three minutes until his balls turned into grapes.
“Soon doll,” Perth promises instead, teeth nipping skin again. “How about I stuff a knot into your sloppy, little hole first?”
Santa nods eagerly, the scent of earth spiking at the suggestion.
“Yes, please…”
“How polite,” Perth muses, lips quirking. “It makes me want to ravage you while I'm in rut, Ta.”
Santa doesn't look like he's really listening anymore, fucked into dumbness, tongue hanging out as he pants and moans wantonly.
Perth’s hand lifts to wrap around his neck, applying enough pressure to make the omega choke in his next inhale.
“What do you say, darling?” the boss asks, voice straining with restraint. “I can have Fern give me something to kill my suppressants, hm? This scent of yours will drive me into rut and then daddy will show you what a real knot feels like.”
Santa nods away, head bobbing and jerking along with his body. Perth changes his hold, shoving the omega back towards the table, going down with him so the alpha drapes over him.
“And then I'll sink my teeth into you,” Perth growls, tongue running up the side of Santa's neck as his hips speed up. “Make you mine forever.”
He sounds like he's in a trance, possessive and obsessive, voice like gravel.
As for his omega, the sharp comebacks are gone, replaced by quiet “yes”s, breathless “please”s, and incoherent blabber in between.
“I’ll breed that newly formed womb of yours,” the alpha keeps talking, words ripped straight from somewhere deep. “Keep you leaking for days afterwards.”
Perth pounds into him harder.
“Get you pregnant even with all those contraceptives you take.”
“Knot-” Santa mumbles mindlessly, “give it, give it to me.”
Perth’s thrusts slow down, the alpha wincing as his movements turn erratic at the omega's command. Lee sees the base of his cock expand, right at his pelvis, a huge knot taking shape before his very eyes.
Perth pulls out with a painful sounding groan, his cock red and angry and coated in slick. He roughly turns Santa onto his back by the elbow, robe bunching up under him.
Then his hands are at his ass again, lifting and pulling his cheeks apart, shoving the inflated base of his cock straight in without pause.
Santa screams.
His body bows violently, and he's spurting all over himself this time, cum coating his stomach and chest as enough slick squirts out of him to smear the glass under him. With the knot stuffed in, Perth can barely move anymore, hips reduced to grinding, his eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuck, Santa-”
He wraps his arms around Santa and sinks deep into the omega's body one last time before going completely still.
Pheromones explode within the room.
Perth somehow manages to get upright, staggering and collapsing back onto the couch, taking Santa with him. The omega barely loops his arms around his neck and sags against his chest, breathing hard and fast.
It takes Lee a dragged out moment to realize he’s jizzed in his pants.
Fuck.
He fights down the instinct to let his pheromones spill into the room, keeping his hands clasped neatly in front of him while he holds his breath, silently praying, that by some miracle, nobody’s noticed. Another long, drawn out moment passes, and the settled pheromones have him believing he's lucked out again.
Surprisingly, the omega is the first to speak.
“There’s no way in hell,” Santa whispers, voice scratchy and wrecked, “I’m letting you mark me.”
The words don’t exactly match how content he looks curled against the boss’s chest, head on his shoulder.
Perth chuckles softly, reaching down to tug the sides of Santa’s flimsy robe back into place. Somehow, the damn thing has managed to survive everything, still hanging loosely around the omega's body as if modesty means anything anymore.
“Almost had you convinced there for a moment, doll.”
“Yeah, right."
“I'd make an excellent choice,” the alpha assures, adjusting slightly to get comfortable and making the omega moan again. “You'd be the mate of the man who owns the city.”
Santa's eyes fall shut. “Save that bullshit for someone who actually wants to be your bitch.”
But he bares his throat when Perth leans in, letting the alpha nuzzle him. Then his attention shifts up toward Fern.
“Phi Fern,” Santa says with relaxed familiarity, “could you get me my suppressants, please?”
Fern’s eyes flick briefly toward Perth and the boss gives the slightest nod in permission, hands running up and down his omega's thighs.
“All of you leave with Fern,” he instructs, voice deep and smooth. “Wait downstairs.”
Santa snorts. “You want them out now?”
His gaze drifts lazily across the room as he asks, over all the alphas, including Lee, that had stood and watched him get fucked.
Perth hums.
“After my knot deflates, I plan to get on my knees and eat you out, darling,” he murmurs into Santa's ear, earning another shiver. “But as the Head of Sukumpantanasan Group, I still have my dignity, you see.”
He presses a kiss along Santa’s jaw. “My father would roll in his grave.”
“The father you put there, you mean?” Santa points out, even as he lets out a satisfied sigh.
Perth’s mouth curves. “It’s a dirty industry out here, my love.” His gaze settles on Santa’s pulse point, dark and intent, almost predatory. “And the winner takes all.”
Perth Tanapon is a man made almost entirely of rumors.
And rumor has it, he never loses.
❖ ── ✦ ── ❖