Slowly, but surely, Grayson’s hold loosened further as he calmed down further.

Neville waited until Grayson’s breathing deepened into a steady rhythm.

Now.

Neville began to extract himself from Grayson’s embrace—first one arm. Then rolled out from the other. He managed to slide toward the edge of the mattress inch by agonizing inch, barely daring to breathe.

Freedom was so close. The door was right there, maybe ten steps away. He could still salvage this. He could still pretend that none of this ever happened. Leave the penthouse with a note about the food he would leave on the fridge and never speak of this night again.

His feet touched the floor.

He stood.

He took one step.

Two.

Three.

The doorway loomed before him like the gates to paradise.

Four steps.

Five.

He was almost there. His hand reached for the wall beside the doorway—

Something wrapped around his ankle.

Neville looked down.

A tail.

The damned tail had followed him across the room, and now it was coiled around his leg with the casual possessiveness of a pet who had found a particularly comfortable place.

He turned slowly, and an incredulous expression spread across his face.

Grayson had propped himself up on one elbow, his silver eyes half-lidded but definitely open. His hair was even more disheveled than before, falling across his forehead in a way that should have looked ridiculous but instead looked devastatingly attractive.

And he was smiling.

He was smiling at him.

Not his usual controlled, professional smile. Not even the sharp-edged smirk he wore when planning something. It was soft, unguarded, and almost boyish.

The sight snapped Neville into the present.

I shouldn’t be seeing this, he thought distantly. This isn’t something he should be seeing. This—

Grayson’s eyebrows slightly twitched, and his smile widened.

He looked like a child who had caught the scent of his favorite food wafting from the kitchen. Neville thought hysterically.

"Come here."

Just two words, spoken in that deep, sleep-roughened voice. But they carried a weight that pressed an instinct deeply hidden inside Neville’s bones.

Before he could consciously decide to move, his feet were carrying him back toward the bed. The tail kindly guided him, applying gentle pressure to his calf, his knee, his thigh, leading him back to exactly where Grayson wanted him to go.

What am I doing? Neville’s rational mind screamed. Why am I walking back? Stop! STOP—

His foot caught on the rumpled sheets.

He stumbled forward with a startled yelp, arms pinwheeling as gravity took hold. His palms slammed down onto something warm and solid.

It was Grayson’s shoulders, he realized belatedly, the muscles were flexing beneath his touch.

He found himself just inches from Grayson’s face.

Their eyes met.

Silver on ocean-blue.

Up close, Grayson’s gaze held none of its usual sharpness. Instead, there was warmth there, and a fondness so naked it made something in Neville’s chest constrict painfully. Grayson looked at him like he was something precious.

Neville shivered.

He tried to pull back, to restore some of the professional distance, but Grayson’s tail was faster. It detached itself from his legs only to wrap around his waist instead. The cool sensation of the scales was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Grayson’s body. It drew him closer, closer, until he was practically sitting in Grayson’s lap.

Then, the pheromones hit him.

It was not the ambient scent that had permeated the room before. This one was more concentrated, intentional, and thick enough to taste it on his tongue. Fresh water pheromones hid something deeper, something primal that spoke directly to the ocean omega pheromones inside him.

Oh no.

He realized with terrible clarity.

Grayson was in rut.

And right now, with Neville pressed against him and surrounded by his scent, Grayson was actively trying to trigger a corresponding heat, his estrus period.

Neville’s hand flew to his pocket, where the small case of emergency suppressants sat like a lifeline. He had taken a calming pill before coming here and injected an inhibitor. But he had no idea how long it would last against an assault of pheromones from an alpha in rut, especially from a dominant one at that.

Grayson’s brow creased. He inhaled deeply, trying to find something, and the furrow between his eyebrows deepened. Then frustration flickered across his face.

He’s not getting what he wants, Neville realized. This meant that the suppressant and calming pill was working. It dampened his omega responses and prevented the cascade of hormones that would have sent him spiraling into heat.

Now, Grayson can’t trigger it.

But an alpha in rut was nothing if not persistent.

Grayson’s arms came up to hug Neville’s waist, pulling him more firmly into place. Grayson’s tail tightened its hold. And those silver eyes, still soft but now edged with determination, fixed on Neville’s face with unwavering focus.

I need to do something, Neville thought desperately. If I don’t give him something, he’s going to—

He made a decision.

Neville carefully allowed a thin amount of his pheromones to seep out, albeit a little clumsily because of little to no knowledge of practical ABO. But it was enough to take the edge off Grayson’s frustration without compromising his own built-in defenses.

The effect was immediate.

Grayson’s entire body relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders melted away. The furrow between his brows smoothed out, and his smile returned, brighter than before. It now had a pure, uncomplicated joy that looked utterly foreign on his usually stoic face.

Who is this? Neville wondered, staring at the man before him. This isn’t the Grayson I know. This isn’t the cold, calculating CEO who uses people like the back of his hand.

It was like looking at a completely different person.

Grayson seemed to read the confusion on his face. One hand lifted from Neville’s waist to cup his cheek, and the touch was impossibly gentle. His calloused fingers traced the curve of his cheekbone with reverent care.

Then Grayson’s face leaned in.

It got closer and closer until it pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was chaste. Almost innocent.

The kind of kiss a child might give a parent, or a devoted pet might give their owner. There was no heat in it, no demand—just simple, uncomplicated affection.

Neville’s brain short-circuited.