Watching him making out

Serena’s POV

Dominic sat in the large black leather chair behind his massive desk, the same chair where he signed territory treaties and issued orders that made rival packs tremble. His suit jacket was gone. The white shirt hung completely open and half-off one powerful shoulder, revealing the sculpted expanse of his bare chest—hard muscle dusted with dark hair, rising and falling with controlled but heavy breaths. His black trousers were open, shoved down just enough. And straddling his lap, facing him, was a woman.

I recognized her dimly from earlier—the sleek brunette in the tight red dress who had touched his arm and offered him a private dinner and steak. Her dress was now hiked up around her waist. She wore nothing underneath. Her long legs were spread wide over his thick thighs, bare skin glowing in the lamplight. One of Dominic’s large hands gripped her bare ass possessively, fingers digging into soft flesh as he guided her movements. The other was tangled in her dark hair, holding her head where he wanted it while he kissed her deeply, hungrily.

They were fully having sex right there in his study.

The sleek brunette—Lydia, the same woman in the tight red dress who had touched his arm earlier and offered him a private steak dinner—straddled Dominic’s lap like she belonged there. Her dress was shoved up around her waist, bare skin glowing under the golden lamp. She wore nothing underneath. Long, slim legs spread wide over his thick thighs as she rose and sank on him in a steady, hungry rhythm. I could see everything through the narrow gap in the door: the thick, glistening length of his cock disappearing into her again and again, the way her body stretched to take him, the wet sheen of their joining.

Dominic’s white shirt hung completely open, half-off one powerful shoulder, revealing the hard, sculpted planes of his chest dusted with dark hair. His black trousers were shoved down just far enough. One large hand gripped her bare ass possessively, fingers digging deep into soft flesh as he guided her movements, lifting her and slamming her back down. The other hand was tangled in her dark hair, holding her exactly where he wanted while he kissed her deeply—open-mouthed, dominant, almost punishing.

The sounds filled the quiet study: the wet slap of skin, her high breathy moans, his low, guttural growls of male satisfaction. The big leather chair creaked under every powerful thrust.

“Alpha… oh god, you’re so big,” Lydia whimpered, head falling back as he thrust up harder. “I’ve wanted this for months. The way you looked right through everyone else tonight… I knew it would be me. I make an excellent steak, remember? And so much more…”

Dominic didn’t give her soft words or praise. He never did. He thrust up with a sharp snap of his hips that made her cry out, the hand in her hair tightening. “Quiet,” he ordered, voice rough as gravel and pure command—the same ruthless tone that made entire packs fall silent. “Less talking. Ride it properly. Take every fucking inch.”

She obeyed instantly, bouncing faster, slim body working to accommodate him. His free hand moved to roughly palm one of her breasts, thumb flicking the nipple hard enough to make her gasp. He fucked her with controlled, almost detached power—chasing his own release, using her body like it was nothing more than a convenient outlet. His dark gray eyes were half-lidded, jaw tight, abs flexing with every upward slam. The wet, filthy sounds grew louder. Her moans turned higher, more desperate.

“Yes—Alpha—right there—don’t stop—”

Jealousy slammed into me so hard I nearly staggered. Hot. Ugly. Suffocating. My stomach twisted into knots. Rose snarled inside my head, claws out, furious and possessive.

*That should be us. Those hands should be gripping our soft hips. That thick cock should be stretching us open. Not her skinny little body. Never her.*

I couldn’t look away. I pressed closer to the doorframe, bare feet silent on the cool hardwood, heart hammering so violently against my ribs I was terrified the sound alone would give me away. My old gray T-shirt clung to my full breasts and soft stomach; my nipples had peaked hard and aching against the thin fabric. Between my legs, the black sleep shorts were already damp, growing wetter by the second as the scent of my own unwanted arousal rose shamefully.

Every thrust, every growl, every wet sound rewrote itself in my mind until the fantasy was vivid and devastating.

It was me in that chair. My plus-size body straddling him instead—wide hips filling his big hands completely, soft stomach pressed flush to his hard abs, full heavy breasts bouncing against his chest with every powerful thrust. The burgundy dress from the party shoved up around my waist, or this old sleep shirt ripped right off my body. His rough voice growling *my* name—“Serena… fuck, these soft curves… take it all, little wolf”—while he buried himself so deep I couldn’t breathe. The way I had molded against him during the cake disaster becoming real: skin to skin, my thick thighs wrapped around him, his thumb that had stroked my waist earlier now digging into the generous give of my ass as he bounced me on his cock until I came apart screaming. Him looking at me the way he had downstairs—like he actually *saw* me, wanted *me*—not just another woman throwing herself at the Alpha.

My hand drifted down almost without permission, slipping under the waistband of my shorts. I was soaked. Fingers sliding through slick folds, circling my clit in small, desperate motions while I watched them, lost in the fantasy that every hard thrust was for me. Every rough grip. Every low command. Heat coiled tighter and tighter low in my belly. My breathing turned shallow. Rose pushed harder, urging me to keep watching, to keep touching, to imagine replacing her completely.

In the study, Lydia’s moans grew louder. “I’m so close—Alpha, please—”

Dominic’s hand left her breast and clamped firmly over her mouth, muffling her cries. He thrust harder, faster, the chair creaking loudly now, his powerful thighs flexing as he pounded up into her with single-minded focus. “Come,” he ordered flatly against her ear. “Now. Take it.”

She shattered with a muffled scream against his palm, body shaking and clenching around him. He followed moments later with a deep, guttural groan, hips slamming up and holding deep as he spilled inside her. His whole body tensed—abs rigid, neck tendons standing out, that devastating strength on full display. For a brief second he looked almost undone.

Then it was over.

He released her mouth and sat back in the big leather chair, still buried inside her, breathing heavily. The cold, ruthless mask slid back into place almost immediately. No tenderness. No afterglow. Just the Alpha who had taken what he needed.

“Get dressed and leave,” he said, voice flat and stripped of heat. “Side door. No one sees you. Don’t come back expecting more of this.”

Lydia blinked, clearly hoping for softness, for an invitation to stay or at least a kind word. She climbed off his lap on unsteady legs, his release slick on her thighs, and hurriedly fixed her red dress. “Alpha… I could stay the night. We were good together. I could make you breakfast, or—”

“I said leave.” The same merciless dismissal he’d given her at the party. Final. Absolute.

She snatched her underwear from the floor, cast one last longing look at him—still half-dressed, cock wet and softening against his thigh, chest heaving—and slipped out the side door that led directly to the private terrace. The soft click of it closing left the study quiet except for Dominic’s breathing and the faint tick of the clock on the mantel.

He ran a hand over his face, then down to casually clean himself and tuck back into his trousers. He didn’t look satisfied. He looked restless. Almost annoyed. Empty. Like she had been a temporary fix for an itch that still burned under his skin.

I should have run the second she left. My body was wound so tight I was shaking—jealousy still burning hot in my chest, arousal throbbing mercilessly between my legs, fingers still slowly moving inside my soaked shorts as the fantasy refused to die. In my mind it was still me he had just fucked. My name he had growled. My soft, curvy body he had filled.

My bare foot shifted on the hardwood. A tiny, traitorous scuff of skin against wood.

Dominic’s head snapped up instantly.

Storm-gray eyes locked onto the crack in the door—onto *me*. Half-hidden in the hallway shadows, sleep-mussed hair falling around my flushed face, old T-shirt clinging to every full curve, hand still blatantly down my shorts, lips parted, the thick, unmistakable scent of my arousal flooding toward his Alpha senses.

For one endless, heart-stopping second neither of us moved or spoke. The air turned electric and dangerous.

His gaze dropped deliberately: to my hand frozen between my thighs, to the hard peaks of my nipples against the thin fabric, to the flush spreading down my neck and chest, to my thick thighs pressed together like that could hide how wet I was. Something dark and hungry flared in those gray eyes—far more intense than anything he had shown the woman who had just left.

He didn’t close his shirt. He didn’t look away or pretend this was nothing.

“Serena.” My name left his mouth low and rough, still edged with the leftover gravel of sex. “How long have you been standing there?”

Panic exploded through me. Mortification. Fear. Lingering jealousy. Raw want I didn’t know what to do with. I yanked my hand free of my shorts like I’d been burned, heart slamming so hard I felt dizzy.

“I—I didn’t mean to see you making love,” I blurted out, voice shaking and too loud in the sudden silence. The words tumbled over each other. “I only came for water. I heard noises and I… I didn’t mean to watch. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— I’m so sorry—”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed slightly. He sat forward in the chair, still half-undressed and devastating in the lamplight, but I didn’t give him the chance to say another word.

I turned and *ran*.

Bare feet slapped hard against the hardwood as I fled down the dark hallway, heart racing so violently I thought it might burst out of my chest. Rose was shouting inside my head—*Go back! Talk to him! He wanted you, not her!*—but pure panic won. I didn’t look back. I didn’t slow down even when I heard the leather chair creak like he might have stood. I took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping on the landing, lungs burning, the image of him buried in another woman and then catching me spying burned into my brain forever.

I reached the east guest suite, slammed the door behind me, and twisted the lock with trembling fingers. The solid *click* felt like the only thing keeping me standing. I backed away from the door until my legs hit the bed and I sank down onto it, chest heaving, entire body shaking.

My sleep shirt was damp with sweat. My shorts were ruined—soaked through from watching and touching and imagining. My cheeks burned so hot they hurt. I could still smell him on the air from the study, still hear the wet sounds, still feel the phantom press of his body from earlier when I had fallen into him at the cake table.

*I didn’t mean to see you making love.*

The pathetic words echoed in my head. I buried my burning face in my hands and let out a muffled, mortified sound. Rose paced restlessly, half-angry at me for running, half-smug that he had looked at me like *that* after catching me.

“Shut up,” I whispered into my palms. “Just shut up.”

Outside in the hallway, the house remained silent. No footsteps approached. No knock came. But I could still feel the weight of those storm-gray eyes as if he were standing right on the other side of the locked door.

I stayed like that for a long time—heart racing, body aching, jealousy and shame and unwanted desire tangled so tightly I couldn’t breathe properly—until the first faint light of dawn began to creep through the windows overlooking the eastern training grounds.

And I knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing between us would ever be the same again.