Lingering Scent

Kael

I didn’t send anything else after that. Let him sit with it.

I just let out a low chuckle that sounded more frustrated than amused. “What a stubborn young man,” I muttered to myself, finally tossing the phone onto the nightstand. Stubborn, mouthy, and currently driving me insane.

I pushed off the bed and padded barefoot to the wine cellar. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls wrapped the entire penthouse, turning the city lights into a glittering backdrop that reflected off every surface. It felt exposed tonight, almost too open, but the space suited my restless mood. I wanted distance. I wanted room to breathe.

I poured a generous glass of deep red wine and carried it back to the living area, sinking into the leather couch facing the widest stretch of glass. The city sprawled below like scattered diamonds. I took a slow sip, letting the tannic bite roll over my tongue.

But my mind wouldn’t stay on the wine.

It kept drifting back to earlier. To the split second when my fist had connected with Riven’s mouth during that stupid scuffle and blood had welled up on his lower lip. The metallic tang had hit the air, and something in me had shifted—sharp, instinctive, hungry. I’d leaned in without thinking, drawn closer by that scent threading through the blood.

It wasn't a normal blood smell.

It was rich. Sweet underneath the copper. Warm and heady, like crushed berries mixed with something darker. One of the nicest pheromone signatures I’d ever caught. And I’d been around enough locker rooms and ruts to know what that usually meant.

Is he an Omega?

The thought settled heavy in my chest. I’d always assumed Riven was just… ordinary. Beta at best. Nothing special in the hierarchy. Certainly not Alpha because he folded way too easily under real dominance. But Omega? That would explain a lot. The way his body had responded tonight, the way his scent had thickened when he got hard, the way even a trace of blood carried pheromones strong enough to make an Alpha like me lose focus.

I took another long sip, staring at my reflection in the dark glass. If he really was an Omega, even a suppressed or late-presenting one, then getting close to him was dangerous. Omegas in heat or even just emotionally stirred could flood the air with pheromones that hit Alphas like a drug. And that blood… fuck, his blood seemed to concentrate it. One drop at sight and I’d already felt that pull tonight, that sudden urge to taste, to claim, to bury myself in him until he stopped pretending he was straight.

I set the glass down, rolling it between my palms. Staying away would be smart. Especially tomorrow. We had a friendly match at the rink — thank fuck it wasn’t against the Bulls. At least I wouldn’t have to share the ice with him, wouldn’t have to smell him up close while we skated. Those pheromones in his blood could drive me crazy if I weren't careful. Most Omegas kept their scents locked down with blockers. But Riven? Either he wasn’t on anything or his body was too honest for its own good. Maybe he doesn’t even know who he really is.

I shook my head with a rough laugh. “Pheromones not even in your sweat but in your blood? I’m into men, sure… but I’m not a fucking vampire.”

The words sounded stupid out loud. Still, the memory of that copper-sweet scent lingered at the back of my throat. My cock gave another interested twitch beneath my sweats, reminding me how easily Riven had fallen apart in my hand earlier. How he’d gripped my arm, moaned low and broken, and come so hard the front of his shorts had been ruined.

I drained the rest of the wine in one go and stood up, switching off the lights as I headed toward the bedroom. The glass walls caught the faint glow of the city, painting soft reflections across the floor.

But the ache between my legs only grew worse with every step.

By the time I reached the bed, I was fully hard again, cock tenting my sweats painfully. I tossed myself onto the mattress and lay back, staring at the ceiling. The image refused to leave me — Riven’s flushed face, his thighs trembling around me, the way he’d gripped my arm like I was the only thing anchoring him while he fell apart. That broken little moan when he finally came, hot and messy inside his shorts. And underneath it all, that faint trace of blood-scent still lingering: sweet, rich, impossibly tempting.

My hand moved almost on its own, sliding down my stomach until my palm pressed firmly over the thick bulge. I groaned low at the first squeeze, hips twitching up into the pressure. Fuck, I was already leaking, a wet spot blooming against the fabric.

I shoved the waistband down just enough to free myself. My cock sprang up heavy against my abs, thick and flushed dark, the head glistening with pre-cum. I wrapped my fingers around the base, not quite meeting, and gave one slow, deliberate stroke from root to tip, spreading the slickness down the shaft.

A rough breath escaped me.

I closed my eyes and let the memory play out slower. The way Riven had hissed when I first touched him through his shorts. The way his cock had jerked and throbbed in my grip, leaking steadily as I stroked him. How his eyes had stayed locked on mine even while he tried to deny everything.

My hand moved lazily, torturously slow in long, firm pulls that made the veins stand out more with every pass. My thumb swiped over the sensitive head on each upstroke, smearing pre-cum until everything felt wet and obscene. The quiet, slick sound of skin on skin filled the quiet room, mixing with my heavier breathing.

“Fuck… Riven,” I muttered under my breath, my voice rough.

I pictured him now, lying in his own bed, still embarrassed, still trying to convince himself he was straight while his body remembered exactly how good my hand had felt. Maybe he was hard again too. Maybe he was fighting the urge to touch himself the same way I was.

The thought made my grip tighten. I stroked a little faster, twisting my wrist at the head the way I knew felt best. My free hand slid up my chest, pinching one nipple hard enough to send a sharp spark straight to my cock.

That sweet, copper-tinged pheromone scent flashed behind my eyelids again — the one that had hit me when his lip bled. If he really was an Omega, even a hidden one, that scent was dangerous. It made me want to bury my face against his throat, lick the taste from his skin, pin him down, and rut into him until all that stubborn denial shattered.

My hips rolled up into my fist, chasing the building heat. Pre-cum dripped steadily now, slicking my knuckles and making every stroke louder, wetter. I imagined what he’d sound like if I actually fucked him — those same broken moans turning deeper, louder, desperate pleas as I stretched him open on my cock.

“Shit…” I hissed, abs clenching as pleasure coiled tighter at the base of my spine.

I didn’t rush it. I kept the pace deliberate, drawing it out, letting the fantasy build until my balls drew up tight and my cock pulsed hard in my grip.

When I finally came, it hit me in thick, powerful ropes that striped across my stomach and chest, some even reaching my collarbone. A low, guttural groan tore from my throat as my cock jerked with every pulse, pleasure rolling through me in waves.

I kept stroking slowly through the aftershocks, milking every last drop until I was oversensitive and breathing hard, chest heaving.

For a long moment I just lay there, covered in my own mess, staring at the dark ceiling while the city lights filtered softly through the glass walls.

Riven was going to be the death of me.

I grabbed a tissue from the nightstand, cleaned up lazily, and finally let my eyes close.