The CEO's Forbidden Omega

The BlackWolf Corp. elevator was a monster of steel and mirrors. Thirty-two stories tall, with a speed that sent your stomach up to your throat, and a silence broken only by the almost imperceptible hum of the cables. Ethan Moore rushed in at the very last second, his leather briefcase slapping against his thigh, still-hot coffee in his left hand. He pressed the button for the 17th floor with a sweaty thumb and took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

He was late. Again.

The day started with an alignment meeting at 8:45, and it was already 8:42. HR had been crystal clear: “BlackWolf doesn’t tolerate lateness, Moore. Not even on your first day.” Ethan knew. Everyone knew. The company was an empire, and Adrian Blackwood was the emperor who didn’t appear in gossip magazines but rather on Forbes lists and in billion-dollar merger headlines. No one had ever seen him lose control. No one had ever seen him sweat.

Ethan adjusted the navy tie that seemed to be strangling him more than it should and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Brown hair messy despite the gel, dark circles barely concealed with concealer, pristine white shirt already wrinkled at the elbows. He looked exactly like what he was: a human trying to pass as someone who belonged in this glass-and-power building.

The doors began to close.

A large, tanned hand with prominent veins and a Patek Philippe watch worth ten times Ethan’s rent slipped between the brushed steel doors and held them open.

The air changed.

Ethan couldn’t explain it. It was as if someone had opened a window on a biting winter day. A scent invaded the elevator — burnt wood, expensive leather, something metallic like fresh blood mixed with storm. It was impossible. It was overwhelming. Ethan’s knees buckled for half a second before he forced himself upright.

Adrian Blackwood stepped in.

He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t look at Ethan. He simply occupied the space as if the elevator had been built for him. One meter ninety-three tall, broad shoulders under a custom Tom Ford black suit, black hair short on the sides and longer on top, combed back with military precision. Square jaw, three-day stubble, steel-gray eyes that seemed capable of cutting diamond.

Ethan instinctively took a step back. The space was too small. The man’s scent was too big.

The doors closed with a soft click.

Silence.

Ethan tried to focus on his phone screen, but his fingers trembled. He could feel the heat radiating from the man beside him like a furnace. He tried breathing through his mouth. It didn’t help. The scent invaded anyway — now stronger, hotter, more… sweet? No. Not sweet. It was something primal. Something that made the pit of Ethan’s stomach clench in a way he had never felt before.

Adrian didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. But Ethan felt the weight of that gaze even without seeing it. As if he were being watched by a predator that hadn’t yet decided whether the prey was worth the hunt.

The elevator rose.

Floor 3.

Floor 5.

Ethan cleared his throat. Tried to say something professional, anything to break the unbearable silence.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood.”

His voice came out rougher than intended.

Adrian turned his head slowly. Very slowly. His eyes met Ethan’s and the world stopped.

For a second — an endless second — nothing else existed.

Ethan felt an electric shock race from the nape of his neck to his heels. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was literal. As if he had touched a live wire. His nipples hardened instantly against the fabric of his shirt, his cock gave a painful throb inside his dress pants, and a liquid heat spread through his lower belly. He held his breath.

Adrian blinked once. Twice.

Then his nostrils flared. Just a little. Almost imperceptibly.

But Ethan saw it.

And heard it.

A low, guttural sound that shouldn’t come from a civilized man. A growl. Deep. Animalistic. Rising from inside that broad chest.

Adrian’s wolf woke.

It wasn’t a metaphor.

Ethan didn’t know it yet, but the wolf inside Adrian Blackwood — the supreme Alpha of the BlackWolf pack — lifted its head and scented the air.

And found the impossible.

A scent that shouldn’t exist anymore. Sweet like burnt honey, hot like fresh blood, vulnerable like a wounded prey. A scent the old books said had vanished generations ago.

Omega.

But not just any Omega.

Male Omega.

Rare. Extinct. Forbidden.

Adrian felt his canines lengthen against his gums. Felt claws wanting to break through the tips of his fingers. Felt his cock thicken and harden in seconds, pressing painfully against the zipper of his six-thousand-dollar suit.

He clenched his teeth.

Held back.

Barely.

Ethan, unaware of what was happening inside the man in front of him, only felt panic rising. His body was reacting in ways that made no sense. His heart beat so fast it hurt. His skin felt too sensitive, as if every hair follicle ached. And between his legs… God. He was getting wet. Not sweaty. Wet. Something hot and slick was pooling in his underwear, leaving him ashamed and confused.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not even knowing why he was apologizing. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

Adrian didn’t answer.

The elevator passed floor 12.

Ethan tried to move farther away, but his back was already pressed against the cold steel wall. There was nowhere to go.

Then Adrian moved.

One step. Just one.

But it was enough.

He was too close. The heat from his body enveloped Ethan like an invisible cage. Ethan tilted his face up — he had to — and met those gray eyes that were now almost black, pupils blown wide, fixed on him with an intensity bordering on madness.

“You…” Adrian’s voice came out low, hoarse, almost unrecognizable “…are late.”

It was a mundane sentence. But the tone wasn’t.

It was possession.

It was threat.

It was hunger.

Ethan swallowed hard. His throat felt dry and his mouth salivated at the same time.

“I… yes. Sorry. Traffic…”

A lie. He lived three blocks away. He had woken up late because he’d spent the entire night tossing in bed, restless, sweating, dreaming of things he couldn’t remember upon waking.

Adrian tilted his head. Inhaled slowly. Deliberately.

And growled again.

Lower. Closer.

Ethan felt the sound reverberate in his own chest.

Floor 15.

Adrian took another step.

Now his Italian shoes nearly touched Ethan’s. The space between them was mere centimeters. Ethan could feel the heat radiating from that broad chest, could see Adrian’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“What’s your name?” Adrian asked. His voice sounded as though speaking hurt.

“Ethan. Ethan Moore. New in mergers and acquisitions.”

Adrian repeated the name silently, lips moving as if tasting it.

“Ethan…”