The S-Tier's Omega Bodyguard

Kieran Hunt sat in the gray, depressing office at Elite Security Agency, staring at the coffee-stained wall and wondering why the hell his boss had called him in on his day off. His knee bounced with impatience. He had shit to do. His sister Maya needed money for textbooks, his rent was due in three days, and he'd planned to spend his one free day doing laundry and maybe sleeping for more than four hours. But here he was, waiting like some rookie fresh out of training instead of the best fucking bodyguard this agency had.The door finally opened and Patterson walked in. The gruff beta looked tired, older than his fifty years, with gray stubble and bags under his eyes. He dropped a thick file on the desk between them with a heavy thud that made Kieran's instincts prickle. Big files meant big trouble. Or big money. Sometimes both."Hunt, I've got a job for you," Patterson said, lighting a cigarette even though smoking wasn't allowed in the building anymore. Nobody had the balls to tell

Kieran arrived at Elliot's penthouse building within fifteen minutes of getting the security alert, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush and worst-case scenarios playing in his head. The building was one of those ultra-luxury high-rises where the lobby had actual marble floors and a fucking chandelier, the kind of place where Kieran's monthly rent wouldn't even cover the maintenance fees. He bypassed the nervous security guards and took the private elevator straight up to the penthouse, his hand resting on his concealed weapon just in case.When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, everything was quiet. Too quiet. The penthouse door was slightly ajar with obvious scratch marks around the electronic lock where someone had forced entry. Kieran's training kicked in hard. He drew his gun and moved through the doorway silently, sweeping each room with practiced efficiency. The place was massive, probably three thousand square feet of modern furniture, expensive art, and

Kieran learned the shape of Elliot Sinclair's days the same way he'd always learned his clients' habits: by watching, cataloguing, and staying out of the way until he understood what he was dealing with.Elliot woke at five-thirty without an alarm. Ran for forty minutes on the building's private gym floor before the rest of the residents were awake. Showered. Ate standing at the kitchen counter — always the same thing, Greek yogurt and whatever fruit was in the bowl — while reading whatever had come in overnight on his phone. Was in his home office by seven. In his car heading to Sinclair Industries by eight forty-five, using the twelve minutes of travel time to take calls. By nine he was in a building full of people whose entire professional purpose was trying to keep up with him.Kieran shadowed all of it. That was what live-in protection meant: not just the high-alert moments, but the ordinary hours, the shape of the days, until he could anticipate where Elliot would be thirty secon

Friday was the corporate dinner.Kieran had been tracking it in his schedule since Tuesday — a client-facing event at Alden's, one of those restaurants where the lighting was specifically designed to make everyone look richer than they were and the menu didn't have prices on it. Elliot's people had given him the guest list: eleven business partners, two board members, three investors from a development fund Sinclair Industries was courting for the Sun City project. Nothing flagged in the security sweep. Private dining room, two exits, kitchen access vetted through the restaurant's own staff protocols.On paper, it was manageable.In practice, it meant four hours of standing at measured distance while Elliot worked the room, and Kieran had now spent enough days in close proximity to understand the difference between Elliot performing and Elliot actually working. At the penthouse he was sharp and self-aware and occasionally more honest than Kieran knew what to do with. In a room full of

*WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT*Elliot Sinclair was going to be the death of me. That much I knew for certain.I should have pushed him away. Should have taken better control of the situation. That was the first thought burning through my head the moment Elliot's lips crashed into mine. His mouth was hot, hungry, and insistent, tasting like desperation and something primal that made my heat-addled brain short-circuit completely.I knew I should've stopped him. But my body, drowning in heat and slick and overwhelming biological need, refused to cooperate with my brain. My job was to keep him alive, not to fuck him in a goddamn panic room.But the second I felt him fuck his body pressed into mine, his S-Tier pheromones slamming into me like a physical force, every form of reasoning flew out the door.He made this low, frustrated, desperate sound against my mouth and it shot straight to my cock. My omega instincts were screaming at me to submit, to present, to let this powerful alpha