The second the door to the club shut behind him, Nori exhaled like he'd been underwater the whole time.
His legs were weak. His thoughts—wrecked.
He should've stayed home. Should've turned down the performance. Should've never gone upstairs. Should've never looked Ryusuke in the eyes.
"Omega."
The word echoed in his skull. That man had touched him, read him like a book, outed him like it was nothing.
I'm not an omega, he'd said. But his body had betrayed him. Every wet pulse. Every uncontrollable tremble.
Nori didn't even remember how he got home. Just that by the time his face hit the pillow, his robe still clung damp to his thighs and Eric's borrowed suppressant packet was clutched in his fist like a lifeline.
He cried again, but silently this time.
"Get me everything you can on him."
Kohan blinked. "Excuse me?"
Ryusuke stood at the tall window of the penthouse lounge, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing a glass of whiskey that had long gone warm.
