⚠️ Disclaimer⚠️
This chapter contains mature themes and SPG (Strong Parental Guidance) content, including intense romantic and intimate scenes. Reader discretion is advised. If you are uncomfortable with such material, please proceed with caution.
Champ's POV
"And that concludes our interview with Champ Aurelian, the newly crowned Alpha who emerged victorious in the Alpha Territory Treasure Hunt competition..."
With that, the interview ended.
Meanwhile...
(Twitch!)
(Twat!)
"Are you serious, Deux? You're really not letting me go?" I huffed, irritation lacing my voice. He still had me straddled on his lap, his strong arms locking my wrists, keeping me from moving.
"No," he replied, voice deep, unwavering. His face was serious, gaze averted—but his grip, firm and insistent.
(Twitch!)
"Deux! That 'thing' has been twitching ever since we started watching! I've been holding back!" I snapped, only for him to suddenly release me.
I thought it was over.
But before I could react, he moved—swift and deliberate—pressing me down onto the sofa.
And then he was on top of me.
My breath hitched.
He wasn't just hovering over me—he had locked me beneath him. My wrists were pinned again, his hands gripping them tightly. His legs straddled mine, his weight pressing me into the cushions, making escape impossible.
"Deux!" I gasped, struggling, but his strength far exceeded mine.
It wasn't that I was weak—I could fight back. I should be able to push him off.
So why did it feel like he was draining my energy?
"There's nothing stopping us now, Champ. I've been holding back long enough," he murmured, his eyes burning into mine.
I swallowed hard. His gaze—dark, consuming—pinned me down more than his body ever could.
"I'll give you a chance," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "If you want to leave, I'll let you go."
His grip on my wrists loosened.
This was it. My chance.
I could push him off, scramble away, pretend this moment never happened.
But I didn't move.
He wasn't stopping me. He wasn't holding me down anymore.
And yet...
Why did my body refuse to leave?
Why did I feel like this was exactly where I wanted to be?
"That only means one thing, Champ." His voice was lower now, rougher. "You're letting me."
My breath hitched again.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he started undoing the buttons of my uniform.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A shiver ran down my spine at the way his fingers brushed against my skin with every button undone. He wasn't in a hurry—his movements were excruciatingly patient, his touch lingering as if savoring every inch of revealed skin.
I exhaled sharply, heat pooling in my stomach.
He wasn't even doing much yet—but my body... it was already burning.
I could feel the pressure of his fingertips pressing into my chest, the subtle friction igniting something deep inside me.
"Deux..."
His name barely escaped my lips, my voice already betraying me.
I knew I wasn't in heat yet—the first signs hadn't surfaced—but my body...
My body felt like it was already melting.
Like my blood was rushing, coursing through my veins at an intoxicating speed.
And then, finally, my uniform was undone.
Deux's expression shifted.
The seriousness faded, replaced by something else.
A slow, almost predatory smile curved his lips.
Like he had just uncovered the most breathtaking sight in the world.
I couldn't read him.
What was he thinking?
His eyes, dark and smoldering, held secrets I wasn't sure I was ready to uncover.
...
...
...
Deux's POV
Right now, I'm facing Champ.
And despite trying to contain myself, to hold back the fire burning through my veins, my restraint is hanging by a thread.
His face—so breathtaking, so intoxicating—is twisted in an expression of conflict. It's as if he's fighting against something he can't quite suppress, a sensation too overwhelming to resist.
His brows are furrowed, his forehead creased, and yet... beneath that struggle, there's something else.
Something dangerously enticing.
I can see it—the pleasure simmering beneath his resistance.
And it only fuels me more.
His golden-amber eyes, an exquisite mix of warmth and intensity, are locked onto mine. They are mesmerizing, captivating, utterly irresistible.
I want to be the only thing he sees.
I want to be the only thing on his mind right now.
I want to claim not just his body—but his thoughts, his very being.
His cheeks, naturally flushed with a soft pink hue, are now a deeper shade of red, making him look even more stunning beneath me.
And those lips...
Those lips, so temptingly soft, so utterly inviting, make my own ache with the desire to sink my teeth into them, to taste and devour them whole.
I want to touch him.
I want to drown in him.
And as long as he's here—beneath me, unmoving, not pushing me away—I will take my time, savoring every inch of him.
Slowly, deliberately, I moved my right hand.
With just my index finger, I started at his forehead, letting the tip of it graze over his skin with featherlight strokes.
I traced the curve of his brows, watching as his lashes tremble at the contact.
Then, I moved lower.
His eyes fluttered shut as I dragged my finger down the bridge of his nose, his breathing turning shallow.
I traced the sharp line of his nose with my fingertip, following the delicate curve until I reached its tip. But I didn't stop there.
No, I let my touch wander lower—slowly, deliberately—until it landed exactly where I wanted it to be.
His lips.
The very lips I had dreamt of, imagined, ached for in the deepest corners of my mind.
With nothing but the pad of my finger, I ghosted over them, feeling the warmth lingering there, the faintest tremor in his breath as it fanned against my skin. It was warm, unsteady—completely vulnerable.
I pressed down.
Just a little.
Just enough to feel the way his lips parted under my touch, how they yielded—soft, pliant, devastatingly tempting.
The heat between us coiled tighter, thick, electric, like a live wire sparking beneath my skin. It gripped me, choked me, made every breath felt like a struggle.
I couldn't hold back anymore.
I wouldn't hold back anymore.
Not when he was right there—his body inches from mine, his breaths uneven, his lips slightly parted as if waiting, as if inviting.
Not when my chest was tight with something raw, something undeniable.
Not when my pulse hammered so violently that I felt like I might break apart if I didn't taste him soon.
Not when everything in me screamed one undeniable truth.
Champ is mine.
A quiet exhale slipped from my lips as I let my index finger glide forward, slipping past the soft swell of his parted mouth.
I expected resistance. A flinch. A hesitation.
But instead—
He let me.
A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at my lips as warmth engulfed my fingertip, his breath washing over my skin.
Then, I felt it.
His tongue.
Soft. Hot. Sinfully wet.
It flicked against my fingertip—just once, just enough to make my pulse stutter before it curled around me, teasing, tracing, exploring. A deliberate, exquisite torture.
The entire time, his eyes—those golden-amber eyes—never left mine.
He was watching me.
Testing me.
Taunting me.
And God help me, he was driving me insane.
The way his lips closed around my finger, the slow, slick drag of his tongue, the way he sucked ever so lightly—just enough to make my breath hitch, just enough to make my knees tremble.
I couldn't look away.
I couldn't breathe.
And when I pressed my finger against his tongue, mirroring his movements—pressing, teasing, exploring in return—I watched the reaction ripple through him.
The faintest twitch of his brows.
The barely-there shudder of his lashes.
The tiniest, most intoxicating little sound that escaped his throat before he quickly swallowed it down.
I wanted more.
I wanted to see him unravel.
I wanted to hear what other sounds he was holding back, feel the way his body would react under my hands, push him past the point of control until he was trembling for me.
But more than that—
I needed to know.
Did he want this?
I watched him carefully, every flick of my finger precise, every movement calculated.
Because despite the heat between us, despite how much I ached to consume him whole, and even if he is an Omega— Champ is still a man.
And I refused to take more than he was willing to give.
Not until he asked me to.
So I watched.
I studied him.
I waited.
Waited for him to stop me, to push me away, to show even the slightest hint of resistance.
But he didn't.
Not when I played with his tongue, teasing, stroking, testing the limits of his control.
Not when I deepened the pressure against his lips, my fingertip pressing just a little harder, demanding more from him.
Not even when I finally—slowly—slipped my soaked finger free from his mouth, the warmth of his tongue lingering on my skin like a brand.
His lips stayed parted, soft and glistening, his breath uneven, his golden-amber eyes locked onto mine with something unreadable—expectant.
As if waiting.
Waiting for what I would do next.
Perfect.
I brought my fingertip back to his lips, tracing the swollen shape one last time before dragging it lower—down to his chin, then further still, a slow, teasing path down the smooth column of his throat.
A hitch in his breath.
A faint tremor.
A moment of hesitation—followed by nothing.
He didn't stop me.
So I smirked.
And I continued.
By the time my touch reached his chest, he was already shifting beneath me, his body betraying him, tension rippling through him like a current he couldn't suppress.
And still—he let me.
Let me have him.
Let me explore.
Let me take my time.
So I did.
I let my fingers dance across his chest, tracing, memorizing, teasing. Until I reached my destination—his right nipple.
Already hardened.
Already reacting.
A sharp inhale.
A delicious tremor ran through him, as if his body was caught between pulling away or leaning in, unsure whether to deny or surrender.
I pressed down.
Soft at first. Just enough to feel.
Feel the heat of his skin.
Feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.
Feel the way he was breaking apart before me.
Then, a pinch.
A slow, deliberate roll between my thumb and index finger.
"Nggh—!"
The sound that spilled from his lips—raw, uncontrolled, utterly intoxicating—sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
More.
I wanted more.
And then—
He gasped.
His hands flew up to his mouth, covering his lips, as if mortified by the noise he had just made.
Adorable.
Absolutely, devastatingly intoxicating.
The way his flushed cheeks deepened to a darker shade of red.
The way his chest rose and fell in sharp, ragged breaths.
The way his eyes—wide, gleaming with something between desire and restraint—pleaded for something he still refused to name.
I couldn't look away.
His body.
His reactions.
Everything about him was a masterpiece.
So I moved again, circling my fingers over the stiffened peak, teasing, flicking—watching as his body twisted beneath me, his back arching ever so slightly.
His hands found my wrists—not to push me away, but to ground himself.
To anchor himself.
To hold on.
And in that moment, I knew.
He was melting.
Coming undone.
And I was the one unraveling him.
I let him drown in sensation, let the tension coil tighter and tighter—until I felt it.
That sweet, vulnerable moment when his breath stuttered, when his body arched, when he was teetering on the edge of something he wasn't ready to admit.
And then—I stopped.
A small mercy.
A deliberate pause.
A moment to let him catch his breath, to let him ache for more.
The second I pulled back, his grip on my wrists tightened.
As if begging.
His chest heaved, his breath uneven, his body burning.
And I smiled.
"You like this, don't you, Champ?"
Because I saw it.
Felt it.
Even if his lips refused to form the words, his body had already given me the truth.
And I...
I was going to make him accept it.
I wasn't done with him.
Not even close.
As soon as he finally released my hands—reluctantly, hesitantly—I took his right hand in mine and brought it close to my face.
I inhaled deeply, letting his scent flood my senses—lavender. Pure, fresh, intoxicating. It was uniquely his, and I drank it in like a man starved.
Slowly, I cradled his hand between both of mine, feeling the warmth of his skin, the softness, the way his pulse thrummed beneath my fingertips.
Mine.
The thought sent heat coiling low in my stomach.
I memorized him. Every delicate line, every faint callus, every inch of smooth, untouched skin. And then, with deliberate slowness, I pressed my lips to the center of his palm.
A single, searing kiss.
All while locking eyes with him.
Champ's lips parted, the corners twitching up in a small, breathless smile.
Encouraging.
Inviting.
I continued.
Dragging my lips over the soft, sensitive skin of his wrist, I trailed slow, burning kisses upward. Each one deliberate. Each one claiming.
I didn't rush. I wanted him to feel it.
The weight of my mouth.
The heat of my breath.
The way every kiss told him exactly what I wanted to do to him.
My lips followed a teasing, unhurried path.
Up his forearm.
Across his bicep, feeling the faint flex of muscle beneath my mouth.
Up, up, until I reached his shoulder.
The second my lips brushed against it, he let out a soft, almost shy chuckle—a sound that sent a dangerous kind of satisfaction surging through me.
But I wasn't finished.
Not yet.
I leaned in further, letting my lips graze over his collarbone, tasting the warmth of his skin, feeling the way his pulse fluttered at every teasing press of my mouth.
And then—
I reached the place I had been craving the most.
His neck.
Smooth. Untouched. Absolutely pristine.
My mouth hovered over the right side of his throat, anticipation crackling between us like a live wire.
And then—his hand shot up.
Fingers tangled in my hair, gripping the back of my head.
Tight.
Not enough to push me away.
But just enough to make me pause.
I stilled, waiting.
If he wanted me to stop, I would. He knew exactly what I was about to do.
But instead of pushing me away...
He did the opposite.
Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled me closer.
A silent permission.
A signal.
An invitation.
For Alphas, marking an Omega was instinct. A primal, undeniable urge. Most did it without consent. Without thought.
But with Champ...
With Champ, it was different.
I wanted him to want this.
I wanted him to crave it the way I did.
Because he wasn't just any Omega.
He was mine.
His breath was warm against my skin, his chest rising and falling in uneven, rapid movements.
And then, he spoke.
"Deux... please..."
My name fell from his lips like a whispered confession.
Our eyes met—dark, unreadable, charged with something that sent fire rushing through my veins.
I gave a slow nod.
And then—I parted my lips.
I let my fangs extend—sharp, eager, aching to sink into his perfect, unmarked skin.
And I did.
I bit down.
My teeth embedded deep into his neck, claiming him.
Champ gasped, his entire body tensing.
His hands flew to my back, fingers clutching desperately, nails digging in as the sharp, pleasurable pain lanced through him.
But I didn't stop.
Not yet.
His body fought the sensation at first, stiffening against me, caught between resistance and surrender. But I knew.
I knew the pain would shift.
I knew it would become something else.
Something deeper.
Something pleasurable.
And when it did—
He would never be able to deny me again.
The moment my fangs fully embedded in his skin, I released it.
Alpha toxins.
It spread through his bloodstream instantly—a chemical reaction so potent, so devastatingly primal, that no Omega could resist it.
It was meant to bond us.
To connect us.
To make sure that from this moment forward, he was mine.
And just as I expected—
His grip on my back weakened.
His body, which had been taut with pain, slowly melted into my arms.
His breaths turned shaky, uneven.
"De-Deux! Mfff—!"
His voice cracked, a tremor running through him as the sensation overtook his body, swallowing him whole.
Because the instant the toxin flooded his system, the pain—sharp, stinging, demanding—was drowned by something else.
Something far more dangerous.
Something undeniable.
Pleasure.
Raw. Overwhelming. Unstoppable.
His breath hitched, his body pressed closer, every inch of him burning against mine. And in that moment, I knew—
He could feel what I felt.
And I could feel what he did.
The heat curling in his stomach.
The arousal that twisted through his limbs like wildfire.
The satisfaction so deep, so consuming, that it left no room for doubt.
This was bonding.
This was completion.
This was the pure, unfiltered euphoria of knowing that from this moment on—
He is mine.
Only mine.
I pulled my fangs from his neck, slow, deliberate, savoring the way his breath came out in short, trembling gasps.
I wasn't done.
My tongue flicked out, tracing over the fresh punctures, sucking gently to clean the tiny droplets of blood that had escaped.
And God, his taste—
It was addictive.
Sweet. Salty. Utterly intoxicating.
A dangerous kind of delicious that made me want to sink my teeth into him all over again.
But I forced myself to lean back.
And there, against his flushed, overheated skin—was my mark.
Bold. Clear. Permanent.
A symbol that no one else could claim him.
That no one else would ever dare try.
Because if anyone so much as thought about taking him from me—
I would destroy them.
Every last one of them.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his once more.
His lips—so swollen, so perfect—were parted, his breath still uneven, his eyes hazy with something dangerous.
Something that made my chest tighten.
Want. Need. Desperation.
And acceptance.
Because there was no turning back now.
Champ is mine.
And I am his.
His lips curled into a soft, breathless smile, exhaustion weighing heavy in his golden-amber eyes.
He looked completely spent.
As if I had drained every ounce of energy from his body—and maybe, I had.
"Deux..." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying an undeniable warmth that made something deep within me ache.
I reached out, cupping his left cheek, letting my thumb brush against his smooth, heated skin.
I needed to feel him.
To anchor myself in this moment.
But before I could pull away, he covered my hands with his own.
Holding me there.
Holding onto me.
Then, slowly, he closed his eyes.
And that was when I saw it.
Peace.
That was what settled across his face.
A deep, bone-melting tranquility that made something inside me tighten.
Because this was trust.
This was surrender.
I watched as his body relaxed, melting into the comfort of sleep.
Even though desire still burned hot in my veins, I knew this was enough—for now.
I had marked him.
I had claimed him.
And then, just as gently, he let go.
His body slackened, and I knew—he had succumbed to sleep.
Completely worn out from everything I had done to him.
Marking him had been enough for tonight—not just because I wanted to claim him as mine, but because now, no matter where he was, even if we were apart, I would always know if he was in danger.
The mark wasn't just a claim of ownership—it was a bond. A connection that would let me feel his emotions, sense his well-being, and protect him in ways no one else could.
I could still feel the lingering effects of what we had done.
Heat.
Satisfaction.
Need.
Even in sleep, his body still responded to what had happened.
I exhaled slowly, pushing down the primal urges threatening to resurface.
I wanted to explore him further, to claim every inch of him, especially the untouched places below... but not now.
Not yet, Champ.
Instead, I focused on taking care of him.
And that's when I noticed it.
The dampness.
The undeniable evidence of what we had done.
And it wasn't just a faint wetness—it had seeped through his pants, leaving behind a visible stain. The source of it unmistakable, a fluid he had released.
The mark I had given him had done this—had sent waves of pleasure rolling through him so intensely that his body had leaked proof of it.
I dragged my teeth over my lower lip.
My breath caught as I adjusted my hold, pressing my palm lightly against the curve of his lower back. The heat of him bled through the fabric, and my fingers twitched with the desire to peel away the ruined fabric and see for myself just how much his body had reacted.
He had never been touched 'there' before.
Never been impregnated in the way I intended to someday.
Yet even without direct contact, his body had responded so beautifully, surrendering completely to the effects of my mark.
And that realization sent a sharp, possessive hunger coursing through me.
To spread him open and admire the 'place' that had soaked itself with proof of his desire.
The thought alone made my throat go dry.
He was still asleep, oblivious to my wandering gaze, vulnerable and unguarded. If I wanted to, I could have slipped my fingers inside of 'it' just enough to expose and feel what I really wanted to see.
Would he whimper even in sleep, unconsciously seeking more?
I clenched my jaw, exhaling harshly through my nose.
The temptation was overwhelming.
I wanted more.
I wanted to see him.
To explore every inch of him.
My gut clenched.
It was more than I had expected.
His body had reacted so completely to me, even though I hadn't even touched him where I really wanted to.
A groan built in my throat.
I could tear these pants off of him right now.
I could part his legs wider, bare him to my hungry gaze, let my fingers explore the heat between his thighs and feel for myself just how soaked he had become.
Would his body welcome me?
Would his 'entrance' twitch at the slightest touch, eager and sensitive from the effects of my Alpha toxins?
The thought alone sent a sharp pulse of desire through me.
But then—
He sighed in his sleep, shifting slightly, his body seeking warmth.
And just like that, reality hit me like ice water.
Not yet.
Not when he was already exhausted.
Not when I wanted our first time to be when he is awake, aware, and begging for me.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my instincts back into submission.
I adjusted his position, making sure he was comfortable, though my hands lingered longer than necessary on his thighs. My fingertips brushed over the faint wetness one last time before I pulled away.
I couldn't let myself go too far tonight.
Not when things were still unstable.
Not when danger loomed so close.
I couldn't risk putting you—or the child we might conceive—into peril.
Not when the world around us is still so uncertain.
Not when I couldn't yet promise you a peaceful future.
So instead of indulging my desires, I did what was best for him.
As I tried to suppress myself from getting any further, gently, I hooked my fingers under the waistband of his damp pants and slid them down, exposing the part of him I had been craving to see revealing more of his flushed skin. His thighs twitched slightly at the cool air, and I caught sight of the leaked fluid more prominent now that the pants were off.
My fingers brushed over his hip, lingering just long enough to make me ache, but I forced myself to move with care, with patience.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
He was so sensitive here.
His untouched and perfectly hue of pink 'entrance' was still slick, evidence of his body's response glistening under the dim light. It clenched faintly, as if still feeling the effects of my Alpha toxins, as if waiting for something more.
My vision blurred for a moment with sheer want.
I could have touched him.
I could have spread him open, could have traced my fingers along that delicate place, could have pressed a single fingertip inside and felt for myself just how warm, how soft he was.
I clenched my fists.
Not tonight.
I reached for a fresh pair of boxers from his dresser and cleaned him a bit. I made quick work of slipping them onto him, making sure they fit comfortably against his skin. Then, I lifted him just enough to replace his pants as well, dressing him with the same care I would if he were something fragile.
Once he was clothed again, Carefully, I scooped him into my arms, his body limp against me, his warmth seeping into my own.
I brought him to his room, laying him down.
I wrapped him in the softest blankets, making sure he was warm. I adjusted his pillow, ensuring he would sleep undisturbed.
And still, my gaze lingered.
I sat beside him, letting my thoughts drift to what I had just discovered.
And as I watched him, my heart swelled with something deep and unexplainable.
A tenderness I had never felt before.
I reached out, fingers tangling in his light brown hair—the strands glinting with hints of gold under the dim light, shining in a way that made him look almost ethereal.
Beautiful.
So painfully beautiful.
And finally, just before I allowed him to drift into deeper sleep, I traced my fingers along his cheek, offering him one last touch of affection.
But just as I was about to pull away—
He grabbed my hand.
His grip was weak, barely there, but I felt it.
Like he didn't want me to go.
Like he needed me here.
So I stayed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the way his lips parted slightly in sleep.
And then—something caught my eye.
His left hand.
Specifically, his ring finger.
A gold ring.
Old, worn, yet well-kept.
I knew this ring.
When we first met, he said It had belonged to his Omega mother—a gift from his Alpha father.
Champ had never taken it off.
Because his mission in life was to find his mother.
I knew that.
I had always known that.
But as I looked closer, I noticed something I had never seen before.
There, etched along the surface of the ring, were tiny symbols—hidden unless you looked at them from up close.
Roman numerals.
Six of them, carefully engraved.
C̅MXCIV
I frowned, my mind trying to piece it together.
It was a number, but I wasn't fluent in Roman numerals.
Still, something about it felt familiar.
And then—
It hit me.
My breath caught in my throat.
The realization slammed into me like a force I wasn't prepared for.
I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening.
If I was right...
If my suspicion was correct...
These numbers weren't just random design.
They were a code.
An access code.
And not just to any place—but to that place.
The facility.
The one where Omegas were kept, where that 'failed experiment' was hidden away.
The one where, not long ago, I had caught the faintest trace of lavender.
The scent of Champ.
My entire body tensed.
Could it be?
Could the "failed experiment Omega" locked away inside that cell be—
His mother?
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
There was only one way to find out.
Only one way to confirm my suspicion.
Only one way to get the truth.
I exhaled slowly, glancing back at Champ.
He was still deep in sleep, unaware of what I had just discovered.
I reached out, brushing my fingers across his forehead in a silent promise.
"I'm sorry, Champ," I whispered. "I have to leave you for now. I wish I could take you with me, but it's too dangerous."
I pressed my lips together, determination settling in my chest.
"I have to uncover the truth first. And once I do—I'll come back for you."
I stood, casting one last glance at him.
"Deux..." Champ mumbled softly.
I glanced at him, but he was fast asleep—peaceful, even. His face looked so serene, as if he had fallen into the deepest, most restful slumber.
My eyes wandered around the room until they landed on my black coat, the one I had deliberately left behind. It was draped over his study table.
With quiet steps, I retrieved the coat and carefully peeled back his blanket, making sure not to wake him. Instead, I gently laid my coat over him, letting it serve as a makeshift blanket—almost as if it were an embrace in my absence.
As soon as I did, Champ's lips curled into a small, contented smile, his body unconsciously relaxing under the weight of the coat. He looked so warm, so at ease, as if he could feel the silent care wrapped around him.
And at that moment, I couldn't help but smile too.
Then, without another word, I turned and slipped into the night.
My mission had begun to find Champ's Omega mother.
End of Chapter 22