Rafael had always thought he knew what "clingy" ant.
He’d watched noble wives trail their husbands at galas like decorative shadows. He’d seen young ogas latch onto alphas in public out of performance, out of fear, and out of training. He’d rolled his eyes at it with the superiority of a man who had never needed anyone’s warmth to regulate his body.
Then his pheromones decided to riot.
Not the sharp, controlled flare of an oga pushing dominance into a room, Rafael knew how to weaponize himself. This was different. This was private biology, unglamorous and stubborn, a slow, insistent heat under the skin that made his body look at Gregoris like he was a solution.
Like he was oxygen.
It didn’t help that the nausea had eased in the last week.
Not vanished, not gone like a miracle, but reduced to sothing Rafael could negotiate with. He could eat without treating every al like a duel. He could stand without the world tilting. He could go a full morning without contemplating dramatic death in front of a sink.
And most importantly, he didn’t need what Gabriel had needed.
No nutritional pouches. No physician hovering like a vulture. No "drink this or I will personally have security escort you to the dining table" threats.
No one had to bully Rafael into surviving.
Which ant he had enough energy to be... inconvenient.
So Rafael ended up in Gregoris’s arms while Gregoris worked.
In Gregoris’s office.
On Gregoris’s lap, half curled against his chest like he belonged there.
Gregoris signed deploynt schedules with one hand, his tablet glowing over the desk, the estate’s ether wards pulsing on a muted holo-map beside it. His other arm held Rafael at the waist with steady pressure, as if even this had beco part of periter control.
He should have been annoyed.
He wasn’t.
Gregoris’s mouth held a faint, smug line that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with the fact that Rafael was here by choice. Just the simple, almost infuriating reality of Rafael seeking him out because his body wanted him.
Because Rafael wanted him.
"You are in my way," Gregoris said calmly, purely for form.
"I’m not," Rafael murmured into his throat.
"You are actively on my lap."
"Yes," Rafael said, and inhaled like he’d found the answer to a problem no one else could solve. "And you’re still breathing. So it’s fine."
Gregoris’s gaze dropped to him, dark and pleased. "You used to look at like I was a threat."
Rafael’s mouth curved against his skin. "You were."
"And now you’re using as a mattress."
"I’m pregnant," Rafael muttered. "I’m allowed."
Gregoris’s thumb moved once at Rafael’s waist, slow and possessive without being rough. "You’re also being honest."
Rafael went very still for half a second, then scoffed softly as if that accusation was rude. "My pheromones are."
"They are," Gregoris agreed, and his smugness deepened a fraction. "And I’m enjoying the fact that this ti, it’s not because I cornered you."
Rafael’s eyes opened a slit, sharp and amused. "Are you proud of yourself?"
Gregoris’s expression remained perfectly calm. "Imnsely."
Rafael huffed a laugh, then shifted closer anyway, as if proving the point.
Gregoris’s stylus paused for exactly a beat. His gaze tracked the movent with the kind of attention that usually belonged to threats.
"You ca in here to rest," Gregoris reminded him.
"It’s quiet," Rafael murmured.
"This is not quiet," Gregoris said, glancing at the live comms and active maps.
"It’s quiet because it’s you," Rafael replied, and that ended the argunt in the most unfair way possible.
Gregoris exhaled through his nose. "Your nausea is better, so you’ve beco insufferable."
"I always was," Rafael said sleepily. "You just didn’t have close enough to notice."
Gregoris’s arm tightened slightly. "Rafael."
"Mhm."
"You’re safe," Gregoris said, voice lower now, the smugness turning into sothing warr and more dangerous. "dically."
Rafael’s lashes fluttered. He didn’t pretend not to understand. "Yes."
"And you know what that implies."
Rafael’s mouth curved, small and wicked. "That you’re going to stop pretending you’re annoyed."
Gregoris’s eyes darkened. "That I’m going to stop being patient."
Rafael’s breath hitched, barely, but Gregoris caught it like he caught everything.
Then Rafael tilted his face up, close enough that their mouths almost brushed. Close enough that the air thickened, pheromones turning the room soft at the edges.
Gregoris stared at him for a long mont, smug, pleased, and far too satisfied that Rafael was here without fear.
Rafael exhaled, satisfied, and relaxed like a cat that had successfully stolen the warst spot in the house.
Gregoris’s stylus moved again.
The holo-map kept breathing in muted ether light.
And for a whole, precious minute, nothing existed beyond the slow rhythm of Gregoris’s pulse under Rafael’s cheek and the quiet, indulgent smugness in Gregoris’s posture, like he was daring the world to interrupt him.
The world did.
Rafael’s comm ring cut through the room, a soft chi that ant "family" and therefore "problem."
Rafael didn’t move at first. He pretended the sound was hypothetical. He buried his face a fraction deeper into Gregoris’s neck as if ignoring reality would make it go away.
It chid again.
Gregoris didn’t look at the desk. He didn’t break his calm. He simply said, "Answer it."
Rafael made a small, offended sound. "No."
Gregoris’s arm tightened just enough to be noticeable. "Yes."
Rafael lifted his head an inch and glared at him like he was being betrayed. Gregoris looked back, entirely unrepentant, the smugness still there, because Rafael was pouting while sitting on his lap, and that was, frankly, an achievent.
The comm chid a third ti.
Rafael sighed like a martyr, reached out, and tapped the accept icon.
A holo-window flickered above the desk.
Layle Rosenroth appeared, frad by the interior of a car. City lights slid past behind him, and the angle suggested he was sitting in the back seat, posture tense enough to be formal even through a screen. His expression was controlled.
Which ant Delphine had happened.
Layle’s eyes landed on Rafael first, then shifted to Gregoris behind him, because Gregoris’s presence was impossible to miss when Rafael was literally in his lap.
Layle’s gaze flicked back with a look that said, ’Of course you’re there.’
"Rafael," Layle said, and his voice had the careful tone he used when he was trying not to sound like he was panicking.
Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "Layle."
"I’m calling to warn you," Layle continued, and his eyes darted once, as if soone in the front seat might be listening. "Mother saw the announcent."
Rafael’s mouth curved faintly. "And?"
Layle’s expression tightened. "And she’s... not well."
Rafael’s smile sharpened. "She’s furious."
"She broke a glass," Layle admitted, then winced as if he regretted saying it out loud. "Possibly more than one."
Rafael humd, unimpressed. "So she’s being herself."
Layle’s jaw flexed. "She thinks you’re being... forced to be married and that the pregnancy is a pressure point."
Reviews
All reviews (0)