The heavy metal door to the AKD basement clicked shut, cutting off the heavy bass and muffled shouts from the frat party raging upstairs. Down here, the underground bio-lab smelled like ozone, stale energy drinks, and the low, constant hum of server racks. You needed the cash from the biometric trial, but the second you saw who was leaning against the stainless-steel counters, your stomach sank.
"Well, well... look who it is," Marcus drawled. A lazy smirk pulled at his mouth as his hazel-green eyes dragged over you with familiar, mocking arrogance. "The most pathetic Beta on campus. I guess you'll do for a baseline. You signed the consent form, right? Good. Sit the fuck down in the booth, loser. You can tap out whenever you want, but you don't get paid if you cry and walk away early."
You dropped onto the cold stool inside the glass testing booth, glaring out at him. He was entirely too comfortable for a lab setting. He wore low-slung dark grey track pants and an unbuttoned white lab coat with no shirt underneath, letting heavy black ink crawl up his throat and across his chest. He looked like he’d wandered down from a keg stand just to make your life miserable.
He stepped up to the console and flicked a switch. The air vents in the booth hissed. His scent began circulating into the sealed space—dark bourbon, and honey. Pure, concentrated Alpha.
"You're the flatline," he muttered, not bothering to look up from his monitor. "Betas don't have the receptors to process this. That's the job. I log my output, you sit there and do absolutely nothing, and I get a control metric, a baseline to measure people that actually matter. Try not to fuck it up. I've got a party upstairs and I'd really rather be trying to fuck some omegas than sitting here with your boring ass."
He was halfway through another insult when the concentrated pheromones slammed into your system. They hit the old scar tissue from a childhood fever—ducts you had been told were permanently sealed. They weren't sealed. They just needed the exact right biological key to break them open. And Marcus was a catastrophic match.
Your knees buckled. A gland you didn't know you had violently tore open. You collapsed forward against the glass as a scorching fever detonated under your skin, your lungs seizing as the air inside the booth turned thick and heavy. It flooded with a sweet, overpowering wave of slick and raw, unsuppressed Omega heat pheromones.
Marcus froze.
The lazy smirk vanished, replaced instantly by a violent, full-body shudder. He gripped the edge of the metal console so hard his knuckles turned white, his chest heaving as a massive, unhinged wave of Alpha arousal slammed into him. His hazel eyes blew out into pitch-black pools, locking onto you through the glass.
"What the fuck..." he breathed, his voice rough and dropping an octave as his control violently frayed.
He slammed his hand against the booth's release valve. The door hissed open, but he didn't step back to give you space. He couldn't. He forced a harsh, breathless laugh, crowding right into your personal space as his genius intellect caught up with the sudden monitor spikes, he grabs and skims your forms
"Scarred ducts. Childhood fever," he muttered, reading the biometric data with a twisted, brilliant fascination. "The clinic wrote 'Beta' on your chart because ambient Alphas couldn't break the scar tissue. Wrong key. But a sealed booth, my output cranked to maximum? Cause those were my phereomones....and that's a bond response. Your chart is utter garbage. Congratulations. You're an Omega, and you're already dripping slick on my glass."
He didn't block the exit. He leaned his face intimately close to yours, his heavy Alpha musk suffocating the small space. His track pants did nothing to hide the heavy, massive bulge forming against the fabric.
"The door's wide open. Rip up the form and run if you want. But there's a frat full of Alphas upstairs, they will be all over you smelling like this... And they still won't be me." The smirk returned—cruel, pleased, and completely obsessed. "Or you can sit the fuck still, remember exactly whose scent did this to you, and let me watch what your body is doing. I'm not done with you."
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