Chapter 11: Chapter eleven

Alexander’s POV.

My phone was ringing.

Loudly.

Offensively.

I groaned, dragging my face out of the pillow and blinking blearily at the unfamiliar ceiling. It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up.

Hotel.

Business trip.

One bed.

Brandon.

My body froze as the memories came crashing back. The suite. The accusation. The door.

I turned—just enough to confirm that the other side of the bed was empty. Sheets smoothed. No Brandon. No sign of a six-foot-tall alpha menace lurking nearby.

The phone kept ringing.

I fumbled for it with half-asleep hands and answered without checking the screen. “What?”

“Oh my God,” came Kira’s bright, chirpy voice, “you sound like you’ve been emotionally compromised.”

“Because I have,” I hissed, dragging the comforter over my head. “What did you do?”. I voiced out before I could… hold up! Her surprise—that bitch!

“What do you mean?” she said, all faux innocence. “I was just calling to ask if you liked your surprise.”

I sat up, alarm bells going off in my head. “Kira.”

“Yes?”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“Ohhh,” she said, drawing it out like a villain mid-monologue. “Just helped a little. Booked your hotel room. Made sure you got the best one available. The one with the most… ambiance.”

I blinked. “The couple’s suite?!”

“Ding ding ding!” she sang. “Winner, winner, shared-bed dinner.”

I dropped my head into my hands. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m tired of watching you drool over him in silence and pine like a sad Victorian maiden. You needed a push.”

“Kira,” I said slowly, “I work for him. This is literally sabotage.”

“This is fate,” she countered. “And also some creative scheduling. My husband may or may not have reserved every other suite in the hotel.”

“You what?”

“Don’t worry,” she said cheerfully. “It was super romantic. We used our anniversary budget.”

I groaned. “Your anniversary gift was booking your best friend into a shared bed with a man who terrifies him?”.

“Terrifies and turns him on. And I am literally doing the lord’s work.” she corrected.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Say hi to Alpha Cole for me,” she chirped. “And try not to die from sexual tension before lunch!”

Click.

I stared at my phone, half-tempted to throw it out the window.

“Mr Cole?”. I called out, still lying there on the bed, making no attempt to actually get up. Brandon wasn’t anywhere in sight. No jacket draped over a chair. No shoes by the door.

Then I saw the note on the nightstand.

Urgent meeting. You’re free until noon. Try not to make us noticeable.

– B

Of course. I tossed the note aside and flopped backward onto the bed.

Big mistake.

Because the pillow I landed on smelled like him.

That clean, expensive scent—woodsy and sharp, like a high-end storm cloud—was embedded in the sheets, the blankets, the air itself. It was ridiculous. No one should smell that good. Especially not someone who weaponized it against unsuspecting assistants with zero emotional defenses.

“Fuck…” A moan slipped past my lips before I could stop it, low and half-choked as I inhaled even deeper. My fingers curled into the sheets, pulling them closer like they might wrap me in him. My whole body ached.

I pressed my hips down against the mattress, grinding into it and stifling another groan. My hand slid down between my legs and squeezed, kneading myself through my pajamas, feeling the wetness already leaking out of me. Fuck, I wanted him so bad. Even if it’s just once, at least I’d let him fuck himself out of my fucking system or I could do it too.

"Oh, shit," I whispered. It came out breathy and desperate. I rolled onto my back, and the second the cool air hit my cock, a shudder went through me. The ache was unbearable now. I slid my fingers under the waistband of my pajamas, but it wasn't enough.

I pulled them down, along with my boxers, until my cock was free. I didn't even try to hold back the moan that escaped my lips at the first touch of my fingers, wrapping around the shaft and giving it a squeeze. I imagined it was him. Imagined his big, warm hand closing around me, his thumb sliding over the head and rubbing the precum into my skin.

"Shit," I gasped, stroking myself and squeezing my eyes shut.

What if he walks in right now?

That thought slammed through me like a lightning strike.

I bolted upright, kicked off the blankets, and practically tripped over myself as I stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. My heart was racing, my face on fire, and I couldn’t decide if I needed a cold shower or an exorcism.

Probably both.

The mirror didn’t pull any punches.

I looked wrecked. Hair a mess, face flushed, eyes wild with the kind of desperation I couldn’t pass off as anything other than what it was.

Pathetic, I told my reflection, bracing my palms on the sink. Utterly, irreparably pathetic.

Brandon Cole had been gone less than two hours, and I was already falling apart like a hormonal teenager. All it took was a note. A scent. An empty bed