Jet tried to crawl away, regretting everything, but every attempt ended the same—Han grabbing him, pulling him back effortlessly.
"Running away now?" Han's voice was dark with amusement. "I thought you wanted to be in control."
Jet shivered, his body betraying him. His legs trembled, his backside aching from the sheer intensity of it all.
Han smirked, watching him struggle. "Go on, choose a position."
Jet exhaled shakily, forcing himself to steady. If he was going down, he was going down his way.
He pushed Han back onto the bed, straddling him. His breath hitched as he sank down, inch by inch, feeling every stretch, every burn. His fingers gripped Han's chest, nails digging in as his head tilted back, a shaky moan slipping past his lips.
Han's grip tightened around his waist, his voice a low growl beneath him.
"That's it… take it all."
Han let him take the lead, watching with dark, hungry eyes as Jet adjusted, his body trembling from exhaustion but still taking him in so perfectly.
"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Han murmured, his voice deep, teasing. His hands found Jet's waist, steadying him but not moving—not yet.
Jet shot him a glare, his breath still uneven. "...Shut up," he muttered, shifting his hips slowly.
Han groaned at the sensation, his grip tightening. Jet felt it—the way Han was barely holding himself back, letting him move at his own pace. It was almost sweet.
But Jet wasn't fooled.
He could see it in Han's eyes. The restraint, the barely-contained hunger just waiting for him to slip up.
Jet smirked, testing his limits. He rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, feeling Han twitch beneath him. His confidence surged. "What? Thought you said I was in con—"
Snap.
Jet barely had time to react before Han thrust up, slamming deep into him. His words cut off in a sharp gasp, his body arching as pleasure crashed through him.
Han chuckled darkly, dragging Jet down into a searing kiss. "You talk too much."
Then, his grip tightened—and Jet realized too late—
Han wasn't letting him stay in control anymore.
Not even close.
Jet stirred as the alarm buzzed beside his ear, its sharp chime breaking through the haze of exhaustion. His eyes fluttered open, his body heavy, aching from the night before.
Then, realization hit. He was wrapped in Han's arms, their bodies pressed together beneath the warmth of the blankets.
He barely moved, but Han's grip tightened, pulling him closer.
"Sleep," Han murmured, voice still thick with drowsiness. "It's too early."
Jet exhaled, his breath uneven. Han's pheromones still clung to the air, strong, unwavering. That's when he froze.
Yesterday had barely taken the edge off Han's rut. A quarter—maybe. Not nearly enough.
Jet swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how sore he already was. If Han fully recharged… a fourth round was inevitable.
A hand ghosted over his waist, warm and steady. "Don't overthink it," Han mumbled against his hair. "I care about your health just as much as you do mine."
Jet didn't dare move, his body already worn from the night before. But Han's warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, made it hard to stay on edge.
Still, the lingering weight of Han's pheromones wasn't something Jet could ignore. His instincts whispered warnings—this wasn't over.
Han was quiet for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against Jet's waist. "You're thinking too much," he muttered, his voice low, almost teasing.
Jet scoffed softly. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who—" He cut himself off, biting his lip.
Han's eyes cracked open, amusement flickering beneath the remaining haze of his rut. "Who what?" He tilted his head slightly, watching Jet's reaction.
Jet refused to answer, turning his face into Han's chest instead.
Han exhaled a quiet chuckle, his grip tightening just a little, just enough to make Jet aware of how effortlessly he could hold him down.
"You handled last night well," he murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth. "Think you can handle the morning too?"
Jet stiffened. "Han—"
Han hummed, burying his face into Jet's hair, his breath hot against his skin. "Relax. I won't push you too much." A pause, then a smirk in his tone. "Unless you want me to."
Jet clenched his fists against Han's chest, knowing full well he had no energy left to argue.
And worse, a traitorous part of him wasn't entirely against the idea.
—
"There's no such Alpha that matches your description. We've checked every record, every database—there's nothing," the man insisted, his voice tense. "Maybe you're hallucinating again from those drugs—"
"Are you saying my pills don't work?" Mrs. Yau snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. She slammed a fist on the desk, sending papers fluttering. "I want this man dead! And I want you to find him, no matter what it takes! How long has it been? Months? And you still can't track down a single person? It's obscene!"
Tension thickened the air. Across from her, a woman in a crisp suit exhaled sharply, her grip tightening around the files in her hand.
"I quit."
She let the papers slip from her grasp, scattering across the floor like fallen leaves. Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the exit.
Mrs. Yau's expression remained eerily calm as she watched her go. Then, turning to her remaining subordinates, she sighed. "Another one of our best workers… gone." Her gaze hardened. "Finish her. And find me that man."
Victor's fingers trembled from fear of Mrs Yau as they moved across the keyboard, adjusting Han's schedule. Han had taken a few days off for his rut, and Mrs. Yau had personally suggested that Victor check on him—to spicethingsup, as she had put it.
Victor wasn't particularly thrilled about the assignment, but orders were orders. He made his way to Han's house, keying in the access code at the door.
Nothing.
He frowned, trying again.
Still nothing.
He pressed the keypad repeatedly, but the lock refused to budge. Victor grunted in annoyance, he resorted to punching the lock before he finally gave up and walked away.
Inside, Han smirked, watching the security feed. "It works."
Jet, curled up in bed, looked up at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes. He hadn't heard what Han said, too exhausted to focus. Han's expression softened as he reached out, gently wiping the dampness beneath Jet's eye with his thumb.
"Don't worry," Han murmured. "You're safe."
His voice was steady, reassuring.
"And this time, I'll protect you until the end."
Jet blinked, surprised by the quiet promise. Han wasn't the type to say things lightly—if he said he would, then he would.
A small warmth settled in Jet's chest.
He believed him.
'You seem… different.'