Dax's scent, those intoxicating spiced rum pheromones, rolled out from him in a tangible wave of unadulterated possession. It was the scent of an alpha claiming what was his, and it washed over Chris, making his skin flush and his thoughts go pleasantly fuzzy. His body went pliant, a soft, surrendering sigh escaping his lips before he could stop it.
"Stand up," Dax said, a command woven into the very essence of his scent and will.
Chris's body obeyed before his mind could even process the words. He was on his feet, swaying slightly, his eyes wide and dark with submission and desire. Dax closed the final inch between them. His hands came up to frame Chris's face, calloused palms against smooth skin. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Chris's ear.
"Now," Dax murmured, the command lifting but the dominance in his tone unwavering, "show me what my consort needs."
