"Hunter Huo—"
The exclamation died in his throat. In the next heartbeat, a pair of powerful, explosive arms swept across his waist, hauling him backward with such force that he was firmly embedded into a broad, solid embrace.
Hunter was like a puppy seeking a dry shelter in the middle of a torrential downpour. He buried his head into the crook of Silas's neck, nuzzling urgently, searching for the perfect fit. His breath was heavy and scorching, each exhale striking Silas's sensitive earlobe with agonizing precision.
"Got you..." Hunter mumbled incoherently. His long legs hooked dominantly over Silas's, trapping the Professor in an embrace of absolute possession from behind.
The scent of sun-drenched oranges exploded within the narrow confines of the covers—spicy, burning, and laced with an irresistible predatory intent. Yet, paradoxically, the man holding him was trembling uncontrollably. The hands locked around Silas's waist were gripped so tight it felt as though a drowning man had finally seized his last piece of driftwood.
Silas could feel the frantic thrumming of Hunter's heart against his back. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was heavy and powerful, vibrating through Silas until half his body felt numb.
This was a violation.
This was crossing the line.
This was the single greatest "accident" in his entire academic career!
Silas gritted his teeth, thrusting his elbow backward in an attempt to wake this audacious student. "Hunter Huo, get back to the sofa!"
Instead of letting go, the person behind him seemed startled, tightening the embrace even further. Hunter's burning nose grazed Silas's nape—right against the gland.
The gland: an Omega's most fragile and sensitive point. Even though Silas wore high collars year-round, and even though he used the most expensive suppressants, under this near-zero distance contact, Hunter's heavy, labored breathing felt like a red-hot hook, snagging perfectly on Silas's nerve endings.
"Mm... don't move..."
Hunter let out an incoherent mumble in his sleep, his voice deep, magnetic, and laced with a hint of grievance he never showed in public. He nuzzled into Silas's neck, his nose occasionally brushing against the pale, delicate skin.
"So cold... Professor Shen... don't leave me."
His voice was incredibly soft, thick with a nasal quality and desperation.
"Don't move... Professor Shen, it's so cold... help me..."
The hand Silas had braced against Hunter's chest suddenly lost all its strength upon hearing that trembling 'don't leave me.'
The youth in the lab who always wore a roguish smirk, the fearless "Little Wolf" who walked through Peking University as if he owned the place—in the chaos of a pre-rut, he was as submissive as a puppy pleading for help in the snow.
Silas took a deep breath, only to fill his lungs with the fragrance of oranges. It was the aggressive Alpha scent he used to loathe, but now, it felt like an airtight net, wrapping him in warmth. His limbs, usually cold from years of high-pressure work, actually began to warm up.
In the darkness, Silas's ears turned a shade of red so deep they looked ready to bleed.
He remained stiff, allowing Hunter to hold him that way. As the minutes ticked by, he could feel Hunter's frantic heartbeat gradually stabilize into a steady, powerful rhythm as it met Silas's cold fir scent.
That feeling of being relied upon so completely—of being treated as someone's sole salvation—was a variable Silas had never encountered in his rigorous academic world.
"Just this once," Silas told himself, his internal tone as grave as a difficult experimental decision.
He slowly relaxed his rigid spine, leaning back into Hunter's embrace. He even hesitated for a moment when Hunter's arms tightened during a shiver, before reaching out his own cool hand and gently resting it over the back of Hunter's hand at his waist.
Hunter's hands were large, his palms calloused from years of basketball and handling lab equipment. As their body temperatures merged, Silas felt a strange current of electricity crawl up his spine.
He had never imagined that his "scientific, rational, asexual" laboratory bed would one day hold a vivid, scorching young Alpha whose mind was entirely filled with him.
By the second half of the night, the sound of the wind and waves had quieted.
In an embrace that was simultaneously terrifying and eerily safe, Silas actually felt a wave of drowsiness. A second before falling into a deep sleep, he thought hazily: Tomorrow morning, I must kick this rule-breaking puppy off the bed. I absolutely must.
However, when the first light of dawn leaped over the horizon and filtered through the gaps in the curtains, Silas was awakened by an intense visual pressure—the feeling of being watched.
His eyelashes fluttered as he slowly opened his eyes.
Hunter had woken up at some unknown point. He hadn't left; he was still holding Silas from behind, his head slightly lifted. Those dark, bright eyes were staring unblinkingly at Silas's profile.
Their eyes met, and the air in the room seemed to solidify.
The gaze in Hunter's eyes—a gaze thick with a near-obsessive love he hadn't had time to hide—was laid bare under the morning sun.
Silas's breath hitched. He was about to snap when Hunter suddenly acted as if he'd been electrocuted. He let go abruptly and rolled toward the edge of the bed. With a loud thump, he fell squarely onto the carpet.
"Professor! I'm sorry! I... I absolutely didn't do it on purpose!" Hunter sat on the floor, his hair a mess, looking panicked as if he were questioning his own existence. But because his collar was loose, Silas could see the red marks on his chest—scratches left over from the sheer force he had used to hold on the night before.
Silas propped himself up on his elbow, his silk robe sliding slightly off his shoulder. He stared coldly at the "puppy" on the floor for a long time before squeezing a single word through his teeth: "Leave."
Hunter scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the bathroom. Before closing the door, he poked his head out, his tone shamelessly appeasing. "Then... Professor, I'll shower fast and go grab breakfast for you! Black coffee, no sugar, your favorite!"
Watching the frantic silhouette disappear, Silas looked down at his wrinkled silk robe.
In the air, the scent of orange and fir had long since become indistinguishable from one another.
He gave a self-deprecating tug at the corner of his mouth. This three-day trip to Haicheng had only just begun, yet he felt that his defense line—one he had guarded for over twenty years—had already suffered a total collapse in this gambit of a shared bed.