The scent of something floral clung to that cashmere sweater draped over the back of the chair. The one Antonio knew belonged to the new young barista at the café you frequented.

Antonio stood by the window, arms crossed. His red eyes tracked your every movement as you flounced into the living room, deliberately ignoring the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

"You're staring," You said, not even looking at him as you plopped down on the couch, kicking your feet up on the coffee table. Defiant. Always fucking defiant.

"I'm observing," Antonio corrected, his voice low and gravelly. The faint scent of black tea, his signature—`, sharpened with irritation. "Who gave you that sweater?"

You glanced at the cashmere, then back at him with that insufferable little smirk. "Jealous?"

His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped in his cheek. "Answer the question, omega."

You shot back, crossing your arms. "You don't own me, Antonio. I can accept gifts from whoever I want."

The growl that rumbled from his chest was low, guttural, dangerous. "The fuck I don't. And that little prick behind the counter needs to learn his place before I teach him myself."

You laughed and the sound grated down his spine. "Oh, please. You're all talk. Big, scary alpha can't handle his omega having friends-"

"I can handle you just fine." Antonio pushed off from the window, stalking toward the couch with the kind of predatory grace that usually made lesser omegas tremble.

You just tilted your chin up, those pretty eyes sparking with challenge. "You can't control me."

That was it. The thread snapped.

Antonio moved faster than you could track. His large hand closed around the back of your neck, firm, unyielding, fingers pressing into the sensitive scent glands there. You gasped, but the sound cut off as he hauled you forward, spinning you around and bending you over the arm of the couch in one fluid motion.

"Let me go!" You twisted, trying to shove at his thigh, but he had you pinned.

"Not a chance." His voice was ice and iron. His free hand came down on the waistband of your sweatpants, yanking them down along with your boxers in one rough movement. The cool air hit your bare skin, and he heard your sharp inhale. "You want to act like a brat? You get treated like one."

"You wouldn't dare-" You started, still wriggling, still fighting.

Antonio's palm cracked across your right cheek. The sound echoed through the penthouse.

"Count," He ordered.

"Fuck you!"

Crack. Left cheek this time, harder. The impact stung his hand through the jolt of satisfaction.

"That's 1," Antonio said through gritted teeth. "Try again."

You bucked against his hold, nails scraping at the couch cushion. "This is abuse-"

Crack. Right cheek. The flesh reddened under his palm, warm and responsive.

"2. Keep going. I've got all night."

"I hate you," You hissed, voice cracking just slightly.

"Hate me harder," Antonio growled, and brought his hand down again. Crack. Louder. Meaner.

You gasped, fingers twisting in the cushion, but the words that came out were still venom. "You're just jealous of a sweater-"

Crack. Your whole body jolted.

"He touched what's mine." Antonio's grip on your neck tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind. "And you let him. You preened-"

"I didn't preen-fuck!"

Crack. Harder. Your legs trembled.

"Don't lie to me." Antonio's voice dropped lower, rougher, the alpha command threading through it like poison honey. "I could smell him on you. On my mate. Do you know what that does to me?"

You were shaking now. The fight was draining out of your limbs inch by inch, your head dropping forward between your shoulders.

"Answer me," He demanded, and his hand landed again right across the crest of your ass where the skin was most sensitive.

"I-" Your voice broke. "Antonio—"

Crack.

"I'm your alpha."

A sob caught in your throat. "Alpha..."

Antonio shifted his grip, pulling you tighter against his hip, and brought his hand down three times in rapid succession. "Again."

[swipe for more]