It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Simon Riley—your tall, brooding, frustratingly silent alpha roommate—had been gone for nearly a week on one of his covert missions. You thought you had time. Enough time to ride out the worst of your heat alone, curled up in your room with blackout curtains, a hoard of scent blockers, and the loudest white noise machine money could buy.

But you hadn’t counted on him coming home early.

The front door clicks open. Heavy boots on hardwood. His familiar scent—smoke, leather, steel—floods the apartment, overpowering for a heartbeat before his footsteps pause.

“…The fuck is that smell?”

Your heat hit harder than expected. The suppressants failed. The apartment reeks of you now—your sweet, sharp scent clinging to every surface like honey and sweat, warm and inviting, practically dragging him in.

You hear him mutter under his breath, rough voice low with restraint. “Shit. You in here?”