There was so much restraint in those two words.

Grayson continued, his palm pressed flat against Neville’s stomach. Then, it skirted the waistband of his sweatpants with maddening motion, never quite crossing the boundary yet leaving Neville achingly aware of every centimeter of skin that separated them.

A kiss landed on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle. Another was placed at the curve of his neck, lingering but never pressing deep enough to bruise.

Neville was completely lost when it reached somewhere around the time Grayson’s mouth reached that spot just below his ear, the one that made his knees threaten to soften.

I want him.

I want him on me.

Inside me.

Neville’s body screamed agreement. Every instinct screamed with that desire, demanding satisfaction. He could feel himself responding to Grayson, which bordered on overwhelming. The slick heat dripping from his behind was increasingly impossible to ignore.

Because Grayson had promised.

It became the most frustrating and the most touching that Neville had ever experienced.

Grayson’s mouth found his, cutting off whatever sound Neville had been about to make. The kiss was deep, consuming, flavored with desperation. Neville’s pinned hands strained against their restraint to touch and pull Grayson closer.

Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that had become familiar over the past days, finding friction through fabric, stoking the fire higher without ever letting it fully consume them.

Grayson’s free hand continued its wandering, venturing now to places that made Neville’s breath come in sharp gasps.

"There," Neville heard himself say, though he didn’t remember saying it.

Grayson adjusted his touch. He had learned a lot about Neville’s body over these days, just as Neville had learned his. The responses and reactions were almost within his grasp.

Their kiss only broke when they were hard of breath.

Neville gasped for air, his lips swollen and tingling. Grayson didn’t move away either but stayed close. His forehead rested against Neville’s, his breathing only slightly heavier than usual.

"This atmosphere," Grayson murmured against his lips with a slight smirk forming on his lips. "Is it good enough?"

When Neville’s brain finally caught up with the situation, the sweatpants he had so carefully selected did absolutely nothing to hide his body’s response. Grayson was definitely aware of it. His own member was also at a hard length, pushing against Neville’s hip.

"Grayson—" Neville tried, his voice embarrassingly breathless.

Once again, Neville’s back was against the wall.

They moved together, found their rhythm, and pushed each other to reach the peak.

When the release finally crashed through Neville, it stole his breath and his thoughts entirely. He was aware of Grayson following moments later with a low groan reverberating through both their bodies.

For several long moments, neither of them moved.

Grayson’s forehead rested against Neville’s shoulder, his breathing gradually steadying. His grip on Neville’s wrists loosened, then released. Neville’s arms dropped to wrap around Grayson’s neck without much thought.

The library was silent except for their echoing breathing and the soft hum of the temperature control system.

"Okay?" Grayson’s voice was softer now. It seemed that his rut was temporarily sated.

"Mmm." Neville hummed weakly as a reply.

He felt rather than saw Grayson’s smile against his skin.

Clarity returned, and Neville became aware that he was no longer standing. Rather, he realized that he was already lying on the couch in the living room.

A blanket settled over him, and Neville blinked up to find Grayson standing beside the couch. He was dressed in fresh sweatpants and a black shirt. He was holding what appeared to be cleaning supplies.

"Rest," Grayson said, as if Neville had any intention of moving. "I’ll be right back."

Watching Grayson retreat toward the bathroom, Neville experienced a moment of confusion.

When did Grayson move him over here?

With Grayson occupied, Neville finally had a moment of spare time to check his light brain. It had been utterly neglected over the past several days. He simply had no time to spare between helping Grayson manage his rut and... everything else.

The holographic display materialized in front of him, and Neville’s eyes widened.

Day Six.

It was already the morning of the sixth day.

Which meant that there was only one more day remaining in Grayson’s rut cycle.

The realization should have brought relief.

So why did the thought of it make him feel empty?

Neville stared at the date display without really seeing it.

What would happen after this?

This question had been at the back of his mind all this time, but he chose to ignore everything else as long as he could succeed in keeping his chastity. There had always been something more immediate to focus on during these days, too.

But now, with this much free time, the question demanded attention.

Will he be my lover after this? Are we going to date? But...he hasn’t said anything.

Grayson was the CEO of Maxwell Corporation, a former military general, a man whose family connections reached into the highest echelons of the Empire.

His previous relationships must have been with sons and daughters of affluent families, carefully curated matches designed to strengthen political alliances, not maximize compatibility.

And Neville was... what?

An orphan who had clawed his way into the secretarial department through sheer luck and courage. A man with a fabricated background and no family connections to speak of. Someone who, by all means, existed several social strata below Grayson’s sphere.

He can’t be with someone like me.

The thought was cold and utterly depressing.

This was just... a moment of convenience.

Grayson needed someone to help him through his rut, and I was there at the right time and place, available and willing participant.

The hollowness in his chest spread all over his body uncomfortably.

Neville closed the light brain display with a sharp gesture, suddenly wanting very much to think about anything else.

Work.

Work would help.

Work had always been a good refuge when emotions threatened to overwhelm someone. The steady rhythm of tasks and responsibilities provided structure when someone’s thoughts became too chaotic to navigate.

Neville reached for his light brain again, this time pulling up his work interface rather than the personal display.

There were always things to do for him, menial tasks like reports to file, files to confirm, things to review.

Work never stopped coming, whether you like it or not.

And right now, it was oddly comforting.