Craving His Touch

Caught

The gangway felt like a trap.

Rica kept her head down, black hair tucked under a plain crew cap, grayish-blue eyes fixed on the wet dock boards as she followed the last group of night-shift workers onto the Ocean Dominion. The luxury cruise ship loomed above her like a floating palace of glass and steel, all soft lights and quiet power. One wrong glance from security and everything she had risked would end before it began.

She had stolen the uniform two cities ago. The badge was fake. The suppressants in her pocket were almost gone. But the alternative—returning home to a forced marriage—was worse than any punishment the ship could offer.

She slipped through the service doors with the others, heart hammering so hard she was sure someone would hear it. No one did. The crew was tired, distracted, already thinking about their bunks. Rica peeled away at the first opportunity and disappeared into the narrow maintenance corridors of Deck 7.

For three hours she stayed hidden behind stacked crates and unused equipment, barely breathing. The ship’s engines thrummed steadily beneath her. Outside, the sea whispered against the hull. Inside, the air grew warmer.

Then her body betrayed her.

A low, sweet heat unfurled low in her belly. The suppressants were failing faster than she expected. Her scent—normally locked down tight—began to leak into the recycled air. She pressed a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, praying the night would stay empty.

It didn’t.

Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate, heavy with authority. A tall figure moved through the corridor with the quiet confidence of someone who owned every deck he walked. Captain Dave Flick. Even without seeing his face, every Omega on the ship would have known that measured stride.

He stopped.

Rica froze behind the crates, pulse roaring in her ears.

Dave inhaled once, sharply. The air changed. Something primal and dangerous settled into the silence.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice low and cold. “Come out. Now.”

She didn’t move. He did.

In two strides he reached the crates and shoved the top one aside with controlled force. Light spilled over her. Black hair, flushed cheeks, wide grayish-blue eyes staring up at him in pure defiance mixed with fear.

Dave’s gaze darkened the moment their eyes locked. His nostrils flared. The sweet, failing scent of an Omega in early heat hit him full force.

“Stowaway,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder, “On my ship.”

Rica scrambled back until her shoulders hit the bulkhead. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’ll leave at the next port. No one has to know.”

He stepped closer, towering over her. The air between them grew thick. Her scent was rising fast now—warm, sweet, edged with the first traces of slick. Dave’s jaw tightened. His own body answered without permission.

He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“Your suppressants are shot,” he said quietly. “You’re going into heat on a ship full of Alphas who would tear each other apart for a taste of you. And you thought you could hide?”

Rica’s breath shuddered. “I had nowhere else to go.”

Dave’s thumb brushed the edge of her lower lip once, deliberate. A low sound rumbled in his chest.

“Name.”

She hesitated. His grip tightened just enough to warn her.

“…Rica.”

A slow, dark smile touched his mouth. He leaned in until his voice was a rough whisper against her ear.

“Welcome aboard, Rica. From this moment on, you’re not leaving this ship without my permission. And no one else is touching you.”

He released her chin only to close his hand around her wrist instead, already turning toward the private stairwell that led to the Captain’s quarters.

“You’re mine now.”