“Do you have enemies that need killing?” I ask teasingly, running my nose up this throat, loving the way his pulse races at my touch. “I love a good fight, baby. It’s why I do so much of it.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Beckham asks carefully, putting his gun away.
“Yep. If you ever want to watch, just say the word,” I say. His neck is covered in goosebumps as I blow my breath over his skin.
“You should control your anger,” Beckham says halfheartedly.
“You should talk. Why are you so quick to pull your gun on someone at a party?” I ask. “You’re a teacher, or have you forgotten that?”
“I’m also the son of an alpha mafia boss,” Beckham grunts. “I’m just as well trained to kill as you are, as much as it disgusts me that it’s necessary.”
“So what? You’re just killing time?” I ask. I want to keep him with me a little longer. I just have to stop right before I antagonize him so much that he runs. It’s a delicate dance.
“If I was answering this question in front of my father, I’d tell you that’s exactly what I’m doing,” he grumbles. “I love teaching, but it’s a means to an end. My happiness ends with the family business.”
“I know a thing or two about loyalty,” I admit, pulling him farther away from the party into the darkness behind us. Pushing his back against the wall, I give in to my baser needs and wrap my arms around him.
My tongue drags up his throat as I grind my dick against his.
“I think you need to be punished for running from us,” I growl.
“I’m a grown man, not a little boy that needs to be punished,” he snarls.
“Age isn’t a factor in our pack,” I murmur. “Alaric is our alpha. He’s our moral compass, but even he shits the bed sometimes. Being able to admit when you’ve fucked up is important.”
Beckham’s face softens slightly, his hands fisting in my formal jacket. His trousers hide nothing, and his scent is so strong, I would swear the rest of the party can smell him.
He doesn’t fuck around with scent blockers, and is unapologetically himself. So why is he afraid of us?
“I can’t be scent matched to you,” he breathes. “I need to be my own person. I can’t have you forcing me into doing things.”
“Is that what you think a real alpha does?” I ask. “Did I force you to wear cum filled boxers?”
“No,” he whines, his head dropping back as I scent mark him. I refused to shave for this thing, and his soft skin reddens as I rub my cheek against it. “You didn’t make me jack off into them either.” He murmurs the last part like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Hmmm. Such a dirty professor,” I praise. “I don’t need or want to force you into anything. I want you to fight with me, wrestle for dominance, and then fuck my tight asshole when I let you win.”
“Fuck,” Beckham says, eyes widening with surprise, proving my point that if he just took the time to get to know us, he’d see he has it all wrong. “Even if you would let me win, I bet you would fight dirty.”
“Is there any other way?” I chuckle. “Be a big boy and fight back.”
My lips are on his before he can evade me, my hand squeezing his balls through his pants as I grind against him. I want to feel him without the barrier of his clothing, but we are in public, and I don’t want to spook him.
Our tongues slide against each other, and our teeth clash.
“Stop hiding,” I remind him, licking the seam of his lips. My eyes remain on his hazel ones, intense and insistent. “I will chase you. That’s a promise, not a threat. I’m not here to hurt you and neither are Jameson or Alaric. If there’s something we need to know, a reason outside of us that is keeping you from sleeping in your house… Then you need to tell us.”
Beckham swallows convulsively, and I curse in my head, hating that Alaric is right.
“I won’t push for now, as long as you kiss me again,” I say lightheartedly, winking at him.
Beckham’s body is tense, like he wants to fight his instincts. Still, his fingers move to my dark curls to pull me back into a kiss.Soon.
“Are you coming back to school?” I ask, breaking the kiss to step back. “My scent will only last so long on your skin before it fades. How long can you handle not showering?”
Beckham makes a face at me, his autocratic brow raising. Omegas are obsessive about being clean. The only time that proves untrue is when they feel unbalanced and need their alphas scents on their skin. Beckham is showing his hand more than anything else could with that one look.
“Yeah, I’m coming back. I can’t afford to miss anymore work,” he grunts, his hands smoothing over his hair and clothing. His brown hair is a little wilder than usual, and his glasses do nothing to hide the dark circles under his eyes.
