The vibrator tumbled from his fingers. Before it hit the floor, the stranger had him pinned to the wall. Their lips met, and Mal gave himself over to the kiss.
Yes, he needed help.
He needed it very, very badly.
2
Vincent
This wasnotthe bathroom.
Vincent came to that conclusion sometime between spotting the yellow mop bucket, and discovering the omega in the early onset of his heat with a vibrator down his pants. However, as disappointed as he’d been, he quickly came to the conclusion that the tiny room he’d found in a quiet section of the banquet hall was better than a bathroom.
His cock was in agreement.
Thoughts of urination fled. Arousal pushed all other instincts away and brought him to act. There was no taking back the question that he’d asked, and no reversing the way he’d pinned the man he’d found in the room to the wall and kissed him. Under most circumstances, Vincent never would have dared to do what he’d just done, but today was different—today, he was two thousand miles away from the city he called home, and all of the familiar faces in it.
A fresh start. A clean slate.
And a gorgeous, mature omega in heat to kick it all off.
Vincent’s hand dipped behind his partner’s fly, and he squeezed the erection he found on the other side. A gasp was his reward, and soon after, his partner wilted against him, resting his head on Vincent’s shoulder while his hips bucked against Vincent’s hand.
“Oh, god.” The tiny utterance was spoken only when the kiss broke. It wasn’t drenched in the husky tones of an omega in heat, but spoken out of levelheaded need—Vincent knew the difference more intimately than he cared to admit. A moment later, the sentence was punctuated with an inward gasp, and Vincent braced himself as the omega pumped into his palm all over again. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?” Vincent asked. He couldn’t recall seeing him at the ceremony. With a face like his, sweet and unassuming, eyes bright and hair dark, falling in loose waves begging to be curls, Vincent would have remembered. And now that he’d seen the finer details of the omega’s face, he would never forget—the fine lines sunk into the corners of his eyes and lips, the thickness and texture of his skin from hours spent outdoors…
Whoever the omega was, he was older than Vincent—possibly old enough that he wouldn’t be going into heat for much longer. The thought stuck with Vincent and made his cock throb. Young omegas, confident and fluid in their sexuality, owned sex, their bodies, and the power their youth afforded them. Vincent found no fun in that. What he preferred in his partners was age. Experience. A rounded understanding of life and sex. To give pleasure to a man like that? A man who’d lived his life, knew who he was, and what he liked?
The idea of pushing someone like that up against a wall and working orgasm after orgasm from them made Vincent hot enough to drop the logical, reserved part of himself and do something he rarely did—embrace the moment.
If this was going to be one of the omega’s last heats, he wanted to make it one he’d be sure to remember.
“Mal!” the omega gasped.
The name was short for something, Vincent was sure, but what it was, he was left to wonder. Vincent brushed his fingers along Mal’s shaft, then turned his head to the side and pressed a hot kiss to Mal’s neck as he contemplated the mystery. They were almost the same height—Vincent was, perhaps, an inch or two taller—and the closeness in their statures allowed Vincent unencumbered access to Mal’s body.
He planned to take full advantage of it.
“Tell me what you want, Mal,” Vincent whispered. A thrill prickled through his chest, and with each word, his confidence grew. When had he ever been allowed to be so dominant? This true to himself? “Tell me how I can help you.”
The scent of Mal’s heat was deteriorating, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t in need of release. Vincent understood what it was like to be enslaved by primal need—to be alone and desperate for relief when only the touch of another human would do. He could help them both. Hewouldhelp them both. This weekend was his first taste of what his life could be like outside of Corvallis, and he was going to make the most of it.
“The vibrator,” Mal whispered. The sound of his voice was strained, and Vincent barely caught the words. “I need… need to…”
The rest of what Mal said faded into nothing. Vincent concluded his meaning all the same. Before Mal could attempt to fumble his way through the rest of his thought, Vincent parted his hand from Mal’s bulge and retrieved the vibrator from the floor. There was a switch on the side, which he thumbed. The device buzzed to life in his hand, tiny, but fearsome. It needed to be sanitized, but Vincent saw nothing in the storage closet that wouldn’t be caustic. He’d have to keep the vibrator over Mal’s clothing while he brought him to orgasm.
That was fine—Vincent savored the challenge.
With the vibrator in his grasp, Vincent slipped his hand into the open V of Mal’s fly. At a teasingly slow pace, he traced the silicone down the outline of Mal’s shaft, forcing him to savor the contact. Mal gasped and squirmed beneath him, pushing into his hand sometimes and going rigid with pleasure at others. When the toy arrived near his balls, Mal’s face constricted with pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut. He pushed against the vibrator hard—hard enough that Vincent had to pin him against the wall all over again, his knee pushed against Mal’s thigh and his arm barred across Mal’s chest, as the vibrator did its job.
The buzzing may have brought Mal closer to orgasm, but it was the experience he was going to remember, and Vincent would see to it that his actions stuck in Mal’s mind.
He pushed the vibrator closer to Mal’s body, and Mal rewarded him with a choked gasp of delight.
“Yes!” Mal’s head fell back against the wall, impacting it in a way that had to be painful. He struggled to pump his hips, but Vincent restrained him further, forbidding him from taking control. The pleasure Mal experienced was Vincent’s to give, and he refused to relinquish it so easily. “Harder. Harder,please!”
Desire like that couldn’t be faked. The breathless sound of Mal’s voice and the desperation in his tone struck Vincent’s ears as genuine, and need lurched in his groin in response. A growl formed low in his throat, understated, but present nonetheless. He muffled it against Mal’s shoulder, scenting him, drawing the dying notes of his heat into his lungs.
