Ian rose and stalked Geoffrey across the room. “Young I may be, but foolish?”
“You’re naught but a silly, misguided idiot. A child.” Geoffrey’s pulse pounded in his ears as Ian, likely as intoxicated as he was, sauntered closer. “An egg. You’re nothing but an egg.”
Ian grabbed Geoffrey by his hair and hauled him to his feet. He didn’t seem to care that the older dragon was several inches taller. Ian was strong for a young dragon, and infinitely stronger than the willowy Geoffrey, who found himself dragged, by his hair, to his knees beside Ian’s feet.
“An egg, you say? Could an egg do this?” Ian undid the buttons on the fly of his trousers and pulled out his sizable erection. He grabbed Geoffrey’s head and pried his jaw open with one hand while gripping Geoffrey’s hair with the other. He plunged his cock into Geoffrey’s mouth with punishing force. “Don’t think… I’m not aware… that you could manifest fangs… and injure me gravely… but you won’t. You’ll take my cock into your throat… and then in your ass.” Geoffrey groaned in a combination of fear and anticipation. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you? To use you like any common beta. Or an omega. Is that it? Is that what you want, old man? To be bred like the eager omega in heat you secretly want to be?” Ian pulled out of his mouth, leaving Geoffrey feeling empty, shaking, confused, and completely turned on. “Well? Is that it?”
Geoffrey felt tears run down his face, and he ached to stand and flee, but something—that always-present degenerate part of him—kept him on his knees. “Yes,” he croaked.
“I can’t hear you, omega. What do you want? Tell me, or you’ll never get it.”
His head swimming with want and need and too much alcohol, Geoffrey wanted to scream his frustration. Instead, he found himself babbling out, “You, I wantyou.Take me and fuck me and breed me. Please. God.Please.”
Ian manhandled Geoffrey until he lay bent over Ian’s desk, his own throbbing cock trapped painfully in his trousers, then, after Ian yanked them roughly down to pool at his ankles, his cock was smashed between his body and the warm leather of the desk blotter.
There was a sound of shuffling, and a bottle opening, then fingers slid into him easily. “God, you’re tight. Such a good little omega, aren’t you? Holding onto your virginity just for me. And so wet. You want my cock, don’t you?”
The words thrilled Geoffrey and spoke to a part of himself that he’d not wanted to acknowledge even to himself.
This was what he wanted.
This was what he’dalwayswanted.
“Yes,” he cried out.
“Say it,” Ian demanded, teasing Geoffrey’s hole with the head of his slick cock. He started to push inside, then stopped.
“I want you,” Geoffrey moaned, helpless to do or say anything else. “I want your cock, and your seed, and your knot.”
Ian shoved himself inside Geoffrey’s body in one, slow, illicit movement, hissing with pleasure and satisfaction. “God. So hot. So tight. So perfect.”
“Please,” Geoffrey begged. “Please.”
He held onto the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white.
“My pleasure, Mr. Drake,” Ian said, then began to move.
It was beyond any sex Geoffrey had ever had, not that he’d had much. It was everything he’d ever wanted, and he never forgot, even when Ian’s cock hit the spot of pleasure within him, that the one fucking him was his adversary.
“Please,” Geoffrey continued to beg. “Please come. Please knot me. I need it.”
“You do. Fuck me, you need it so bad.” Ian threw his head back and let out a loud groan as his seed filled Geoffrey’s ass and then spilled out and down his legs. There was so much, and he was so wet, and the heat was overwhelming. It was nothing like being bred by a human alpha, whose cum was lukewarm at best. Ian made Geoffreyfeelhim.
Then Ian’s knot filled him, and Geoffrey felt that he might die contented in that moment.
“You’re mine, old man. Mine.”
And Geoffrey knew it would always be true.
* * *
Geoffrey woke the next morning with a pounding headache, the ghost of the hangover he should have had a century ago. Unlike then, he wasn’t held in strong arms, surrounded by the scent of sunshine and summer, and sporting a deliciously sore ass. Today, he felt only empty and lonely, and another man might have stayed in his bed, but Geoffrey was a creature of habit and rose, as he always did, just after dawn.
As he ate breakfast, his mood became progressively more despondent. He missed Ian, but he also missed Matthieu. He remembered how the scent and taste of them had melded in his head: sweet, spicy cinnamon and oranges and vanilla; clean skin and dark musk; ocean air and hot sun and cool shade; icy lemonade and warm whiskey. He tried to eat his coddled egg and oatmeal, but it was like ashes in his mouth. All he wanted was Matthieu’s lips and Ian’s teeth sinking into his skin.
Geoffrey pushed away from the table, having lost all his appetite. He left his breakfast room and drifted to the study, ostensibly to do some genealogy research for Everard, but in reality, all he did was stare at the same page and feel like there was no point to anything at all. It was horrible, and he hated it, and for the first time in his life, Geoffrey thought of handing over the reins of all Amethyst legal matters to Sargon. His nephew, at over five hundred years old, was more than mature enough to take Geoffrey’s place. Then Geoffrey could perhaps travel. Of all his family, Geoffrey was the one who’d seen the least of the world, thanks to always being necessarily close at hand for his father and clan leader. It would be nice, perhaps, to see some of the world that Alistair, in his bohemian wanderings, had crossed and recrossed a multitude of times.
It would be nicer, he reflected, if he didn’t have to do it alone.
