He would not, he swore, mess this up any more than he already had.
Jack took a deep breath, and then another. The suppressants were a gamble. He’d never used them before. He’d never had the need, nor had he ever expected to, and his secretary, Nolan, had called him a reckless idiot for even considering them.
As he stood in the silent corridor, his hair still damp from the rain, he wondered if they’d work at all. He shouldn’t have been able to get hard, and yet he was not far off halfway there.
They’d better work. If they didn’t, it was Arden—sweet Arden—who’d be the one to suffer.
Sounds drifted through the thick wooden door. Beckett was grunting, the way he did when he got going. Beneath the rackethis lover was making, Jack just about heard Arden’s soft pants and moans.
Jack pressed a hand flat to the cool wood and rested his forehead against the ancient oak for a steadying moment. He inhaled deep lungfuls of Beckett’s and Arden’s combined scents.
It took another few minutes before he decided that he was safe to enter. Close to the edge, yes, but confident that he could stop himself from tipping over.
He unlocked the door and slipped in. The bed lay side-on to the door, giving Jack an unrestricted view of Beckett’s pumping arse and flexing biceps as he moved over the slender body beneath him.
Someone had tossed all of the bedding to the floor, except for one lone pillow that clung to the far edge of the mattress. Arden had one leg hitched around Beckett’s hips. That, and the arm drawn over his head and pinned to the bed, was all Jack saw of him. Beckett was covering him completely and had tucked his face into the crook of Arden’s neck. He was gnawing on it, no doubt, the way he liked to do to Jack, and he gleamed in the low light from the rosy lamp; thick muscles bunched and flexed under the satiny olive skin.
He was without doubt the most vigorous, forceful lover that Jack had ever had.
Since Jack had only ever been with other alphas, that was saying something.
Beckett, on the other hand, had been with all genders and designations.
Sampling, he’d told Jack one morning as they lay sated in bed, Beckett’s pupils tiny in the direct sunlight and showing off for once the depth and beauty of his honey-amber irises. Jack didn’t get to appreciate them like that often. Usually when Beckett looked at Jack, his pupils were dilated, eyes black with desire.
Also, it was more often than not night when they came together. Beckett had duties, after all. As did Jack.
The fact of it was, between him and Beckett, Beckett was the better mate for Arden. Even though Jack had assumed that the odds of Arden wanting to be taken were vanishingly small, he’d decided that if Arden ever did want it, Jack would talk to Beckett.
He’d haveaskedthe lad if he’d do it.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Arden might go into heat and the issue would be forced. That was his mistake, and he’d fix it if it was the last thing he did.
Still. While matters hadn’t started quite as smoothly as he’d hoped, he couldn’t deny that things were moving in the right direction. There were more than a few bumps in the road ahead, he knew that. He’d make it work. His love for Beckett was bound to his bones. His love for Arden had lasted decades.
He’d make it work.
Jack was surprised that Beckett even noticed his approach, so lost did he seem in Arden’s body. Jack had only made it halfway across the room before Beckett’s head whipped around and he snarled a feral warning, baring his teeth.
The hair at the back of Jack’s neck lifted as he snarled back without thinking. The whole thing could have ended right there in an instinct-driven territorial fight that neither of them wanted, and then Beckett curled over Arden. The tenderness of the gesture cut straight to Jack’s heart. He didn’t even have to try to force his dominance down.
Beckett was being protective, not possessive.
“Jack,” Beckett said hoarsely, sounding relieved to see him. His face blanked as he glanced down at the restless Arden before correcting himself. “I mean, Your Grace.”
Jack raised a single brow. “I’ve asked you a hundred times not to call me that.”
“In private.” It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. No wonder; Jack noted with amusement that his hips had started moving again, the bedsheets rustling quietly beneath his knees.
“We are in private,” Jack pointed out.
Arden must have done something then—tightened around him, perhaps—because Beckett gasped and his eyes rolled back. He shook his head sharply and returned to glaring at Jack with that challenge Jack loved so much.
Holding his gaze, Jack came over to the side of the bed. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Beckett’s hair. It was loose, freed from its usual tidy queue, and Jack adored the feel of it tangled around his fingers, thick and silky. He dragged Beckett up into a kiss, and Beckett met him hungrily. Desperately.
His kiss was, Jack noted with amusement, significantly less aggressive than usual. He’d been tempering himself for Arden, of course. He adjusted quickly enough, pushing up to his knees and twisting at the waist to catch Jack’s shoulders, to bite and suck at his lips. Jack returned the favour.
The quiet, breathless sob from below yanked him back to reality.
