Arden curled up again. “I can’t help it!” he said, throwing an arm over his eyes and pushing his hips up.
Beckett hauled him up to sitting and they stared at each other. Beckett’s eyes were dark and his cheeks showed that telltale flush over his cheekbones that Arden had come to learn was arousal, not anger or embarrassment. Beckett sighed and stood, drawing Arden up with him.
Arden did a terrible job of hiding his disappointment.
He’d thought…
For a moment there, he’d thought that perhaps…
Beckett kissed him, hard and fast. “All right,” he said, curling over Arden to rest his cheek on top of Arden’s head. “I want to fuck you, Arden.”
Arden tensed in his arms. “I want that, too.”
“Here’s what I want more, though. You and Jack together, first. I want to be there when he takes you. I know he wants that.”
“Have you talked about it?”
“Yes.”
Should he be offended? He really wasn’t. He felt relieved, if anything.
“Do you want that, Arden?” Beckett eased Arden away to gaze down at his blazing-hot face.
“I do,” Arden said shyly.
Beckett ran the backs of his fingers over the curve of Arden’s cheek. “So we’ll hold on until he gets here. Yes?”
Arden nodded.
Beckett took his hand and they resumed their walk along the riverbank.
“I still don’t believe you about the trout, though,” Arden said.
“I’ll show you one day. It’s easy as anything. You just have to be gentle and patient, and stroke it sweet, and it’s yours.”
“Like me,” Arden said, and tried his best not to laugh when Beckett tripped.
His best wasn’t good enough, which was how he ended up getting chased all the way back up to the chestnut tree where he’d left his sketchbook, as if he was a young omega in love for the very first time rather than a staid old thirty-something omega who should know better, and didn’t care.
CHAPTER 34
BECKETT
Beckett intercepted Hapton on the back stairs. “I’ll take that,” he said, holding out a hand.
Hapton passed the heavy water bucket over before turning and clattering down the stone steps. Off, no doubt, to tell everyone that Beckett was about to ravish the duch in his evening bath.
Beckett heaved a sigh.
He wished.
Oh, how he wished.
He’d like nothing more than to walk in and find Arden in his bath already, waiting for the final bucket of hot water to turn it from a practical dip to a luxurious soak.
He’d be pink and dewy from the steam, his hair damp and his eyes welcoming.
He’d smile, wait for Beckett to finish pouring, and then suggest that Beckett join him.
