Jack yanked Beckett’s breeches open and palmed his shaft, dragging down the stiff length.
Beckett made a half-hearted attempt to twitch his hips away but who was he fooling? He wanted it.
He’d wanted Jack from the second he laid eyes on the man. He’d want him to the day he died. Damn it.
Jack stroked him firmly, demandingly, whispering into Beckett’s ear. “I know, I know,” he said, soothing and wicked. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Fucking yes,” Beckett muttered, pushing his hips greedily into Jack’s hand, wanting more and more and more.
“You need it, though. You’ll come for me anyway. Won’t you, my love?”
Beckett laughed, a little wildly. “Fuckingyes,” he said again.
“Do it now,” Jack said, and Beckett did.
When it was over, he slumped in Jack’s arms. He hadn’t noticed that Jack had walked them all the way backwards topress Beckett up against the wall, and now Beckett blinked sleepily into Jack’s lovely black eyes.
Jack kissed him lightly. “Couldn’t help it,” he said. “I’m not apologising, but that was mean and I know it.”
“Nah. ’S nice,” Beckett slurred.
“I like you like this,” Jack said.
“Mm?” Beckett managed to open his eyes—when had he shut them?—but just barely.
“You’re never cuddly with me,” Jack said.
Because that wasn’t what Jack wanted from his alpha lover, Beckett had always assumed.
“Come along.”
Beckett was moving. His vision was blurry, and he realised with shock that Jack was holding his hand. Like a child. Or a sweetheart.
“Where?” he mumbled, staggering a bit.
“To bed,” Jack said, and Beckett was so knocked out by that last orgasm that he didn’t even realise Jack was walking him deeper into the ducal apartments and to his own bedchamber rather than taking him to the servants’ wing.
He didn’t even register where he was until his hot, raw-feeling skin was soothed by cool silken sheets and Jack was standing over him, a tender expression on his face that made Beckett frown.
“Close your eyes,” Jack said, and Beckett did. Jack rested a gentle hand on his cheek, touching him as gently as if he was touching the duch. “Sleep.”
Beckett did.
CHAPTER 8
ARDEN
Arden didn’t know much about heats. After last night, of course, he knew infinitely more than he had, but still.
Not much.
He didn’t know much about being an omega, either, which wasn’t a surprise, since he was the only omega he knew.
Looking back, it must have been obvious to his parents, and perhaps to everyone but Arden, that he wasn’t going to be an alpha. He’d never been as thick and sturdy as his older brothers, or as bold. On top of that, he was a late bloomer.
Lassit had presented first, in the same year as Jack. Arden’s careless, charming older brother, who had indulged Arden when it suited him and got him out of scrapes on more than one occasion, turned dismissive and cruel overnight. He may as well have been an only child for all the acknowledgement he gave his younger siblings. He ignored them as if they didn’t exist.
Except Arden.
