Even though it was a while since he’d even thought about being with anyone other than an alpha. Than Jack.
He’d had two omegas, and both of them had been saucy things, needy and revelling in it, loudly demanding Beckett tend to them. They definitely had not been in heat.
This was new. He’d never had anyone in heat. He hadn’t ever wanted it.
It didn’t sit right with him, at the end of the day. Yes, he wanted someone begging for him, he liked to make someone desperate. Once upon a time, he liked to overwhelm the man he was with, though that was in the past. He couldn’t overwhelm Jack on his best day. No one could.
Beckett wanted the man he was with to beg for him.
Him, not for any alpha.
This little duch? He was so shy and clearly sheltered, he wouldn’t give Beckett a second look, if he wasn’t out of his mind on hormones.
That’s not true, a quiet voice whispered deep inside.He’s been looking. You know he’s been looking at you. You’ve sensed him there, hiding from you. Watching you. Wondering about you, about his husband’s lover. You know Jack would have told him about you. He’s done more than wonder.
He’s been wanting you.
Ignoring the voice, Beckett kissed deeper. Harder. The omega’s breath puffed out of his nose, striking Beckett’s cheeks. Beckett dragged heavy lids open to check, to make sure—yes. The omega’s eyes were closed. Beckett paused and drew back. The omega was…he was the worst kisser Beckett had ever had, but bless, he was trying, wasn’t he? Concentrating.
Small hands were busily kneading Beckett’s buttocks. The touch was soft. Gentle. His brows, many shades darker than the pale russet of his untidy mop, were pinched together in a little scowl of his own. It was adorable.
Beckett caught himself on the thought, grimaced, and that was when the omega had to go and open his eyes, wasn’t it?
He took one look at Beckett’s self-directed disdain, and he flinched. Those ridiculously large eyes filled with moisture and the tip of his sharp nose turned a brighter pink than the rest of him, which took some doing. He glanced away, hands lifting from Beckett’s body.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I?—”
Beckett squeezed the air out of him and stopped his babbling by reaching behind himself, grabbing the duch’s hands, and smacking them back onto his arse. He raised a brow.
“Oh,” the duch breathed. “Um.” Dutifully—respectfully, Beckett thought with a smile—he patted his buttocks. “Oh,” the duch said again, blinking at Beckett and smiling back. “You’re beautiful.”
Beckett’s smile vanished and he glared at the duch. He didn’t want compliments.
The duch’s face fell.
Beckett didn’t care. He didn’t.
The duch started up with that fretful kneading again. Beckett tilted his head and stared down at his face, trying to understand why Jack had tied himself to this man, above all.
As far as Beckett was concerned, Jack could have anyone in the entire kingdom he wanted.
And he chosethisman.
He was so delicate. It scraped at Beckett somehow. The way his eyebrows winged gracefully over those big, shimmering eyes. Not like Beckett’s thick brows and normal-sized eyes.
The way his collarbones stood sharp and elegant above his narrow chest, which was flat with only the slightest layer of muscle on it. Not like Beckett’s sturdy build and thick pecs.
Built like a carthorse, Beckett was. Heard it often enough.
And look at his little dick.
Beckett rocked into him roughly, knocking out his breath.
Could barely feel the thing against his own. Beckett might as well rub off against the mattress. The omega didn’t even need to be there.
Maybe it wasn’t a mystery that the omega bothered him.
He was Beckett’s opposite in every way.
