Or Jack’s company.
And now…yeah. Arden’s company. Add that to the list.
He could do with some of Arden’s company.
He stripped, cleaned up with cold water at the tiny washstand in his tiny room—the perks of traveling on Jack’s penny meant that, unlike most, he could afford a room of his own rather than bunk with a bunch of strangers in a communal room—and climbed onto the bed.
He fluffed the flat pillows and stretched out under the worn-thin quilt, pulling it up to his chin. The fire in the small grate was little more than a sullen heap of coals and didn’t do much to warm the room.
He’d got spoiled living at Avendene, hadn’t he? Hah. Once upon a time, any fire at all would have been a luxury. Now, he was used to as big a fire as he cared for, every night, in his own private bedchamber that could swallow this poky cubby whole.
A bedchamber where he’d like to see the little duch one day.
Beckett shuffled about, getting comfortable.
Yeah.
Arden would fit in his bedchamber right nicely, dainty thing that he was.
Jack, now, he looked as out of place in there as a wolf stuffed in a kennel.
But Arden…mhm.
Arden would like it.
It was a small room. Plain, and quiet. Beckett could get him on the bed and spread him out. It was cosy, so Arden wouldn’t feel exposed and do any of that hiding-behind-pillows nonsense he did in the ducal apartments.
He’d unfurl for Beckett. Shyly, but happily.
And, gods, how Beckett wouldtendto him there.
Beckett let a hand drift down to cup his balls. He traced a casual knuckle along his thickening shaft.
He’d had a long hard day in the saddle, and with the roads as deep with mud as they were, he faced another two at least. Youwouldn’t think he’d be up for a wank. And yet, though everything from the waist down was more tender than usual, he continued to play with himself. Let his mind drift. Stroked idly.
He thought of Arden. It didn’t feel as if he was wronging Jack, because if Jack were here…mmm. Yeah.
If Jack were here right this moment, he’d be crammed in the narrow bed alongside Beckett, even though the pair of them would be hard-pressed to fit their big bodies on the narrow mattress, and someone—that’d be Jack—would be hogging the covers, leaving bits of Beckett exposed to the chill air of the room.
He snuggled deeper under the quilt.
Jack would brace himself up on an elbow and rest his head on his hand, hot black eyes on Beckett’s as he demanded Beckett tell him exactly what he was thinking about. What he wanted to do to Jack’s husband.
What he wanted to watch Jack doing to his husband.
What he wanted the pair of them to do to Arden.
Or—oh. Beckett caught his breath and stroked faster.
Or what he and Arden could do to Jack.
Beckett grinned fiercely into the darkness of the room as he worked himself. That was going to happen one day. Him and Arden, teamed up and driving Jack out of his mind. He’d make sure of it.
He wanted to watch Jack’s face as he got pleasured by his men. He wanted to boss Arden about. Tell him what to do with his hands and where to put his pretty mouth. Watch the little omega blush and squirm but do it anyway because Beckett told him to, and because…
Because he trusted Beckett.
That’s what he really wanted.
