“Get off,” Beckett said firmly.
Jack shook his head. “I don’t believe I will.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then get my breeches off yourself.”
Jack laughed as he pushed back to kneeling.
Beckett stayed where he was. Yeah. Let the duke undress him. Why not? He’d never done that, either. Had someone take his clothes off.
Jack laid a hand on Beckett’s lower belly, making the muscles jump in response. “You’re beautiful,” he said abruptly.
Beckett goggled at him.
“Come, now. Why so shocked? You must have been told that many times before.”
He hadn’t, actually.
Jack hauled Beckett’s breeches down. He paused to take off Beckett’s shoes and drop them to the floor before stripping him of the bunched-up breeches and undergarment. “Well, you are,” he said. He gripped Beckett’s knees, and a thin curl of sensation glittered like a snare line in Beckett’s chest.
No one had touched his fucking knees before, either.
He’d have smacked Jack away, but Jack was already skimming those big hands up his thighs, bringing them up to press flat and firm on his abdomen against before curling them up and around to palm his waist.
Just, Beckett thought indignantly, as he’d grip an omega to help them bounce on his cock.
Jack smiled and dragged a hand down and in. He bypassed Beckett’s erection and quickly, shockingly, slipped his fingers behind Beckett’s balls and between his cheeks. He stopped short of his hole, though. “I want to fuck you,” he said.
Beckett exploded into action at that, and the room was filled with the creak of the bed, the rustle and rip of sheets, and grunts and swearing, then laughing as they grappled for dominance.
Now he was on firm ground.
Nowhe knew where he was and what was what. This scuffle was what he’d expected, not being laid out on silken sheets to be stroked and admired and told he wasbeautiful.
And oh, what a grapple it was.
Their limbs twined and slid together. Muscles tightened and relaxed. He gripped hard enough to bruise, and felt a burst of fierce delight that he’d have more than enough bruises of his own coming out of it.
He couldn’t say who started to hump who, but for argument’s sake, it was Jack.
Beckett was on top. They were facing the wrong way on the bed. The coverlet was hanging off, the pillows were all over the place, and Jack writhed beneath Beckett.
Beckett knew full well how to pin a man. If he wanted to immobilise someone, he could do it, no problem. Why would he want to immobilise Jack, though? He was enjoying himself just fine, thanks, feeling His Grace’s fine skin slide over Beckett’s own, hot and smooth. Feeling those sleek muscles swell and bunch against his. Feeling that big body strain for it.
Jack reached up and dragged Beckett down until his lips were a breath away. Beckett blinked down at the black eyes watching him. Still watching, Jack dragged him that last inch.
Their mouths met.
Air puffed out of Beckett’s nose at the press of Jack’s lips against his. It was cautious, but not tentative. A request, not a plea.
Beckett smiled. Jack’s lips followed the curve of his own, and he gave a quiet laugh.
Beckett kissed the laugh clean out of him. He threaded a hand through the side of Jack’s thick black hair, much shorter than Beckett’s own, and fisted it. Beckett licked aggressively into Jack’s open mouth, and Jack thrust as aggressively back.
Yes, Beckett was lying on top of Jack, but Jack was holding him there.
