He looked so small by comparison. It was only a few inches in height, both their bodies strong and muscled, but seeing him captive in Emerson’s strong embrace was utterly mesmerizing. He’d never connected with the part of him that was supposedly omega—until that moment. Dash didn’t—and very much did—want to surrender and be the obedient, submissive omega for his alpha.
Emerson trailed a fingertip over his neck, forcing his gaze to a bite mark. Dash trembled against his mate, cursing his body for being so fucking mutinous. It was just teeth marks… yet it was a sign of Emerson’s possession.
Why not simply give into it?
Because that’snothow he was built.
“I’ve already texted Jackson that I’d be in the office today—and that we needed to meet,” Dash said, changing the subject and ignoring the slick dripping down his legs. “Ihaveto go.”
“Text him back. Something came up,” Emerson said before kissing Dash’s neck on the bite marks he’d left behind.
Dash stifled a moan, made harder by Emerson rubbing his thick, hard cock against his lower back. Another moan rose up Dash’s throat and he rolled his hips, sliding Emerson’s shaft between his asscheeks. He gripped the edge of the counter and rose onto his tiptoes to give Emerson a better angle. Emerson slid halfway in, coating his cock with Dash’s slick, before driving deeper on the next thrust.
“Look,”Emerson growled again, tipping Dash’s chin up.
Dash met his own stare once more—and gasped at what pleasure had wreaked on his face. Jaw slack, eyes hooded, Dash was seconds from yielding all. His gaze flicked to Emerson’s in the glass, watching. He played voyeur and exhibitionist at the same time, fascinated by how easily Emerson dominated him.
“Does the man in the mirror look like his heat is over?” Emerson asked, thrusting deep into Dash’s body.
“No,”Dash whispered.
“That’s right,” Emerson said. “He’s nowherenearbeing done. He needs my cock to sate his need, doesn’t he?”
“Yesss,”Dash hissed.
Emerson pulled out, spun him, and lifted him onto the counter. Dash was set between the two bowls, his bottom narrowly filling the spot. Emerson opened his hips and slid back home.
Dash gasped, a moan coming a second later.
They fucked for a few minutes before Emerson hooked his arms under Dash’s knees. “Hold tight.”
Dash grabbed Emerson’s neck without a second to spare. Emerson carried him out to the bedroom, still buried to the hilt. He stopped at the side of the bed without lowering Dash.
“What’re you doing?”Dash groaned. He wanted to be pinned into the mattress—just as he’d been pinned to the counter. He wanted to be near crushed by Emerson’s warm, welcome weight.
Emerson pulled out almost all the way and rocked his hips forward. Dash moaned, clinging to Emerson’s neck as he was fucked midair, his mate his only anchor. By the time Emerson finally laid him on the bed, he was too far gone to remember much after that—nothing by pure satisfaction, another wave of heat soon calmed. When he awoke cuddled against Emerson sometime in what appeared to be the late afternoon, he went in search of his phone that he’d left in the bathroom.
It was past four in the afternoon—on Monday. Glancing at his messages, it appeared he’d texted both Mason and Jackson to let them know he’d need to be out at least another day. Then he noticed the syntax was off.
Two Black Guardsmen, who knew him well.
If he knew his friends like he thought, either one of them would find them soon enough. He called Mason first, but the call wouldn’t go through. Neither would one to Jackson. The last texts seemed to have gone through, but as far out as they were, reception was likely spotty. He snagged a robe from the back of the bathroom door and donned it as he walked through the boat, eyeing his screen. Dash finally found reception at the same second he noticed a small craft aiming their way with speed.
Lowering his hand, he assumed it was the not-so-welcome wagon he didn’t want to arrive. The boat zoomed up, stopping feet away and curving to hug Emerson’s houseboat. Mason jumped off first, stalking closer.
“How’d you find me? Another tracker of Jackson’s?”
“No,”Jackson snapped as he tied the small boat to Emerson’s. “I triangulated the spot where the call hit the cell towers and I realized you were somewhere out in the bay.”
“How convenient,” Dash said.
“Someonehad your phone,” Mason said. “That wasn’t you who texted.”
“No,” Dash replied. “Emerson texted for me. I was a bit… out of it.”
Both Mason and Jackson stared at him.
Dash ignored their stares.
