Beg

by Piper Scott

  What a temptation it had been.

  What are u doing this afternoon?

  Marcus opened his eyes to read the message. He read it through several times, wondering about the intent behind it. During silences, it was L who kept pushing the conversation. Marcus didn’t overlook his enthusiasm.

  I just got home from work. I was changing into something more comfortable.

  U mean u don’t always wear suits?

  Only when I’m looking to impress men I can never forget.

  It was their first correspondence, but Marcus was high off the memory of L’s heat. He sent his next message before he had time to reconsider it.

  I’m shirtless. Should I take off my pants as well, or should I wait for the conversation to be finished?

  The speech bubble appeared, then blinked out of existence. Marcus watched it appear and disappear, flickering for different intervals of time as L struggled with his response. Marcus pictured him squirming, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

  If L was still in heat, Marcus liked to think that he’d slicked himself already—that the idea of Marcus shirtless and stripping was enough to push him over the edge into wild arousal. The image of L’s lips parting in breathless delight as his cock hardened drove Marcus to be more reckless than he should have been. After all, L wasn’t his. They’d barely established a connection.

  But if Marcus had his way, that would change.

  U should take off ur pants, L replied. The speech bubble blinked in and out of existence several times before a second message joined the first. U deserve to be comfortable.

  Are you getting comfortable, too?

  Yes.

  Marcus let his head fall back, losing himself to the thought of L lifting his shirt to expose the pale, slender planes of his stomach and the modest abs that followed. He pictured that same shirt pulled up and over L’s head, then dropped on the floor and forgotten.

  Tell me about what you’re doing this afternoon, Marcus wrote.

  I’m at home coming off my heat, L replied. I can’t really do anything.

  Why not?

  The speech bubble flashed a few times in rapid succession. The text that followed was worth the wait. Marcus’ jaw fell slack as he read the seven words newly arrived at the bottom of his screen.

  im too horny to do anything useful.

  Then let me help you feel better.

  Marcus rolled onto his side, all too aware of the way his cock strained against his pants. He undid the button of his fly and pulled the zipper down beneath it, easing some of the pressure.

  An omega in heat was a fact of life. After a decade spent as a patron of The Shepherd, Marcus had grown accustomed to the sweet, enticing smell of a body at peak fertility. By all rights, L’s heat shouldn’t have lingered with him.

  But it did.

  How are u going to do that from far away? L asked.

  Imagine that your hands are my hands, Marcus instructed. Arousal built inside of him, spurring him onward. While my hands are busy with your body, you can’t reply. All I want you to do is read. Answer me one last time to let me know that you want it… that you understand.

  I want it. I understand.

  Marcus’ breath caught in his throat, and his eyelids drooped for a prolonged moment as the intensity of the scene tightened in his core. With L, even the simplest seduction was exciting.

  Marcus began.

  You’re on your bed, exposed for me. I’m there with you, on the bed, and as you pant and writhe your way through the remnants of your heat, I’m there, touching you.

  He pictured L’s cock, so stiff that it strained upward, bobbing as precum leaked from its slit. L’s body, narrow and lithe, was bare for him.

  My hand travels from your collarbone down your chest until my fingers brush your nipple, and at first you think the touch is fleeting until my hand pauses beneath your pec and makes its way back up to what it left behind so thoughtlessly. It caresses for a moment, circling your nipple, until my thumb and index finger move inward and I roll that sensitive pebble of skin between them instead.

  The bulge in Marcus’ boxer-briefs strained outward, eager to escape the cotton it was contained in. Marcus thrust his hips slowly, angling himself downward so he could rub his cock against the mattress. He imagined that wherever L was, he was doing the same.

  I work your nipple gently as you squirm for me, but it’s not until your mouth has fallen open in pleasure and your eyes are closed from delight that I tug on it, tenderly at first, but then harder. You strain against me, begging for more. You’re slick, aren’t you? You’re soaked. Your body wants me inside of you.

  Marcus grunted and buried his head against the pillow, desperate to work his length deep. His hips maintained momentum, teasing him as he typed. When at last he looked up, the message had been sent and read. There was no speech bubble. L was being good—he was waiting for more.

  So as I’m tweaking your nipple and driving you insane with need, my other hand moves downward. It follows the center of your stomach to your navel, traces along that shallow dip, then finds the thin line of hair leading downward. My fingers follow it, and the second they touch the base of your cock, you let out a needy gasp. You’re on fire, aren’t you? Even though you’re medicated, you can’t contain your heat. You can’t hope to control it around me.

  More than anything, he wished he could see L’s reactions. What noises would tumble from his delicate lips? What sounds could Marcus chase from deep inside of him? He imagined the tension building in L’s body. Head thrown back, the curve of L’s neck bared, L’s whole body tight. The shallow, hurried movement of his ribs as he stole panted breaths would betray his arousal just as much as his tension did. The tiny tremor that ran through L’s limbs and shook his shoulders would fit him beautifully.

  If only Marcus could see him.

  My fingers wrap around your dripping cock, and I stroke you slowly, teasing you at first. The desperate noises you make delight me, and I work my hand a little faster for you, bringing you the bliss you need.

  How would it feel to touch L like that? To prop him up on the bar and guide him through an orgasm? Marcus longed to let his fingers brush his own clothed erection, but he couldn’t let himself do it—not until L was satisfied. Not until he was done with his story.

  You’re begging me for more. My hand moves with purpose, guiding you through everything you could ever want, but it’s still not enough. No matter how well I pump you, no matter the speed or the rhythm or the intensity, you’re not satisfied, are you?

  He paused only for effect, the air stuck and stale in his lungs. Anticipation of the payout built. Playing with L was more rewarding than Marcus could have anticipated. For now the play was all one-sided, but it wouldn’t be that way forever. Marcus wouldn’t allow it.

  You need more.

  The speech bubble appeared, but before a message could be sent, Marcus stopped it.

  Your hands are busy, L. I didn’t tell you to stop.

  The speech bubble disappeared.

  You’re wet. The scent of your heat is muted, but with your slick running down your thighs, you can still smell it. You know I can smell it, too. You know I must want to fuck your heat out of you, don’t you? You know that I want to work you as deep and as hard as I can before I let my knot stuff you. You’re desperate to feel me swell, aren’t you? You want to grind down on me and take me as deeply as you can if only so my cum can douse the fire inside.

  Marcus’ pulse sped. The desire to go through with his words and take L the way he wanted to was almost overwhelming, but Marcus didn’t let it control him. He was an alpha, but he was stronger than his basic instincts.

  The words spill from your lips before you even know you’re speaking. You’re begging me to roll you over and fuck you into the mattress. Between the way I’m pinching, tugging, and caressing your nipple and the way I’m working your cock, you can’t get enough. You need more. You spread your legs for me to show me how wet you are and how
ready you are to take all of me, and I lean forward and whisper against your lips, “No.”

  You weep for me. You shed pretty, desperate tears. You need to be filled, don’t you? You need to have my knot inside you, pumping you full of life. Your body demands it, and you can’t do anything but give in. But I won’t give you what you want. My hand pumps, and pumps, and finally it hits the rhythm that you need. You work yourself into my hand like it might convince me to change my mind, but it’s not going to. And when you come, and your seed drips down my hand to pool low on your stomach, I pull back. Before you know it, I’m gone.

  There was nothing said for a long while. Marcus focused on the pattern of each ragged breath he drew, following the hitched intake and marking how each exhalation flattened his lungs. He pushed into the mattress, working his neglected dick.

  At last, a new message appeared.

  Why won’t you fuck me? Put it in me? Use me like I deserve to be used?

  Because words wouldn’t do it justice, Marcus replied. It’s the kind of experience I only offer in person.

  A minute passed, then two. By the time the third minute ended, Marcus assumed their conversation was over. He rolled onto his back with every intention of knotting his hand when his phone beeped with a new message.

  My name is Lucian Bracknell.

  Welcome to The Shepherd, Lucian. I hope you enjoy your stay.

  11

  Lucian

  Movement drew Lucian’s eye to the second floor landing, but the grin on his face faltered before it could bloom. It was another Friday night, and that meant Marcus was on his way—but the suit jacket he’d seen from the corner of his eye didn’t belong to Marcus. The man it belonged to was already with an omega, and they wasted no time crossing the floor and disappearing down the hallway to The Shepherd’s public rooms.

  Lucian watched them go, deflated without reason to be. Against his better judgment, he’d been waiting all night for Marcus to make an appearance, but Marcus was nowhere to be seen.

  “Lucian?” Clarissa asked.

  “Right, right.” Lucian shook his head. “I’m on it. I’m sorry.”

  There was a small crowd at the bar, and Clarissa was slowed by an order for handcrafted cocktails. Keeping up with the simple stuff fell on Lucian’s shoulders while she worked. Now that he was on his second full week at work, he was able to take care of orders by himself for the most part.

  Shots were filled. Orders were taken. Money traded hands. Lucian kept as focused as he could, but his eye kept being drawn to the stairs, eager to see Marcus arrive. After their conversation on Monday, they hadn’t texted again, but Marcus had never left Lucian’s mind.

  He couldn’t, no matter how wrong it was. Not after the story he’d told.

  Lucian glanced toward the stairs again as he switched bottles, but there was no one there.

  The crowd thinned. Clarissa finished what she was doing and helped him clear up the last of the outstanding orders. Rush conquered, Lucian wiped his arm across his brow, then sanitized the bar counter. As he worked, Clarissa swapped out the rack of used glasses they kept beneath the bar for an empty rack, handing the dishes off to a busboy who’d come up from the ground floor.

  Lucian lifted his head to tell her he’d run a sweep on the tables when a flash of a suit jacket caught his eye and stopped him. Marcus had arrived. He settled on a bar stool in front of Clarissa, and although the music from below did a fine job of drowning out low conversation, Lucian heard the words Marcus spoke with clarity.

  “Knob Creek, neat.”

  Lucian stared at him, hand stopped. Marcus had passed him to sit at the bar by Clarissa, so there was no doubt that Marcus knew he was there, but he didn’t so much as spare Lucian a glance.

  Marcus was ignoring him.

  Lucian’s hand tightened, clutching the rag he cleaned the counter with tightly. He’d assumed after the things Marcus had written that he’d want his full attention, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.

  Was Marcus done with him already?

  Before Lucian could upset himself, Marcus lifted his head. He didn’t turn to look in Lucian’s direction, but Lucian watched Marcus observe him from the corner of his eye. There was a playfulness to Marcus’ expression that told Lucian things weren’t over between them. Not by a long shot.

  Whatever game Marcus was playing, Lucian wanted it over with.

  “Same as usual?” Clarissa asked. She was already preparing Marcus’ glass.

  “Of course,” Marcus said.

  “Any plans for tonight?” Bourbon met the glass. Lucian watched as the whiskey stones were swallowed by the drink.

  He wished Marcus would look his way, but Marcus refused to turn his head.

  “Nope.” Marcus took custody of the glass and raised it in a toast, then sipped. “It’s going to be another night of the same.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Clarissa put the Knob Creek back. Before she could notice that he was spaced out, Lucian got back to work. He wiped the counter down and started taking care of organizing the fridge beneath the counter. It put him safely out of sight of Marcus and allowed him to take a moment to compose himself.

  What in the hell was going on?

  On Monday, Marcus had made it clear that he was interested, but tonight? It felt like tonight he couldn’t care less. The conflicting messages left Lucian unsure of where he stood.

  Lucian took longer organizing the items below the bar than he needed to, and when he stood back up, Marcus was gone. Clarissa was busy serving a new crowd, so Lucian allowed himself a second to scan the bar for the man who was toying with him.

  He found Marcus settled in booth five, but despite his privacy, his gaze still didn’t drift in Lucian’s direction. It was as infuriating as it was tantalizing.

  For the rest of the night, Lucian found himself checking in on booth five whenever he had a moment between patrons. Marcus didn’t wander. When Clarissa announced last call a few minutes after two, Marcus was still there. He was engaged in conversation with another alpha, his back to Lucian as if Lucian didn’t exist. By the time the bar shut down and club security began escorting patrons from the club, Marcus had only just left booth five and headed for the stairs.

  He hadn’t traded a single word with Lucian all night.

  Lucian watched him go, ruffled. He was used to men flinging themselves at him, not men who acted like they wanted nothing to do with him. It stuck beneath his skin and irritated the hell out of him.

  What was Marcus playing at?

  Lucian wasn’t convinced that he knew.

  “Chairs up, kid,” Clarissa announced jovially as she shut down the register. “The sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner we can leave.”

  “I’m on it,” Lucian said, and he was—but his mind was nowhere near as devoted.

  Marcus wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him. Now that his heat was over, there was no reason why Marcus should be driving him so insane. The rules were clear—they weren’t supposed to be involved with each other—but in the absence of Marcus’ touch, Lucian wanted nothing more than to screw the rules.

  … And the alpha who made them so difficult to follow.

  12

  Marcus

  Marcus tapped the back of his shoe against the pavement, eyes set on an arbitrary point across the street while he waited for time to pass. It had been a long, long time since he’d been at The Shepherd for last call, and an even longer time since he’d outstayed his welcome, but seeing Lucian steal glances in his direction all night was worth it. Confused, curious looks like those gave Marcus life when he felt depleted. The magic he’d once come to The Shepherd to find was back.

  For Marcus, it wasn’t the victory that was so alluring, but the hunt—the stolen glances, the uncertainty, and the excitement. A heated conversation meant nothing. Lucian had been running from him, turning him down in one sentence and inviting Marcus to chase him with the next. Now it was time Marcus tested Lucian’s intentions.


  Tonight, Marcus would see if Lucian could be caught.

  Light shifted across the pavement as The Shepherd’s door opened, drawing Marcus’ eye. Lucian stood there, arm extended to hold the door open. In the early morning shadows, his eyes gleamed.

  Marcus smiled.

  “Marcus?” Lucian asked uncertainly, as though he thought Marcus might be an illusion. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for stars.”

  Lucian glanced up. Light pollution from downtown Aurora drowned out the night sky, masking it in shifting hues of warm gray. Not even the moon was clear—it blurred around the edges, drowned out by the brilliance of their small metropolis.

  “But I’m not interested in stars anymore,” Marcus continued. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “There are other things that draw my eye closer to home.”

  Lucian’s lips thinned, and he looked back into The Shepherd with worry. Whatever he saw didn’t lighten his expression.

  “Let’s walk,” Lucian said as he closed the door. He took Marcus’ hand, grip surprisingly strong for someone of his stature. There was nothing insecure about a grip like that. “We need to talk, but I don’t want to do that here.”

  “Then lead me,” Marcus implored. “I’ll follow.”

  The Shepherd was situated between buildings, its side doors accessible through narrow, unlit alleyways. With the overhang from other buildings blotting out the moonlight, the alleys were secluded and seldom used. Lucian, whether by familiarity or instinct, led Marcus down one of those alleyways, then took a detour into a narrow, dead end passage that Marcus would have walked right by without noticing.

  Lucian stopped there, partially bathed in shadow. He turned to face Marcus, and Marcus waited for him to speak his mind.

  “You’re not supposed to do this,” Lucian said at last. He met Marcus’ eyes, challenge gleaming in his gaze. It wasn’t the kind of reception Marcus anticipated from an omega, but the strength in Lucian’s declaration drew him in. There was no second-guessing himself, no hemming or hawing—Lucian knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to let it be known. “Staff is off-limits.”