by Aiden Bates
“Tell me you want it,” he commanded.
I breathed out a ragged breath, cocking my head in a conceited come-hither.
“Like you have to ask,” I purred back.
He descended on me like a fucking beast, tongue lapping at my collarbone, his cock positioned rough against my tight, soaked hole. Teasing my entrance—but not giving it to me. Not just yet.
“I don’t have to ask,” he agreed, dipping his lips to my ear. His breath washed over my earlobe and my neck, bathing me in its humid warmth. The rumble of his voice made my whole body seize up, made my cock throb so hard it bounced against my abs. “But if you want me, then I’m going to have to hear it first.”
“Fuck,” I breathed, then: “I want it. Please.”
His lips were on mine in an instant, muffling my moan as his cock pressed into my ass. It stretched me open, molded me to fit him, and I was so fucking wet for him that instead of struggling to take the sheer girth of his shaft, he glided right in.
“God,” I gasped, my shoulders drawing back and my body arching so hard that it pushed us both off the bed.
“Mm. If that’s what you’d like to call me.” He chuckled, teeth nipping at my ear. “But by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be moaning my name—not His.”
5
Ace
He gripped me like a goddamn vice, every inch of his body absorbing the shock of every sneering, brutal thrust.
I’d known Omegas like Noah before. Rough men from the same rough places as me. It always ended up like this, our bodies wound together, taking each other’s traumas and amplifying them into something bearable and pleasurable between the sheets. But where those other Omegas had whimpered and cooed in desperation as I claimed them, Noah moaned and smiled, dug his fingers into my shoulder blades and pulled me deeper for more. Where they writhed beneath me, sometimes gasping, sometimes sobbing from the sheer delight of being used, Noah threw his weight beneath me, turning the both of us over in his bed. He pinned down my wrists, setting a new, faster pace as he rode me, and for the first time in my life, it was my turn to gasp and moan and see stars.
He was gorgeous, and he was dangerous, and in that moment as his hips rocked against me and his cock throbbed between us, he was so fucking perfect I could have died and died happy.
That’s when I realized it—I’d never really met an Omega like Noah in my entire life.
The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, casting shadows over us as the blades flicked across the low light. My cock ached for him, even as he clenched around me tighter and tighter still. I could have lain there for hours, just enjoying the way he worked me over—but it felt even better to wrench my wrists free of his grasp, curling my fingers around his hip with one hand and taking his dick in the other.
He was going to make me cum. I could feel it in every cell of my body, the deliciously sharp pleasure and gushing heat. But I’d already denied him one orgasm—I wasn’t about to deny him another.
If I was going to cum, so was he.
His smile widened as I stroked him, matching his every move. He wanted to ride me at a gallop? Fine—I’d show him a thing or two about speed. He wanted to take my cock so deep I could feel myself bottoming out against his cervix? Fine—I’d pump his cock so tight in my fist that his eyes rolled back from the intoxicating sensation of it.
We were drowning in each other, perfectly suited, perfectly matched. I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect partner in the Ballroom that night if I’d tried—and the fact that he’d chosen me right back told me that my efforts hadn’t been in vain. The seduction had slipped away the moment he got on top of me. The tides had turned, and now, in the moment, it wasn’t about claiming him or using him or how bad I’d wanted to fuck him from the second I’d first laid eyes on him anymore. It wasn’t about the control. It certainly wasn’t about the fucking job I was being paid to do.
It was about me, and him, and the insane rapture we shared as our bodies moved together, pleasures merging so perfectly that I couldn’t tell who was feeling what, me or him. In that moment, we were one divine thing. Even as his shoulders tensed and his balls clenched against my pelvis, those telltale signs that he was about to explode all over my stomach and hand and chest, I could feel it in my fucking soul.
We were going to cum together, and nothing else mattered. Beyond the edges of his mattress, the rest of the world didn’t matter.
“Fuck—Ace—” he panted, and just like that, the rest of the world melted away.
We spun again, my hips pounding against his thighs as I unleashed my cum so deep into him I was dizzy from it. In my fist, his cock spasmed violently, pearl white seed waterfalling down his perfect shaft, then shooting rope after rope so hard it landed on my collarbone, my shoulder, the cut hills and valleys of his pecs. I collapsed onto him, chin struck back like he’d just taken his fist and haymakered me with it.
I’d had a lot of perfect orgasms in my life, but as I felt my balls empty every last drop of my cum into Noah’s ass, I knew in an instant that this one outpaced all the rest by a New York mile.
“Fuck,” I echoed, my chest heaving over him as I tried and failed to catch my breath.
A muffled sound came from his lips—a sigh, I thought at first, but then he proved me wrong as it turned into a breathy laugh.
“Jesus,” he swore. “You’re a better lay than I thought.”
I eased out of him, feeling the rush of my cum flooding out of him in my absence. His sheets were going to be ruined. The whole bedroom was drenched in the perfume of our sweat and sex.
“You shouldn’t have underestimated me, then.” I ran my hands down his sides as I lowered my tongue to his chest, pressing my fingertips against each of his ribs as I lapped at the seed our bodies had smeared across his chest. He was hairless and smooth, not even the slightest scratch of stubble against my tongue as I licked him clean.
The taste of his cum was incredible, salty and fresh. I wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking off every last drop—and then, because I was a fucking gentleman, I raised my fingers to his lips so he could taste himself as well.
If the orgasm hadn’t done me in enough already, watching him lick cum off my fingers finished the job. The best sex of my life—fuck. Noah Layton had to have been the best sex of anyone’s life, and suddenly I was deeply jealous of whatever bastard had sent him those flowers he had displayed out in his living room.
“Still hungry?” I asked, relishing the deep glimmer in the enchanting blues of his eyes. I’d been so mistaken in the dark of the club before—his eyes were like a fresh coat of ice on the East River, cool and clear as they refracted the light.
“Mm. Do you want the truth or the lie?” he asked.
I raised an eyebrow. “Truth, obviously. The city’s full of liars—I appreciate a good bit of truth.”
He laughed. “I’m fucking exhausted. Could sleep for a month after that.”
I smiled, moving back up on the bed beside him and curling my body against his. “That good, huh?”
“Don’t play me, Ace. It was good for you too.”
I shouldn’t have kissed him then. The kind of kisses I wanted to rain down on his mouth after something that was so obviously meant to be a one-night stand—it would have been a faux pas of the highest degree. I knew what I was meant to do next. It was a ritual as old as sex itself: I was meant to excuse myself off to the bathroom, clean myself up, get dressed and leave. Drop my phone number on the back of a receipt and leave it in the living room. I had one from Barney’s in my wallet that would have done the job, the total on it suggesting that I had plenty of money to spend spoiling an Omega who fucked me even half as well as Noah had.
I shouldn’t have kissed him, but I did. And the minute my lips found his, the taste of his pleasure still on our lips and our tongues, I knew there wasn’t a fucking chance I’d be sleeping in my own bed that night.
“Come here,” I said, rolling onto my back and pulling him over onto my chest.
His cheek was cool against the heat and sweat of my skin. I could feel him breathing in my scent, burying his face in it for a moment then rolling to settle in the little crook between my shoulder and my neck.
“Funny,” he mumbled, his voice striped with fatigue. “I clocked you as the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”
“You want me to leave?”
He laughed, a soft little rumble like distant thunder. “Fuck no. Nothing better than being well-fucked to the point of exhaustion, passing out in each other’s arms.”
“Let’s do that then,” I agreed.
He closed his eyes as I yanked the sheets up over us. I could feel the weight of his head getting heavier and heavier against me as he drifted off to sleep.
I stayed awake for maybe half an hour after. Maybe more. It hadn’t been meant to go like this, I knew. I’d been meant to fuck him, to make him want me and to leave him wanting more. But even though I’d fully intended to enjoy it, I hadn’t dreamed of enjoying it so much.
The realization was setting in so quickly, it left a cold heaviness settling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t have picked a better Angel from Heaven’s Ballroom to take to bed that night—or a more dangerous one. There was something about Noah that drew me in like a ship to a light in the harbor, and I couldn’t tell yet if he was a lighthouse, or a lantern hung on the cliffside by some bastard who wanted to pick through the wreckage when I broke on the rocks between me and the shore.
I wanted him in a way that I hadn’t wanted anyone in a long, long time. Not just sexually—even though I could definitely go for another round or ten like that again. He was handsome, clever, so charming it made me want to throw a punch at any other Alpha who so much as glanced at him.
Could I really do my job when it meant fucking around with a man like him? The sense of danger shifted to guilt immediately—how the hell was I supposed to trick Noah fucking Layton into giving up all his secrets to me? I was a bad fucking man, sure, but could I really take this perfect fucking moment and pervert it for my own gain, just because Harmon wanted intel on a competing club and a new dancer for the Backdoor?
I set my jaw, pushing those feelings into the dark places of my brain where I kept all the other shit that got in the way. I was a man who took pride in doing my job. When men like Noah Layton went on to marry boring, handsome Alphas who’d never known what it was like to take a fist to the head, that pride was all I’d have left.
Whatever upper hand I’d thought I had, I knew I lost it the moment that I let myself get in too deep with him. Any feelings I found myself catching for Noah were a liability—the kind that I couldn’t let seep in.
Get intel on the Ballroom. Convince Noah to dance at the Backdoor instead. I couldn’t let myself feel bad about the mission I’d been tasked to carry out—in ten years, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Noah’d have three blue-eyed children with some Wall Street billionaire by then, and I’d still be doing shady jobs for shady people, same as I always did.
In ten years, it wouldn’t matter. It was the last thing I meant to think about before I finally let sleep take me—but then Noah threw his arm over me, cuddling his body a little deeper into mine, and I drifted off thinking about how fucking good that felt instead.
6
Noah
The scent of sizzling bacon and a buzz from my phone stirred me out of what must’ve been a wet dream. As I blinked my eyes open, I could see my cock tenting the sheets, unrelentingly hard. I flexed my thighs a few times, willing it to go down to no avail. Whatever fantasy or memory my subconscious had drawn up—a set of hot lips on my neck, the scratch of a dark-stubbled cheek, an arm wrapping around me and pulling me to a chiseled chest—wasn’t planning on letting me go any time soon. Somehow, I knew it’d been Ace in the dream—but when I glanced over to the pillow he’d been lying on when we fell asleep last night, all that was left was the fresh, dark scent of his shampoo on the pillowcase.
“Aw, fuck!” he shouted from the kitchen, a clamor of tumbling cookware accompanying his yelp.
At least he was making himself useful, I supposed—or maybe, he was just making a mess. Part of me was still surprised that he hadn’t slunk out the door already.
“Down, boy,” I groaned at my erection as I rolled off the bed to grab my phone. It wasn’t unusual for me to wake up hard. I had a high sex drive and plenty of energy to fuel it. But it was pretty unusual for my hard-ons to stick around like this. The promise of Ace whisking in any moment with breakfast once he was done destroying my kitchen was keeping me hot and ready for him, apparently.
I fished my phone out of the pocket of last night’s blue jeans, groaning at the sight of all the notifications and missed texts. Anders, one of my coworkers, had been out at some wild party the night before and wanted to regale me of all the dirty details; my friend Riley’s twin girls had just taken their first steps. The most recent message in my phone was from Foster himself, though.
Well????
I found myself grinning as I texted him back, Well what? Be more specific, darling.
The reply buzzed in immediately. He must have been checking his phone all morning for my response.
You know damn well what. How did it go?
I got him, I typed back. He’s currently wrecking my kitchen as we speak.
WHAT?! I could actually feel Foster freaking out through the phone. Did you piss him off or something? He’s a CRIMINAL, Noah! Do you need me to send Blake over?
I laughed, typing back as quick as I could before Foster roused the Ballroom’s poor, handsome bouncer to come save me from the perceived threat of Ace’s wrath.
Smells like breakfast, actually. He spent the night. Let Blake sleep. The only thing criminal about Ace is the way he murdered my poor ass last night.
There was a long pause after that—either because Foster was having to apologetically inform Blake that he’d raised a false alarm, or because he was busy imagining what a beast a man like Ace must have been in bed. Maybe both.
Was it good? Foster messaged back—then, immediately after: No, wait, don’t tell me, I already know the answer. You okay, though?
Couldn’t be better, I typed with a smirk.
Okay. Okay. Good. So…would you mind asking him for a favor?
I raised an eyebrow. Sure. What’s the favor?
Have him walk you to work in a couple of hours. Make sure to bring him in with you—offer him a drink or something, whatever you have to do.
Now both my eyebrows were raised. Consider it done. But…why?
A devious smile raised on my lips as I read Foster’s reply.
Now this was going to be fun.
The kitchen was just as much of a mess as I expected it to be. Oil was splattered over the counters. Dishes were piled high in the sink. But the scent hanging heavy in the air was one of bacon and hot butter, melted cheese and golden eggs. The only thing that could have possibly been more delicious than the smell was the sight of Ace’s bare ass at my stove, my apron wrapped around his neck and tied at his waist.
“Didn’t think you were the Anthony Bourdain type,” I quipped, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the wall behind him.
He turned, grinning as he saw the way my sweatpants hung off the deep V of my pelvis. “You’re awake. Good. Thought maybe I’d fucked you into a coma last night.”
“What’s on the menu?” I took a step forward, craning my neck to get a better look at what he had sizzling on the stovetop.
“Figured since you liked your eggs fertilized, you might like them scrambled as well.” He tipped the frying pan onto a plate, sending a yolk-yellow cascade of eggs tumbling onto it. “Struck me this morning that we should’ve used a condom. You need me to go pick up some Plan B while you eat?”
“Mm,” I hummed as I watched the steam rise up from the bacon as he moved it onto the plate next to the eggs. “As much as I’m sure you’ve been drooling over the idea of fucking me pregnant, sweetheart, I’m afraid your attemp
ts have been in vain. Don’t worry—I won’t be giving you any bastard children. Plan B won’t be necessary.”
“Ah. Birth control?”
I laughed as I took the plate from him, grabbing two forks from the drawer. “Also unnecessary. I’ve already tried the whole ‘settling down and making babies’ thing once—it never took.”
He raised an eyebrow, moving to the toaster as it popped up two golden brown slices of bread. “Sorry—struggling to imagine you as a family man, I think.”
“Not much of a struggle.” I dipped into the eggs and moaned softly—they were creamy, garlicky, and fucking divine. “I was with an Alpha I met at the VA hospital when my ACL was healing. We gave the family thing a go for about a year before it fell apart. On the bright side, turns out I’m perfectly incompatible with baby-making.”
Ace turned to me, staring at me with that look that told me he wasn’t sure whether to congratulate me or offer his condolences. In the end, he settled for snatching a piece of bacon from my plate and crunching into it.
“Guess that means I can shoot my cum deep inside you as much as I like,” he said with a wink.
“Bold of you to assume I’ll let you fuck me again.” I moved to the table, sitting down and scoping out my plan of attack to introduce Foster’s new scheme.
“Bold of you to suggest that you’re not already aching for it,” he countered, turning off the stove and leaning back against my dishwasher. “Or was last night not good enough for you?”
I closed my eyes, half in memory of exactly how good he’d felt moving inside me, half in orgasm over how good the bacon tasted. So crispy and perfectly cooked, it practically melted on my tongue. I could still feel the slickness of Ace’s cum between my thighs, the way my ass tightened and throbbed with the thought of taking him inside me again.
