Beg (His Command Book 2)

by Piper Scott

  He was perfect.

  “You were so good tonight.” Marcus’ voice was meant for Lucian’s ears alone, but it carried through the air with powerful intent. Lucian shivered against him, his neck outstretched and his head thrown back. The moon was waxing, and the alley was a little brighter than it had been the week before. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do. Do you know what that means?”

  “No,” Lucian whispered. The tiny way he spoke was tantalizing beyond belief. Marcus was no stranger to omegas, but his previous partners had already been broken. Now that he had a fresh canvas, he found himself momentarily paralyzed by potential.

  There was so much he could do. So much he wanted to do.

  But only so much time.

  “It means that you deserve to be rewarded,” Marcus told him, words rolling like thunder. The rumble darkened his voice in the same way lust did, heightening his awareness of the desire he felt until he couldn’t take it any longer—his hand plunged down to palm Lucian through his pants. Lucian was already hard. “So what will it be, fledgling? Do you want to play with me? Right here? Right now? Tell me.”

  “Yes.” It parted from Lucian’s tongue light and fragile, spiraling through the space between them like a ballerina across a stage. Lucian didn’t know the moves to their dance yet, but Marcus would teach him. He knew that Lucian would make him proud.

  Marcus’ hand tightened. He gripped Lucian firmly, his thumb stroking the hardening bulge behind Lucian’s fly.

  “Look at you,” Marcus murmured. He planted a kiss on Lucian’s temple, letting Lucian hear the ragged way he was breathing, letting him know that he was just as eager for this as Lucian was. “You’re already hard. How long have you wanted this? How long have you wanted me?”

  “Since the first time I saw you,” Lucian whispered. His arms tightened around Marcus’ neck, and he pushed his hips forward to rub himself against Marcus’ hand. “Wanted you so bad.”

  Marcus’ hand tightened to near painful levels, and just as he’d wanted, Lucian gasped for him. It was the same fragile, breathless sound he’d made the week before that Marcus had fallen for.

  “Then let me give you what you want.” Marcus’ hand parted from Lucian’s crotch. He undid the button of Lucian’s slacks. When he spoke next, his voice had dipped into a seductive, conspiratorial whisper. “But remember, this is a secret. If you don’t want anyone to find out, you can’t make a sound.”

  Lucian’s eyes were shut tight, his face a strange mix of tension and slack. It was as though he was trying his best to hold himself together, while at the same time wanting more than anything else to fall apart.

  Marcus’ hand slipped behind Lucian’s fly. His palm met Lucian’s boxer-briefs, and he stroked Lucian open-palmed for a while, tempting him. Lucian made small noises in his throat, barely formed but far too erotic for Marcus to ignore. Lucian rolled his hips, stroking his cock against the breadth of Marcus’ palm.

  “Remember, you need to be quiet,” Marcus whispered into Lucian’s ear in warning. Then, warning issued, he slid his hand behind the elastic waistband of Lucian’s boxer-briefs and grasped his cock in full.

  Lucian choked back a cry and buried his head against Marcus’ shoulder. He bit down into Marcus’ shirt, gagging himself as Marcus’ hand pumped. Marcus grinned against the side of Lucian’s head, enamored. His new toy had all the markings of greatness. Given time, Marcus knew he would excel.

  “Pump yourself into my hand,” Marcus whispered, inviting Lucian to move. “Show me how much you want me. I want to know it, not just hear it.”

  A change rippled through the air then, like what Marcus had said stirred reality in ways it wasn’t meant to be stirred. The sexual energy once so vibrant between them dulled.

  Lucian changed.

  What had once seared with its heat now burned with its impropriety. Lucian didn’t stop moving, but when he did move, there was a marked change in the motions he made. Lucian pushed into Marcus’ hand once, puffed out a breath onto the knot of fabric in his mouth, and started to move his hips as though he’d been born for it. Tension ran through Lucian’s body, holding him upright when before he’d been slack. The rocking of his hips was too perfect to be real.

  For someone so young who—to Marcus’ knowledge—had never been trained before, the execution was stunning. Lucian moved like he’d had years of practice. But the intent behind the way he pushed into Marcus’ hand bothered Marcus on a level not even the heat of their situation could remedy.

  Tonight was about rewarding Lucian for following Marcus’ word, but the way he moved was for Marcus’ pleasure, not his own.

  “Stop,” Marcus demanded. Lucian did. He released the shirt he’d clamped between his teeth to look at Marcus, and Marcus searched his eyes for meaning. The lust they’d nurtured throughout the night was no longer red-hot in Lucian’s eyes—it had burned out and glossed over like molten sand turned to glass.

  The deadened look destroyed him.

  “Who trained you?” Marcus asked, his voice cutting through the silence of the night with more force than he’d intended. If it was someone at The Shepherd, Marcus would tear them limb from limb. No submissive should ever feel like that. Lucian was hurt.

  “No one,” Lucian replied. The glass started to melt and the Lucian Marcus knew started to return, but the memory of what Marcus had just seen didn’t fade as easily.

  “Someone did,” Marcus insisted. His hand left Lucian’s cock, pressing against his bare hip instead. Marcus pinned him loosely to the wall, seeking answers Lucian wasn’t willing to give. “No one moves like that without training, Lucian.”

  And your eyes…

  Marcus’ lips flattened into a straight line. He wouldn’t bring up the look in Lucian’s eyes—not now. It wasn’t right. Lucian would tell him one day, but until then, Marcus refused to make him feel uncomfortable. What bound them was pleasure, not pain, and all Marcus wanted to do was strip the hurt plastered in Lucian’s soul and patch him whole again.

  “I’m sorry.” Lucian glanced away. Marcus noticed the deliberate way he breathed. He was working through the hurt on his own. “I didn’t know that what I was doing was wrong.”

  “This is your reward, not mine,” Marcus reminded him. His thumb caressed the dip of Lucian’s hip, trying to soothe him. “Right here, right now, you don’t have to perform. You don’t have to put on an act for me.”

  Lucian met his eyes. The shadows they played in masked the intensity of his expression, but they couldn’t hide his underlying emotions.

  Surprise. Relief. Curiosity.

  The look in Lucian’s eyes woke a part of Marcus that filled his chest with menthol. Its tingling crept through him to leave him suddenly aware of every emotion he harbored inside. Physical attraction had never struck him like this before—it was too staggering, too real. Something about Lucian made him want to protect, to soothe, and to pleasure—and the realization shook Marcus just as deeply as the look in Lucian’s eyes had.

  It wasn’t like him, but now that he was feeling it, he couldn’t deny it.

  Marcus cupped Lucian’s jaw and guided his chin upward. Lucian didn’t resist. When they were lip to lip and Lucian had closed his eyes, Marcus allowed himself to speak again. The words were gentle—they only traveled far enough to vibrate on Lucian’s lips. They had no need for anything louder than that.

  “You never have to act for me,” Marcus told him, letting the sincerity in his voice speak for itself. “You never have to pretend. What I do, I do for you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Lucian whispered. The word didn’t reach Marcus’ ears—it ghosted across his lips.

  “I want you to come tonight. I want you to be selfish. Will you let me spoil you?”

  And do you trust me to fix that broken part inside of you?

  “Yes,” Lucian whispered again. His fingers curled loosely in Marcus’ hair.

  “Then no more pretending,” Marcus whispered back. “No more acting. No more tryin
g to impress me. Tonight, all I want is to reward you for what you’ve done for me. Let me touch you. Let me make you come.”

  Lucian kissed him so gently that Marcus wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not. Their noses brushed, affection tender between them. The hand that pinned Lucian’s narrow hip to the wall slid downward, following the curve of his public bone, until Marcus’ fingertips reunited with the base of Lucian’s cock. Lucian gasped against his mouth, a dainty sound that Marcus silenced with a kiss.

  When he stroked Lucian this time, he worked his hand in slow, deliberate ways.

  Lucian whimpered. His fingers tightened briefly in Marcus’ hair, then unclenched and went lax. Marcus pumped him, working from his heart rather than his head. The connection between them deepened, and it drew Marcus in and left him enslaved to the fledgling submissive in his arms.

  “Do you feel it inside of you?” Marcus asked Lucian, speaking in a low voice too quiet to breach the night. “Do you feel my cum coursing through your balls, building and building, begging to come out?”

  “Yours?” Lucian’s word shook.

  “Mine,” Marcus uttered. “You’re mine. All of you. The lips I kiss. The words you speak. The cum you make for me.”

  Lucian sucked in a breath.

  “Do you feel my cum, fledgling?” Marcus asked again. He opened his hand and let his fingers sink down to run over Lucian’s balls. One by one, he played with them. “Do you feel it? I want it now. I want you to give it to me.”

  “Oh my god,” Lucian whispered. He shook, but Marcus held him firm. “Marcus…”

  “Let my cum out, fledgling.” Despite their hushed conversation, heat branded Marcus’ words. “I want you to let it all out. Come for me.”

  Lucian whimpered. His fingers tightened in Marcus’ hair, and his hips moved forward of their own accord. This time it wasn’t the carefully scripted thrusting he’d performed before—the movements were instinctive, and their intensity couldn’t be faked.

  “I’m going to come,” Lucian uttered. His voice hitched, snagged on his pleasure. “There’s so much of it. I can’t… I can’t stop. Marcus, I can’t stop.”

  “Shh.” Marcus kissed him to silence, and Lucian whimpered into his mouth. The sound sharpened, and as it did, sudden tension rippled through Lucian’s body. Marcus felt the change, and he encouraged it.

  Marcus’ hand moved back just in time to catch Lucian’s seed as he shot. Each spurt made Lucian tremble, and Marcus bore his weight. In the aftermath of his orgasm, Lucian’s joints went slack.

  “Good boy,” Marcus praised. He flung the cum from his hand onto the pavement beside them, then returned to Lucian’s cock to milk it of what little was left. Marcus kissed him while he did, each kiss delicate but meaningful. Lucian kissed him back in the same way. “Such a good boy. Did you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then make sure you remember what you’ve learned tonight,” Marcus told him. He stroked Lucian once more, then let his hand part from the thin skin of Lucian’s shaft. “Whatever you’ve been taught, I want you to forget it. You’re mine now, and I’m going to treat you the way you’ve always deserved to be treated.”

  “Okay.” The word was softly spoken, but it was so steeped in disbelief and gratitude that it found its way beneath Marcus’ skin and burrowed deep, refusing to leave him. A single word was all it took to know how hurt Lucian had been. Marcus would find the Dom who’d warped him, and he would destroy him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  “I’ll see you next week, fledgling,” Marcus told him. He parted Lucian’s hands from his hair and took a step back, leaving Lucian to recover against the alley wall.

  Nothing more was said. They parted ways.

  Well after Marcus had arrived back at his condo, thoughts of Lucian occupied his mind. Unable to pull himself together, Marcus sat with one leg tucked over his knee, a glass of bourbon rested in his palm, and watched the waking Aurora skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows in his living room.

  The release. The sinful pleasure.

  The pain.

  Marcus thinned his lips and rested against the couch. His eyes took in the skyline, but the colors of a new dawn blurred as he lost himself in his head.

  He’d seen evil—more evil than he cared to admit—while on the job, but the suffering behind Lucian’s eyes spoke of an evil Marcus wasn’t prepared for. There was a degree of separation between himself and the alleged crimes his clients had committed, but with Lucian? With Lucian, there was no divide. Marcus couldn’t hope to distance himself from Lucian’s suffering if he tried.

  The omega had wormed his way into Marcus’ heart when Marcus wasn’t looking. It wasn’t that Marcus was in love—he refused to believe a connection as staggering as that could be formed from a few brief encounters—but he was attached, and that was enough.

  It made him want to find out the truth and set Lucian’s wrongs right.

  As the sun rose and bathed Aurora in vibrant reds and oranges, Marcus drained his bourbon, set his glass on the kitchen counter, and made his way to bed. He’d been looking for a plaything, but he’d found something else—something more satisfying, yet far more distressing.

  He’d found someone he genuinely cared for.

  Crawford hadn’t lied—doing it right was more important than doing it quickly.

  Marcus only wished he could convince his heart of the same.

  15

  Lucian

  Seven long days stretched from one Friday to another, and they dragged like nothing Lucian had been through before. The encounter with Marcus in the alley had changed him, like something buried deep inside of him that had been holding up against tremendous pressure for years and years had finally snapped.

  It was as terrible as it was fantastic.

  The well-worn roads Lucian knew—the roads he’d been taught to take—weren’t the ones that Marcus wanted him to follow. Under pressure, Lucian had slipped into the same frame of mind that had let him survive the days at The White Lotus when he hadn’t felt like performing. After so many nights spent with strangers, it was easy to let his body go on autopilot. He’d been taught how to pleasure a man, even at the expense of his own enjoyment.

  Marcus wasn’t interested in that.

  What Marcus wanted was for Lucian to be selfish, and under his direction, Lucian had let everything go. No therapy had ever been so rewarding or so quick to make an impact. Lucian once believed that freedom meant the ability to choose his own path and live life the way he wanted to, but the truth ran so much deeper than that. Freedom did mean those things, but it also meant having the ability to let go of the past, especially when that past shackled him so tightly that it directed how he acted.

  Freedom was letting go.

  In the bliss of that revelation, seven days was an eternity.

  He couldn’t wait to see Marcus again.

  When at last Friday night arrived, bringing with it Lucian’s shift at The Shepherd, time slowed to a near crawl. He turned his head to look every time someone climbed the stairs, but it was never Marcus who met his eye. The smiling faces and devious looks of those who passed him by were as addicting as they were frustrating, if only because Lucian knew that for every face he saw, he was one closer to seeing the man he wanted more than any other.

  “You’re weird tonight,” Clarissa remarked. There was a lull in business, and it gave them time to chat while they cleaned and prepared for the next rush. “Something going on?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, if that nope turns into a yep, you can let me know.” Clarissa smiled at him. Since Lucian had rejected Marcus, she’d settled down significantly. “There’s no bigger of a clichéd place to talk about your problems than at a bar, right? Gotta be for a reason.”

  Lucian laughed. “Except I’m the bartender. I’m supposed to be the one listening to problems while looking disaffected.”

  “Hey, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a bartender, too.” Clarissa winked
. “This pretty face isn’t wasted only on management. I’ll have you know I make a very good martini.”

  “It’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.” Lucian let himself smile, not because it was expected, but because he wanted to. Bit by bit, he shed the social conventions he’d been trained to respect. The deprogramming he’d gone through at Stonecrest only stretched so far—Marcus was coaxing it out of him the rest of the way. “If you have any problems, you know you can talk to me, too, right? I know I’m still pretty new here, but I can promise you we have none of the same friends, so it’s not like I’m going to run and tell anyone what you say.”

  Clarissa choked back a laugh and fanned at her face. Lucian didn’t think the joke was so funny, but his smile grew into a grin as Clarissa dissolved in fitful giggles.

  “Thanks,” she said once she’d regained herself. There was maternal affection in her eyes that made Lucian feel at home. “You know, I might take you up on that sometime. Sterling is just… ugh. That man.”

  “Sterling?” Lucian ducked down to pull forward some of the fruit juice containers they kept in the mini fridge beneath the bar. “He’s the big boss, right?”

  Lucian’s employment was handled strictly by Clarissa, and while he knew that there were other managers and a club owner, he wasn’t familiar with any of them. It was only his fifth week at The Shepherd, and Lucian was still learning the inner intricacies of the establishment. The behind-the-scenes was a lot more complex than it let on.

  “Mmhm.” Clarissa rolled her eyes. “And my brother.”

  Lucian looked up from the fridge, frowning. “Your brother?”

  “We don’t go around telling people.” Clarissa shrugged. “I think most people assume that he’s in my pants, and if they want to imagine that, fine. Doesn’t account for the harem of young men Sterling entertains every weekend, but you know, I guess people are willing to overlook that thanks to where we work. You know, I’m fine with kink, but I don’t think polyamory is for me. Couldn’t do it. I’m too jealous.”