Alpha in Heat

by Anna Wineheart

  Sinclair was a lot stronger than Dom had given him credit for—Dom could acknowledge that now.

  And it made his instincts all the more eager to have that alpha in his bed. To see what sort of creature would fight back against him. Whether Dom would have the upper hand, or whether he would lose.

  He could lose. In bed, that only made the challenge all the more tantalizing.

  Would Dom get addicted? He would, wouldn’t he?

  “I don’t see why I should talk to Nate about him,” he said.

  Gareth sent him a knowing look. “You’re afraid to, aren’t you? ‘Cuz it’s going to change the way you see him.”

  He was right. Dom turned away. “Get back to work.”

  Gareth smiled, all satisfied. He clapped Dom on the shoulder. Then he said, “I’m glad I found Flores, you know. I didn’t think I’d be happy again.”

  He’d lost his previous omega, just like Dom had. But just because Gareth was willing to take a risk with his heart, didn’t mean Dom would do the same.

  In a lower voice, Gareth added, “Maybe you should let yourself heal.”

  Dom shrugged him off with a scowl. “Seriously, fuck off. I’m done talking.”

  “Think about it.” Gareth rolled his eyes, but he was whistling as he walked away.

  No, Dom wasn’t going to.

  At the end of his shift, Dom stepped into the locker room, looking forward to a shower. It had been a long day. He’d handed over the station duties to Team B, and he couldn’t wait to get home. Maybe he’d jerk off a couple times.

  Earlier, Sinclair had ended up with his entire shirt soaked—Alec had attacked him with the water hose. Sinclair had pounced on him; it had turned into a friendly brawl with a lot of yelling. York had joined in, too.

  In the end, Dom had gone over to snap at them, and the three of them had looked sheepish. Two, really. Sinclair had just lifted his chin, peeling off his T-shirt.

  Sinclair’s abs had glistened, his pecs and shoulders flexing when he made a show of wringing the water out of his shirt.

  Dom had had to turn away before he popped a hard-on right in front of them.

  In all his years, he’d never imagined jerking off to another alpha. And now he couldn’t get Sinclair out of his head. He’d looked up videos of alpha sex on kink sites, he’d seen how they’d fought with each other. Naked. And his thoughts had spiraled out of control.

  The moment Dom glanced up in the locker room, he knew he should’ve checked the vehicles in the parking lot first. Because Sinclair was at his locker, amongst a few other guys. No others from their team, though. The rest had left for home.

  Dom stripped, dropping his uniform in the common use washer. Then he stopped by his locker for fresh clothes and a towel.

  From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Sinclair turning—Sinclair had noticed Dom’s presence.

  Dom ignored him and headed straight for the shower stalls. All he needed was to wash off the grime from today, and he’d be out of here.

  He hung his things on the wall hooks, reminding himself to discuss shower doors with the station chief. Was Sinclair self-conscious about showering without a door? It hadn’t occurred to Dom until now. He felt a bit guilty over it. More so because the four shower stalls in the locker room faced each other across a central aisle.

  He turned the shower on, lathering up with soap. Warm water pattered on his skin; Dom scrubbed the dried sweat off his scalp.

  He caught a movement to the side—someone else had stepped into the cubicle across the aisle. Someone with blemished shoulders and a cinnamon scent.

  Dom’s blood swooped between his legs. Damn it, Sinclair. You were waiting to do this, weren’t you?

  He made himself focus on the tiled walls, he made himself soap up his chest and shoulders, and down his front. Never mind that he was growing hard, just from the thought of Sinclair naked a few steps away.

  The shower came on in the other stall. The other alphas in the locker room chatted amongst themselves, paying no mind to Dom and Sinclair back here, just... showering.

  Dom glanced over his shoulder. And he found Sinclair facing him, water streaming down his shaved head, down his pecs and his abs, to the thick cock jutting up at his hips.

  A hot shiver went straight through Dom’s body. He jerked his gaze back up; there was no way to pretend he hadn’t seen that.

  Across the aisle, Sinclair ran his hand down his chest, soap suds sliding down his scarred skin, from the 301 scar at his shoulder, to the silver line between his abs, to the other 301 at his hip. And now Dom understood the markings on his skin, he understood that Sinclair hadn’t consented, either, when he’d been reduced to a number in someone else’s twisted operations. What else was there about him that Dom didn’t know?

  Sinclair wasn’t focused on his past right now, though. Instead, his gaze was locked onto Dom, his fist sliding down his cock, his balls drawn tight.

  Hunger squeezed Dom’s throat. He wanted to see Sinclair come. He wanted to see that face crumple with bliss. He knew he shouldn’t.

  Sinclair raked those blue eyes down Dom, a hungry, heavy touch, and licked his lips. Dom’s body reacted with a hot ache that grew with each passing second. He held down his straining cock to keep it out of sight, and turned partway.

  Sinclair smirked. “‘Bout time,” he rumbled.

  Then he angled his own cock down, just to show Dom its full length, the way it flushed closer to his tip, and the blunt head that leaked a thin, colorless trail onto the floor. Sinclair growled, squeezing his fist down his length and back up, his lips parting in pleasure.

  Dom could imagine the bursts of sensations Sinclair gave himself. He fought down the sudden wild urge to lunge forward, to slam Sinclair against the wall, and grind their cocks together. He wanted to capture Sinclair’s mouth with his own, he wanted to pump pleasure into Sinclair, and swallow his moans.

  His throat grew dry; he squeezed his cock to stop it from aching so much. Why had he been holding back? Dom couldn’t remember anymore.

  Sinclair’s gaze dropped to Dom’s hips—he was trying to see if he’d gotten Dom hard. Dom refused to give him the satisfaction of finding out. Instead, he turned back to the shower, scrubbing suds through his hair. He rolled his shoulders, flexing those muscles so they pulled taut.

  Across the aisle, Sinclair groaned. The sound shot between Dom’s legs like an arrow, and his blood hummed with need.

  He turned back to look. With the shower spray cascading down his chest, Sinclair had leaned back against the cubicle wall, his hips rolling as he thrust into his fist. In and out, his blunt head pushing his fist open, pointing at Dom like it was inviting him closer for a taste.

  That was hands-down the most sinful thing Dom had seen all year.

  From the satisfied smile on his lips, Sinclair knew it, too.

  The alphas in the locker room bantered with each other. Some guys yelled; the door slammed shut.

  The sound was jarring enough that shock jolted through Sinclair’s body, fear flashing through his face. His eyes shot wide open; his chest heaved.

  Dread twisted Dom’s stomach. Not again. He knew he wasn’t always around to catch Sinclair’s flashbacks—sometimes, Nate dealt with them, or sometimes, one of the other guys on their team did.

  Did any of them react to his fear the way Dom did, though?

  Whenever Dom saw Sinclair like this, he couldn’t help thinking, You aren’t going back to that place. Things are fine now. You’re safe.

  Except any time Dom thought about promising things like that, he remembered the empty house when he’d returned from the morgue, he remembered the horrible silence of everything. The sinking realization that Mal was gone, and all the plans they’d made for the future—those were gone, too.

  Sinclair glanced warily around—but he wasn’t here anymore. Instead, he brought his fists up as though someone would attack him, and stepped cautiously toward the aisle.

  For an uncomfortable second, Dom thought S
inclair might bolt through the locker room, and maybe pick a fight with one of the alphas there. Alphas who weren’t on their team, and who only had vague ideas about Sinclair’s quirks.

  He shoved away his thoughts and stepped out of his own stall, crossing into Sinclair’s.

  Sinclair tensed and threw a punch—he was fast. Almost faster than Dom. Dom caught his fist, shoving him back under the shower spray. “It’s me, Sinclair. Wake up.”

  But Sinclair lunged—he thought Dom was an attacker. Dom pummeled him into the far wall, pinning him down. Sinclair thrashed. He wanted to break out of Dom’s grasp; Dom couldn’t blame him. But he didn’t want to risk Sinclair running out and getting into a real fight with someone else.

  With the sheer amount of muscle on his body, Sinclair almost threw Dom backward.

  Dom shoved Sinclair against the wall with his entire body—there was some friction between his feet and the wet tiles. It could all go wrong, and fast.

  “Sinclair,” Dom hissed. “Need you back here.”

  A low growl vibrated from Sinclair’s chest into his own. Dom anchored down both of Sinclair’s wrists. Would a sharp tap to his body help? It seemed like impacts would be a bad idea, considering where Sinclair had come from. Maybe holding down his fists actually worsened his fear.

  Dom released Sinclair’s hands; Sinclair punched him in the head. Pain throbbed through his skull. “Damn it, Sinclair. Jesse.”

  That seemed to have a slight effect. Sinclair panted, but he calmed a little.

  The voices in the locker room distracted him—Sinclair glanced behind Dom, as though he was prepared to see more alphas joining them.

  Something in Dom’s chest said, Protect him.

  For once, Dom gave in.

  He leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together. “Look at me,” Dom growled. “I’m the only one you need to focus on. Look at me, Jesse.”

  Sinclair struggled, but he looked, his panting hot against Dom’s lips. Dom held his stare. After long seconds, Sinclair’s gaze focused. He blinked, the fight deflating out of him.

  “You back now?” Dom asked.

  Sinclair lowered his fists, raking his eyes down Dom’s face. Dom leaned back slightly so they weren’t sharing a breath anymore. That felt wrong. It felt like the right thing would be to press their faces together and nuzzle him. No way in hell I’m doing that.

  “Sinclair?” Dom tried again. “You back?”

  “Yeah.” Sinclair inhaled shakily, glancing around them as though he was trying to find his bearings.

  “You’re at the station. Locker room.” Dom’s adrenaline faded slightly; only now did he feel the faint slide of Sinclair’s chest rising and falling against his own. Their bodies were still pressed flushed together, skin on skin, their cocks touching.

  This would be what it’d feel like if they fucked. When they fucked.

  Dom’s nerves tingled all over. He just had an episode. Stop thinking about that.

  He rolled his weight back onto his heels, just so they weren’t pressed flush anymore. Except their cocks brushed, half-hard, and pleasure whispered through his body.

  Sinclair must’ve felt it too; he glanced down. Then he snapped his eyes back up, really focusing on Dom.

  This time, when Sinclair looked again, his stare raked over Dom’s chest like fingernails on skin, leaving a trail of warmth all the way down. Dom knew he had to leave. But a tiny part of him, the part he vehemently ignored, enjoyed Sinclair’s attention far too much. Let him look, it said. You’ve wanted his eyes on your cock for far too long. Let him suck you off. Let him beg for it.

  Warmth flooded between his legs; his length thickened with interest.

  Sinclair breathed in sharply—he knew Dom wanted him.

  Dom turned, needing to leave. Except Sinclair grabbed his arm.

  “You didn’t have to bring me back,” Sinclair muttered. “Why did you?”

  Because you don’t need to be scared around here. Because it’s not something you’d want. There were so many answers Dom could give, but all of them would reveal too much about himself.

  “Don’t need you freaking out on the other team,” Dom said.

  Sinclair released him like he’d been struck. Dom left the cubicle and closed his eyes, wishing immediately that he hadn’t said it.

  But from the way Sinclair didn’t pursue him, it was the right answer to give.

  At least, it would save them both from getting involved.

  12

  Christmas Eve

  For a whole year after that incident, Jesse stopped making moves on Dom.

  Dom didn’t want him to; that was easy enough to understand. Jesse sought comfort in his right hand, and he stopped showing up to bar nights the moment Alec found an omega. Instead, he settled for sneaking looks at Dom, and getting under his skin.

  The one thing Jesse had come to appreciate was that whenever he made Dom angry, Dom stayed mad for a while. Not just a short moment, but maybe half a day at a time.

  That was half a day of him thinking about Jesse, every time Jesse sprinkled some salt into his coffee.

  So on Christmas eve, Jesse thought nothing of it when Gareth hissed, “Psst, Jes!”

  Jesse stopped by the kitchen doorway, his ears perked.

  Gareth nodded at the mug across the table. “Hurry.”

  He shoved the salt shaker at Jesse, keeping an eye on the doorway leading to the locker room. Jesse sprinkled some salt into Dom’s mug. “How long’s he been gone?”

  “Two seconds,” Gareth whispered. “Aw, c’mon. It’s Christmas eve! Do the entire shaker!”

  “He’ll murder me,” Jesse hissed back.

  “We’re not witnesses,” Harris rumbled on the other end of the table. “We saw nothing.”

  Jesse choked down his laugh, his hands trembling as he unscrewed the shaker. This wasn’t even the fifth, or tenth time Gareth had called him over to do this. But they did it infrequently enough that Dom couldn’t judge when his coffee would be salted next. All because Gareth had caught Jesse doing it the second time—instead of telling on him, Gareth had smiled with a sort of amusement that Jesse was glad wasn’t directed at himself.

  The silver lid came off the shaker. Jesse was shaking so hard with anticipation that he almost spilled salt onto the table.

  “Easy there, you only have one load,” Gareth said. “Sage advice for all alphas.”

  Jesse stifled his laugh, shaking the last of the salt into Dom’s mug. Then he looked around for a stirrer. Gareth reached out for the empty salt shaker; Jesse handed it to him. He grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer, stuck it into Dom’s mug, and gave it a quick stir. Good thing salt dissolved so much faster than sugar.

  The locker room door squeaked open. Jesse yanked the spoon out of Dom’s mug, wiped the drip off the table with his hand, and darted out of the kitchen.

  Once he was in the garage, he pressed his back against the wall, his heart pounding too loud for him to focus on anything else.

  Footsteps trailed into the kitchen. “Hey,” Gareth said. “You’re back early.”

  “What, you thought I’d take ten minutes to grab a folder?” Dom rumbled. Jesse closed his eyes, just listening to his voice. It always sounded so low and rough, raking down Jesse’s spine. More suspiciously, Dom said, “Smells like cinnamon in here.”

  “Didn’t you see the Christmas cookies?” Gareth asked. “Ben brought some—so much cinnamon on them. Fresh from Ben’s Buns.”

  Jesse held his breath, putting the spoon into his mouth. It was still warm from Dom’s coffee, but the sheer amount of salt on it made his mouth pucker.

  The chair rattled; Dom took a seat. Then he must’ve had some coffee, because the next sound Jesse heard was the violent spraying of much liquid through the air.

  Hopefully Gareth didn’t get a face full of it.

  “What the actual fuck,” Dom snapped.

  Jesse clapped his hand over his mouth, laughing so hard that his face turned hot. Oh, it was ama
zing. And Dom would absolutely murderize him.

  Gareth turned his laugh into a cough. “What’s wrong with the coffee?”

  There was a pause, as though Dom was looking incredulously at his friend. “What’s wrong with it? You know what’s fucking wrong with it, Gareth-fucking-Brown!”

  “No one was here,” Harris said. “Just the two of us.”

  “Not you, too,” Dom hissed.

  “Hey, where’re you going?” Gareth asked. “Clean up your damn mess, Dom!”

  Footsteps thumped out of the kitchen; Jesse’s heart lodged in his throat. He scrambled.

  He thought about ducking behind the trucks, but his footfalls echoed way too loudly against the concrete floor. So he sprinted out of the building, rounded a corner, and pressed himself against the wall, trying as hard as he could to stay out of sight.

  This wasn’t behavior suited to a firefighter. But Gareth had suggested it, and... it was Christmas eve. Maybe this could be Jesse’s present to himself. Whatever it turned out to be.

  Dom’s footsteps followed Jesse out of the building. A little too late, Jesse remembered that Dom could smell him. If he moved now, Dom would hear grass rustle beneath his feet. So Jesse stayed put.

  The footsteps drifted closer, as though Dom was sniffing the air. Jesse held his breath. He hoped Dom couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart. His hands began to sweat.

  Around the building, the grass rustled. Then Dom stepped closer and closer, and it felt as though he was just one step from rounding the corner, and finding Jesse.

  Did he know Jesse was here? Could he smell him?

  Grass rustled again. And now Jesse could smell that distinct blackwood scent. Which meant that Dom could smell him, too.

  There was no one else out here, just the two of them separated by the corner of a building.

  Jesse closed his eyes and tipped his face into the sunlight, feeling like one of those teenagers in the movies, all excited about their first kiss. He’d never had that sort of chance. He wanted... to be kissed. He imagined Dom stepping up, he imagined their lips meeting again. Just a chaste touch.