In the months since Sinclair’s outburst in the truck, Dom had revisited that conversation in his mind, he’d looked at Sinclair anew, trying to figure out what sort of man he was.
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
