Dom smiled, setting the honey on the counter. Sinclair brought out the sour cream and hot sauce. Then he mixed all three in a cereal bowl, and dipped his celery stick in.
Dom winced. “That can’t taste great.”
Sinclair tipped the mixture into his mouth, all but drinking it. “You’re missing out.”
Then he mixed up more of his concoction, spread it over a slice of cheese, and wrapped it around a pickle.
Dom was glad Sinclair didn’t offer to share that. “You usually eat stuff like that at home?”
Sinclair shrugged. “Not really.”
So it was his pregnancy cravings, then. Dom couldn’t help growling, heading over to wrap his arms around Sinclair. He loved touching this man—all hard lines and muscles, so unlike an omega.
Sometimes, Dom could even fool himself into thinking this would end differently from how it had with Mal.
He mouthed Sinclair’s nape, his instincts rumbling at the new scab of his bonding mark. Then he stroked down Sinclair’s chest, lingering at his abdomen. Sinclair was right about the bump. It was more visible now, if anyone thought to look closely.
Dom wondered what their child would look like. Whether it would have Sinclair’s features, or his, or a mix of them both. He imagined their baby grinning toothily, babbling and grabbing Sinclair’s fingers. He thought about their child running around, tiny and excitable, and a small, quiet part of him yearned.
“You said you had an omega. Why didn’t you have any kids with him?”
Sinclair had caught Dom fixating on his abdomen, then. Dom sighed, rolling his shoulders. “We weren’t ready for them. I didn’t think he would ever be, really.”
“So—So is that a dealbreaker for you?” Sinclair asked, stumbling over his words.
Did he think Dom would leave him because of that? Dom’s chest squeezed; he pulled Sinclair closer. “No. But we didn’t have an accidental pregnancy, either.”
Sinclair looked down, staying silent. Dom didn’t want to think about losing this baby. It threatened to break his heart every time.
“If I could be the one with the uterus, I’d carry it, you know,” Dom said.
Sinclair stiffened, a flush sweeping up his neck. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
Dom probably shouldn’t have said it. “Forget it.”
He turned Sinclair around and kissed him, slipping into his mouth. The sour cream and honey and hot sauce were all faintly there, mixed in with cheese and pickle and celery.
And maybe it wasn’t that awful a taste, if it meant he was kissing Sinclair.
His heart swelled, needing more of this man. That was dangerous. Dom pulled away, squeezing Sinclair’s ass. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave. I’ll drive.”
Sinclair scowled. “I can drive, too.”
“Yeah, well. My truck. I get to decide.” But he kissed Sinclair’s jaw, then his mouth, distracting Sinclair from the sudden tension that had sprung up in his body.
Sinclair was nervous. Dom hadn’t realized just how self-conscious Sinclair was of his scars, how terribly he thought of them—enough for him to think his family would hate them, too. He rubbed Sinclair’s arms, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “It’ll go fine. You’re still the same person, I think. Deep down. They’ll recognize you.”
Sinclair looked doubtful, so Dom said, “Tell you what. I’ll make you dinner when we get home. Your choice.”
“I can cook,” Sinclair muttered, but he looked a little less anxious.
“Blowjob, too?” Dom offered.
Sinclair cheered up more. He’d loved the one Dom had given him last night.
He gathered his clothes from yesterday, spraying them down with scent suppressants—they’d come home from the barbecue smelling like sex. Not the best scent to be wearing to your parents’ place.
When Sinclair was ready, Dom drove them to Highton, Sinclair fidgeting in the passenger seat. Dom reached over, holding his hand. That helped calm him a little.
It wasn’t long before they turned down a quiet road in a suburban neighborhood, pulling to a stop in front of a pale yellow house. Sinclair stiffened, his breaths coming faster.
Dom took his hand. “Focus on me.”
Sinclair looked like he might go into a panic. Dom unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “Look at me. Breathe.”
Sinclair breathed. Slowly, he managed it, one shaky inhale after another. Dom didn’t know what was going through his head; he’d figured it was bad. Sinclair didn’t even flinch at their most difficult fires, but things like this, just going home...
Dom kissed his lips, stroking his nape. Gradually, Sinclair calmed down, his breaths puffing onto Dom’s mouth. “I hate freaking out like this,” Sinclair muttered. “I wish it’d stop.”
“Can’t help so much with that. Sorry.” Dom squeezed Sinclair’s shoulder, cupping his neck. Just to let him know he wasn’t alone.
More minutes later, Sinclair blew out a breath, leaning away. “Better now.”
Dom kissed the back of his hand.
Sinclair scowled. “Not an omega.”
“Nope. Just someone who needs kisses.” Gods, that sounded so cheesy. But it was true. And it made Sinclair scowl harder—not that Dom would tell him those scowls only made him more adorable.
So he kissed his alpha.
Sinclair always looked so eager for more, every time Dom ended a kiss. Dom brushed their mouths together—Sinclair’s lips were soft and velvety, decadent. Dom tasted him. Then he tasted Sinclair again, nipping on his lower lip, sliding in, tangling their tongues.
Sinclair had gotten a lot better at kissing. Dom liked to think it was because of all the kisses they’d shared, him pressing Sinclair up against walls, dragging hungry groans from his throat.
When Sinclair relaxed further, Dom stroked his jaw and pulled away, waiting until Sinclair anchored himself in the present. “Ready now?”
Sinclair sighed. “Guess I am.”
Dom walked with him up the driveway, tangling their fingers together. Last night, while they’d sat together in bed, Sinclair had double-checked the address. They’d joined in on the team’s group chat, and then Dom had pinned Sinclair, and given him a blowjob. Sinclair had come so hard, it had taken him a while to speak again.
Dom savored that memory now, rubbing his
