He wanted to spread for Greg. Wanted Greg to taste him. Wanted Greg’s hands sliding down his bare skin.
When Greg pulled away, Dale’s knees were weak. He slumped back against his car, his breathing shallow, his cock hard.
“I’m not gonna abandon you like your previous alpha,” Greg murmured, dipping his face close so their foreheads brushed. “I care about you and the baby. I won’t leave.”
Dale gulped, Greg’s words ringing in his ears. He wanted to lean close, sink into Greg’s chest. But they were still in public, and the more time they spent here, the higher their chances were of being recognized. “We can’t stay here.”
“Your place. My parents have the key to mine.”
Dale winced. “Definitely not your place, then.”
“Address? I’ll get in my car and drive behind you.”
“Sure.”
Greg slipped his phone out, that same photo of him and the other boy on his lock screen. Again, he said nothing about it. He turned on the GPS, opened up a map application, and handed his phone to Dale. Dale keyed his address in.
“Thanks,” Greg said. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Dale’s forehead. “See you at your place.”
Dale stared after him. Greg strode across the parking lot, the headlights on a red sports car flashing as he approached. A Porsche, which probably cost twice as much as Dale’s Volkswagen.
Greg was the college president’s son. He’d kissed Dale maybe five times by now, and Dale didn’t want it to stop.
He wobbled over to the driver’s seat, slipping inside. Across the parking lot, the Porsche’s headlights flashed on. Dale started his car, pulling out toward the street. Greg followed.
To steady his shaking hands, Dale put on some music. The notes of a country song twanged in his ears, and he took a deep breath, flipping his turn signal.
He was doing this. He was bringing Greg home.
His body ached with need.
The drive home usually took ten minutes. Today, there was construction along some of the roads, and Dale swore at himself for not checking this in advance. Greg might be starting to rethink this.
Dale couldn’t see anything but the Porsche’s headlights in his rearview mirror. As the minutes wore on, he realized this was a bad idea. He wasn’t in heat. Greg wasn’t in a rut, and he’d think more clearly. See Dale for who he was. Dale wasn’t supple like his omega students; he didn’t have the stamina they did.
By the time he pulled into his apartment complex, he was ready to apologize to Greg for wasting his time.
Greg pulled into the parking spot next to him. For a moment, Dale remained seated, wondering if he should roll down the window and tell Greg to leave.
Except Greg slipped out of his car, rounding its hood to stand by Dale’s door. He peered at Dale through the window, and Dale’s breath caught in his chest. He would hate to disappoint Greg.
The car door opened. “Hey,” Greg said, his aspen scent wafting through the air, layered with a trace of musk. “You okay?”
Dale met his eyes. “Are you sure about this?” He waved at himself. “I’m not twenty anymore. I—”
Greg sighed, leaning into the car. Then he kissed Dale again, firmly, his lips soft, and Dale’s doubts melted away. “Are you going to keep saying that the rest of the week?” he murmured against Dale’s mouth, his breath hot, heady.
“Yes,” Dale said, and Greg squeezed his thigh, unbuckling his seat belt.
“I’m not gonna fuck you out here,” Greg whispered in his ear. “Better get your ass out.”
Dale’s blood surged between his legs. “You’re talking to me like that?”
Greg smirked. “You smell wet.”
Dale blushed. He grabbed his satchel, locked the Volkswagen, then led the way to his first-story apartment. “I hate how my body betrays me.”
“You mean, by giving you a baby?” Greg smiled wryly, and Dale groaned.
“Don’t remind me about it.”
“I thought you’d be happier about the pregnancy. Aren’t you?”
“It still feels surreal right now, to be honest.” Dale stopped at his apartment, fishing out his keys. “I don’t feel pregnant.”
He unlocked the door, flicking the lights on. Then he stood back, waiting for Greg to enter first.
“Nice place,” Greg said when he stepped in, his gaze sweeping over the large windows, the plush couches in the living room, the kitchen with its granite counter tops. Pots of indoor plants stood in the corners, and stacks of origami paper on the coffee table. “It smells like you.”
“‘I guess it does.” Dale shut the door behind them, kicking his shoes off. The blinds had to be shut—that was most important. Greg shucked his shoes and followed Dale through the kitchen, the study, the bedroom. The entire time, Greg’s eyes lingered on Dale’s skin, appreciative, hungry. Dale’s body hummed.
“Even a professor’s apartment can’t distract you, huh?” Dale asked when the last of the blinds had been turned down. He looked over his shoulder, glancing at the alpha in his doorway.
“I’ve been thinking about last week,” Greg admitted. “I don’t think I did right by you.”
Dale stared. What about last week wasn’t good? “You mean, the condom?”
“I want to take more time,” Greg said, crossing the bedroom. He didn’t stop to admire the pink salt lamps in the corners, or the oval mirrors that lined the walls. Neither did he look at the dozens of paper cranes hanging from the ceiling. “Getting to know you.”
With each step, Greg’s scent grew stronger. The aspen and musk that had seeped into the car now flooded Dale’s nostrils, smelling like alpha and want.
Greg stared down at him, his shoulders broad, his biceps straining against his sleeves. There was a telling line in his pants, that had pressed against Dale’s skin last week. To think about it sliding against him now... His hole quivered.
As though he could smell Dale’s reaction, Greg’s nostrils flared. He licked his lips, stopping inches
