“I don’t care about that anymore. I told you.” Greg met his gaze, his eyes dark with pain. “I lost interest in that when Tony died.”
“But surely someone else—”
“You’re my second chance,” Greg said. “Stop saying you’re gonna leave.”
Dale stared, his breath snagging in his throat. “I’m just an old professor,” he said. “I can’t see this working out.”
Greg stepped closer to him, his shoulders tense. “But what if it can?”
Dale froze. There had been instances, on and off, when Greg had cooked with him, when Greg had cuddled up with him in bed, that he’d thought this relationship could last. But it couldn’t. Not if Dale wanted to keep his job, not when the pregnancy still carried such a huge risk.
“We should stop this,” Dale said, his throat tight. “I don’t—don’t think this relationship is doing either of us good.”
Greg’s breathing hitched. “It is,” he growled, his eyes glittering. “Don’t you dare say that.”
Then he leaned in and kissed Dale, firm and warm, and wetness smeared between their cheeks.
It was only a second later, when Greg’s breath soughed on his skin, that Dale realized those were Greg’s tears.
24
Greg
Dale pulled away from him, his soft hands cupping Greg’s cheek, his eyes flying open. “Greg—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Greg said, pulling him closer, claiming Dale’s mouth again. His heart ached. With that dinner tonight, he hadn’t expected to bring Dale back to his apartment, hadn’t expected to show Dale those pictures of Tony. The ones where he’d been happiest with his best friend, when he and Tony had talked about how they’d buy neighboring houses, and cosplay with the silliest poses ever.
Greg missed him. He remembered the blaze, remembered blowing air into Tony’s mouth, pumping his chest, trying to get him to breathe. During that camping trip four years ago, he’d shared that cabin bedroom with Tony, but Tony had gone to sleep first. Greg had been in the bathroom. When he’d stepped out, he’d found smoke seeping from under the bedroom door.
He’d opened the door to find the curtain in flames, his candle and the bedside table swallowed in fire. Smoke had filled the room, and Tony had been coughing, frozen in fear. It had been too late when Greg carried him out of the fire.
“Greg,” Dale said. His eyes glimmered with concern; they’d stopped kissing somewhere in between, and Greg hadn’t realized it.
He leaned into Dale, his heart fragile.
“I lost him,” Greg croaked, pressing his forehead against Dale’s. “And it was my own damn fault.” He blinked his tears away, breathing in deep, filling his lungs with his omega’s scent. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Dale cupped his cheeks, pulled him close, and Greg lost himself in the heat of Dale’s mouth, sliding in, their tongues tangling. Dale opened beneath him, soft and damp. He was familiar—so familiar—by now, that Greg knew the press of his body before Dale’s chest even sank against his.
He slid his palm down Dale’s back, following the dip of his spine. Past his tailbone, Greg found the smooth disk of the plug through Dale’s pants, the one he’d slid in this afternoon.
Dale had held his knot through all of dinner, held it through smiling at Greg’s father. Greg growled, heat surging through his chest.
“Mine,” he murmured, kissing Dale, scooping Dale up against him. He pushed the plug deeper, wedging it firm into his omega. Dale gasped, his fingers curling painfully tight into Greg’s hair.
“Greg,” he moaned, his cock pressing hard through his clothes. “Your—Your knot.”
“Like it?” Greg leaned away, staring down at Dale, at his glistening lips, his blown pupils, the way his chest heaved. In that moment, Dale wanted him, needed him, and a slow, sweet ache unfurled in Greg’s chest.
I love you, Greg wanted to say. But he didn’t want Dale to refuse it again, didn’t want Dale to tell him why this was wrong. So he lifted Dale up into his arms, stepping out of the study into the living room. The plush couches reminded Greg of the one in Dale’s office, the one he’d imagined Dale sleeping on, time and again.
Gently, Greg dropped him onto the couch, admiring the slender lines of his body, the way Dale’s clothes hugged his chest, his thighs. He leaned in to kiss Dale on the lips, and Dale moaned, squirming, his hands sliding down Greg’s abs, yanking his shirt from his pants.
Against the black leather of the couch, Dale’s skin was pale, his hair a bright reddish-brown. He spread his legs, tugging at his own belt. Greg almost laughed, catching his hands. “In a hurry?” he growled, pinning Dale’s wrists up above his head.
“Maybe,” Dale whispered, smiling up at him.
With his knee anchored by Dale’s hip, Greg leaned in, kissing Dale until Dale gasped for breath, his eyes half-lidded, his breath stuttering from his lips. He was beautiful like that, beautiful every time Greg saw him. And Greg pressed kisses down his jaw, following the arch of his neck, flicking his tongue over the flutter of Dale’s pulse.
“You’re tormenting me again?” Dale whined, lifting his hips, trying to entice Greg’s touch. But Greg left his cock neglected, kissing down to the crook of Dale’s neck, where his scent gland was. His hibiscus scent rolled off his skin, heavy with musk. Beneath that, notes of honey lingered.
Dale was carrying his child. And Greg pushed away his nagging doubts, dragging his lips over the sensitive spot, where Dale’s ex had marked him. Something angry and primal roiled in his belly. He wanted his mark on Dale’s skin, wanted Dale to know Greg would be there for him.
“I want to bond with you,” Greg murmured against his scent gland, licking it, kissing it, until Dale’s scent had smeared over his lips. “Want to make you mine.”
Dale groaned. Greg closed his lips around his scent gland and sucked, and Dale’s hips bucked up, his cock straining against his fly. “Greg, please.”
“Please what?” He ran his teeth over
