“And then you switched to folding cranes,” Greg said, slowing when they reached the widest part of his knot. Dale’s mouth fell open; he dug his fingers into the couch. “C’mon, just a little more. How many cranes do you have now?”
“I think we might’ve folded four hundred since the start of this year—”
The door opened just as Greg’s knot slipped out of Dale.
Past the doorway, Bernard Hastings stood in the shadowy night, a deep frown creasing his face.
25
Bernard
Five minutes ago
Bernard Hastings frowned at his phone, leaning back into the seat of his loaner car. Today had not gone well.
He’d been busy with board meetings all afternoon, arguing with the college shareholders on the declining student intake. Then he’d tried to convince them that Meadowfall College still held rank, only to meet with resistance on his proposed logistical changes.
The meeting had dragged on, and Bernard had forgotten about his service appointment at the Rolls Royce dealership until 5 PM. The staff there had been very pleasant about it, of course, offering him a complimentary loaner car for his use. Even so, Bernard still wasn’t pleased with the BMW, even when it had all the controls he could possibly want. It didn’t have the prestige the Rolls Royce gave him.
The dinner, at least, had gone well. Until he’d noticed that Greg’s attention drifted, time and again, to Dale Kinney.
Bernard had studied his son, watched as he ran after the professor. And in the bathroom, Greg had stepped between Bernard and Kinney, the way an alpha shielded his omega. There had been water marks on his back, at angles that Greg couldn’t possibly reach with his own hands.
A dreadful suspicion roiling in his gut, Bernard had left The Apex first, sat in his loaner car, and watched as Greg peered out of The Apex’s glass doors. Minutes later, Greg and Kinney both stepped into the Porsche. Not incriminating, in itself. Greg could’ve been offering Kinney a ride.
Except Greg’s car didn’t start for a good five minutes. Maybe they’d been typing an address on the GPS. But Bernard wasn’t sold, and Greg had made a U-turn, heading all the way back to his own apartment.
Weeks ago, Greg had smelled like hibiscus, claiming it belonged to an omega on his basketball team. That exact same scent belonged to Dale Kinney. Greg hadn’t been wearing it today, but Bernard could’ve punched himself for not making the connection earlier.
He wanted to think they were headed to Greg’s apartment for a discussion on schoolwork. But it had been a while since Greg had been there—Bernard had checked the apartment a few times—the fridge was empty, most of Greg’s clothes were gone. He’d all but moved out, and never moved back in.
Just as Bernard had been about to head over to the apartment, his broker called. Then they’d spent half an hour arguing about the foreign stock market, and Bernard had watched the minutes tick away on his watch.
Half an hour later, Greg and Kinney still hadn’t stepped out. If they were doing something upstanding, Greg would answer his phone.
Bernard called. Greg rejected it.
He gave them five minutes, his pulse rushing in his ears.
When he opened the front door, Bernard expected to smell dust, or maybe Greg’s aspen scent. Instead, a wall of musk rolled over him, overpowering, prickling through his nerves. What in the gods’ names, Bernard thought.
On the couch, Greg eased away from Dale Kinney, pulling the glistening length of his cock out of Kinney’s hole, his knot flushed and swollen.
They froze, all three of them.
“What the fuck,” Bernard said, disgust crawling up his throat. He’d forgiven Kinney for his blunders, time and again, even going so far as to invite him to tonight’s dinner. And this was how Kinney repaid him? By seducing his son?
Fury roaring through his veins, Bernard stepped into the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
This atrocity would cease tonight.
26
Dale
The door slammed shut. Bernard Hastings prowled forward in the living room, his stare flickering between Greg and Dale.
Dale’s stomach squeezed into a hard lump. The moment Greg released him, he closed his legs, trying to hide himself.
They shouldn’t have come to Greg’s apartment. Dale shouldn’t have encouraged him, shouldn’t have coaxed him into sex out here on the couch.
For the past two months, he’d sometimes woken with nightmares of this happening, Bernard pronouncing the words You’re fired, and expelling Dale from the college. He’d dreamed of packing up his belongings, his students sneering at his disgrace. He’d woken in Greg’s arms with a gasp, his heart crashing into his chest.
Now that Bernard Hastings was here, Dale’s mind had gone blank. He couldn’t think. Didn’t know how to save himself, not when he was half-naked beneath Greg, damp and open from sex.
Greg moved. He pulled himself off from Dale, crouching to snatch up Dale’s pants. Then he dropped them on Dale’s hips with a cool rustle, and stood in front of him, his shoulders tense. “You could’ve knocked,” Greg snarled. “About damn time you learned that.”
Bernard’s mouth curled with distaste. “No, I really didn’t need to see this,” he said. “I expected more from you. Kinney, too.”
Dale flinched. Was there any chance that Bernard would forget who Dale was? All the gods of the world, please kill me now.
“This isn’t just a one-off event, is it?” Bernard glared at Greg. “You’ve been lying to me for months.”
Then he looked at Dale, and Dale’s cheeks burned. I need to move. He pulled his pants tighter around his hips, trying to cover his exposed skin.
“This is none of your business,” Greg said, glaring.
Dale wanted to tell him to stop. Wanted to get out of this place, before everything burned down around them.
Bernard scoffed. “None of my business?” He looked at Dale, his eyes mocking. “I thought I’d be benevolent for once, Kinney. Give you a chance tonight. And what do I find but you seducing him? Have you no shame?”
Have you no shame? Charles’ parents had said nineteen years ago. How
