Raph bit down his smile. “Your T-shirts. Looks like you and the princess have the same idea about stealing shirts.”
Wyatt glanced down at his shirt and shorts, then at Hazel’s. A slow, sly smile crept up his lips. “I was just borrowing this one. It mysteriously appeared in my closet.”
“Sure it did.” Raph rolled his eyes, grinning. Since he’d learned about the pregnancy, he’d been bringing spare sets of clothes over to Wyatt’s place, so he wouldn’t be wearing his work clothes through the weekend. He wore a fitted shirt and jeans now, but the tees were good for lounging around in at night. “I should grab one of yours.”
“Get the ones on the right side of the closet,” Hazel said. “Third shelf from the bottom. There’s tons of comfy shirts there!”
Wyatt smiled, shaking his head. “You’re telling Uncle Raph where all my best clothes are?”
“You’re as good as married, aren’t you?” Hazel dragged her high stool over to the stove.
And Wyatt blushed, a pretty shade of pink fanning across his cheeks. Raph remembered last night, when Wyatt had been in the tub, his cheekbones lit by the dim lamplight, his lashes gleaming against his skin. Raph had meant it when he’d said Wyatt was beautiful, had meant every word about caring for Wyatt’s children.
“Are we?” Wyatt murmured, glancing at Raph.
“If I have one of your shirts, I think we’ll be even. And married,” he answered.
Wyatt beamed, some of the exhaustion lifting from his face. The pregnancy was still taking its toll on him—the fatigue would go on for the next few weeks, Raph had read.
“You should be sleeping more,” he said. “You look beat.”
“Maybe. I just... You were gone from the bed.” Wyatt pressed his hand to his belly, glancing down. He was aware of the baby, much more than Raph was. And Raph wanted to hold him close, all over again.
Wyatt caught Hazel by the fridge, pulling her into a hug. “Morning, hon.”
“Morning, Dad.” Hazel leaned away, her face scrunching up. “Uncle Raph’s right. You look really tired.”
“I do?” Wyatt sighed. He kissed the top of her head and released her. “I’ll make breakfast, Hazel. You don’t have to.”
“I’ll cook,” Raph said, standing. “What do you want?”
“Uh-uh. I wanna make breakfast for everyone. I know I can.” Hazel dragged a step-stool over, climbing onto it to grab plates from the cabinet. So Raph took a mug, filling it half-full with coffee for Wyatt.
“I made coffee,” he said. “You should sit and rest.”
“I’m a chef, you guys.” Wyatt tried to shoo them off. “I shouldn’t be letting you do all the work.”
“You’re my omega,” Raph said, at the same time Hazel said, “You’re my dad, you need a break.”
Wyatt glanced between them, a quiet, awed smile spreading across his face. “You guys might be spoiling me, you know.”
Raph placed Wyatt’s coffee on the table, then sat down, pulling Wyatt onto his lap. “I’m here a couple days a week. If I want to spoil you, I have every right to.”
Wyatt sighed, leaning into his chest. “I guess one morning wouldn’t hurt.”
“That means I can make breakfast!” Hazel whooped, pulling open the egg carton.
They watched as Hazel cracked eggs into a big bowl, whisking them up with a fork. “I taught her to do that,” Wyatt murmured. “She’s really good at it.”
“You’ve never told me that before,” Hazel said.
Wyatt chuckled. And Raph dragged him closer, burying his face in Wyatt’s hair. This close, Wyatt smelled faintly like sweat, like magnolia and honey. He smelled like a pregnant omega—Raph’s.
And something possessive roared in Raph’s chest. I want to be your omega, Wyatt had said last night.
Raph kissed his shoulder, pressing the scent gland on his wrist to Wyatt’s knee.
When Wyatt didn’t protest, Raph dragged his wrist down Wyatt’s shin. Then up his other leg, and under his shirt, over his belly.
Wyatt’s breath caught. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Making you mine,” Raph whispered back, pressing his wrist to Wyatt’s jaw, dragging it down his throat. And Wyatt smelled like teak now, like Raph.
Raph growled, pressing his nose into Wyatt’s back, breathing him in. Wyatt was his. He’d never thought this would happen, Wyatt allowing Raph to mark him as his own. Wyatt squirmed on his lap, a coil of musk wafting from his skin. “Raph...”
Hazel was at the stove, humming to herself. She wasn’t paying attention to them. So Raph slipped his hand under Wyatt’s shirt, between his legs, stroking the growing length of his cock. Wyatt’s breath rushed out of him.
“Do you want toast as well?” Hazel asked, turning.
And Wyatt clapped a hand over his mouth, bolting out of the kitchen.
Raph stared. So did Hazel.
The hallway bathroom door bounced shut. From the kitchen, Raph caught the faint sounds of retching. He flew to his feet, striding to the bathroom, Hazel on his heels.
“Stove still on?” Raph asked.
“Crap,” Hazel said, turning back.
At the door, Raph knocked. Then he pushed it open slightly, and found Wyatt by the toilet, bent over, one arm pressed against his stomach. “You okay?”
“What does it look like to you?” Wyatt winced, heaving again. “Fuck, I don’t miss this part.”
“This part?” It hit Raph then, that this was the start of Wyatt’s morning sickness. That his omega was absolutely pregnant, and there was a baby in his belly. A real, live baby who would grow, and whom they’d teach and cuddle and laugh with. He froze, breathing in, then out. I’m really going to be a dad. He didn’t feel ready yet.
He stopped by Wyatt, rubbing his back. “Anything I can get you?”
“Water.”
Raph filled a tomato-print mug—Hazel’s, probably—and handed it over. Wyatt leaned against him, his skin damp with sweat.
“Sorry,” Raph said, touching his forehead. “For getting you into this mess.”
Wyatt snorted. “There’s no need for you to apologize.”
“But I—”
Wyatt heaved again.
“Dad, are you okay?” Hazel peered through the gap in the door.
“I’m fine,” Wyatt said. “I’ll just
