“If he can do it, I don’t see why you can’t,” Harris said.
Oh hell, no.
Harris dragged Valen into the kitchen, set a tote bag on the counter. Valen hadn’t even noticed it until now. His pants had slipped off somewhere between the living room and the kitchen. All he smelled was Sam’s musk, all he could see was the line in Sam’s jeans, the way his pupils had dilated.
He wanted to pull Sam close, slide his cock up against Sam’s ass, and feel Sam grind back against him. Preferably strip him of his clothes, and sink into his hot, tight body. Lick the sweat off his skin.
Harris released Valen’s arm, stepping away from the granite countertop. Valen snarled and rounded on him. He needed to get away, not fuck around until he pinned Sam down, somehow. “I’m heading upstairs, Harris. Not the best time for me to be here. Sam and I broke up years back.”
Sam flinched. He was pulling a bundle of celery out of the tote bag, and a foam tray of red meat. Part of Valen felt sorry for him; Sam didn’t want to be in Valen’s presence. Valen wasn’t going to put him through crap again.
Harris stood taller, his tone quiet but firm. “I’m only saying this once, Valen. Sam, if you’d like to slake your heat here tonight, you’re free to do so.”
What the hell? With me, or you? Valen stared at Harris. They’d never discussed that.
Harris raised his eyebrow. “You object?”
Well... no. Harris could have Sam if he wanted. He would love Sam. Sam would moan so sweetly if he took Harris’ cock—Valen knew that for a fact.
“I’m not doing it,” Valen said. “You can if you want.”
“You’re the one in a rut,” Harris said. This time, his voice held a hint of smugness, and his eyes gleamed.
Valen stared. Harris wanted to watch him and Sam? That was twisted of him. Harris liked being in control. Liked being the one on top. Valen was the one who got all voyeuristic. “You can’t be serious.”
“More serious than I ever was, V.” Harris held his gaze, his jaw set, the light from the kitchen lamps gleaming off his salt-and-pepper hair. “If Sam agrees...” Harris waited until Sam met his eyes. “I believe you’ll find satisfaction.”
Sam looked between them both, disbelieving, maybe confused. Funny how Valen could still read him, years after they’d broken up.
Funny, too, how Valen wanted to step closer to Sam, breathe the dahlia and musk off his skin. He clenched his fists, striding away. He was leaving before he made a bigger fool of himself.
Behind him, Harris murmured, “May I?”
“Yeah,” Sam whispered.
Then there came the soft, wet sound of a kiss, and Valen froze halfway out the kitchen door. His cock ached. The kiss continued, more wet sounds, like Harris was kissing Sam deeply, pulling away, kissing him again, maybe sliding into his mouth.
Gods, Valen needed to see it.
He turned. Found his lover and his ex pressed against the island counter, Harris’ weathered hand cradling Sam’s jaw, his teeth dragging over Sam’s lower lip. Then he slid his fingers down Sam’s arm, stroking up his back, his shoulder.
Mine, something in Valen snarled.
Sam squirmed, his musk rolling over Valen like the tide.
Harris brushed his hand down Sam’s chest, trailing his nose down Sam’s throat. He was gentler than Valen had ever seen him. Harris had never been gentle with Valen; that was fine. Valen liked it that way.
Was just odd to see his lover this careful with his ex. Harris slipping his fingers under Sam’s sweater, caressing his belly. Sam squirmed again—he wanted more. Valen could read that, was far too familiar with the way Sam begged, trying to urge Harris’ hand lower down. Harris didn’t know. He was stroking down Sam’s thigh, when Sam needed his nipples rolled, needed some pressure on his cock.
Valen growled, stepped back into the kitchen.
Harris opened his eyes, glanced sidelong at Valen. A challenge.
“Damn you,” Valen hissed, stepping up to them. He wanted to see Harris fucking Sam. Wanted to hear Sam groan as he took Harris’ cock, see Harris’ face when he sank inside.
But he needed to show Harris what Sam liked, first.
Valen stopped behind Sam, reached carefully around his omega. Scraped his nails over the denim of Sam’s jeans, right over his cock, just to hear Sam gasp.
Then he pulled Sam back against himself, dragged his nose up the nape of Sam’s neck, and groaned. His lungs filled with Sam’s scent, warm and sweet and heady, like Sam had never left.
Valen was so hard he could burst.
“This is how,” Valen rasped, dragging his lips over Sam’s nape. Harris released Sam. “This is how Sam likes it.”
Then he tugged Sam’s sweater up his chest, exposing the pale expanse of his skin. Valen circled Sam’s pink nipples with his thumbs, and Sam arched, a soft whimper slipping from his throat. Valen throbbed. He needed to hear that sound again.
“V-Valen?”
Sam’s question was hesitant, needing. All Valen had intended was to show Harris a few things, and then get the hell out of there.
Except Sam’s fingers curled into Valen’s hair, and when he arched again, his ass dragged sweet and supple against Valen’s cock, separated by denim and the cotton of Valen’s boxer-briefs. Valen barely stopped himself from pinning Sam to the counter, pushing up against him, just to let Sam feel the length of his cock.
Instead, he stepped away. I’ve hurt Sam.
“I’m not staying,” Valen panted. “Was just—just showing Harris that.”
Harris stepped closer, sandwiched Sam between them both. Then he slid his fingers into Valen’s hair, pulled Valen’s head forward, over Sam’s shoulder.
Harris kissed Valen, pushed his tongue into Valen’s mouth.
Valen groaned. Kissed back. Sucked on Harris.
Between them, Sam gasped. And Valen remembered that Sam wasn’t supposed to see this, that no one was supposed to know about Harris and him.
He broke the kiss, but Sam had already seen. And there was no escaping the question in his eyes.
4
Sam
Sam watched as Valen jerked
