11. Tristan

11

TRISTAN

Three Months Later

In the end, Father wasn't arrested because Mason went to the police. He was arrested because they were already onto him—and because Mister Whatever, the man whose vase I stole weeks earlier, wasn't as simpleminded as Father assumed. As soon as my name and picture made the news in connection to Mason, he recognized me. He pieced everything together and reported the theft, identifying me in the process.

He wasn't the only one, either. Other marks that came before him did, too. The police had a file going back a few years. The I'm sorry notes I'd left behind at each scene created a trail connecting our crimes.

Dane and Blaise were taken in next. My own arrest followed soon after.

"Are you nervous?" Mason asks the morning of my sentencing.

"A little."

I finish cinching the knot on my tie and glance over at his reflection in the mirror to see him still struggling with his. He wasn't kidding when he told me he's bad at this. With a chuckle, I brush away his fingertips and take the tails in my own hands to do it for him. He watches me work diligently, as if trying to commit the steps to memory, but I lose him somewhere around the point I'm pulling the wide end through the top-most loop. His brows knit, and he frowns.

A confused Mason Dawes is an adorable Mason Dawes.

"No matter what happens, it'll be all right," he tries to soothe as he reaches over to turn down the collar on my shirt for me.

I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror: omega and alpha, small and large, brown-haired and blond, doting on one another with a love strong enough to touch. We're not unlike the Fairchild painting in Mason's office that way. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because you did nothing for which you should be ashamed."

"I did plenty for which I'm ashamed."

" Should be, Tristan." He squeezes my shoulders and kisses my forehead while I turn his collar down, too. "And I'll be there beside you. And here when we get home."

"And if they send me to jail?" My eyes sting, threatening tears, at such a revolting thought. I hold my breath, waiting for his reply.

Mason shakes his head. "They won't. But if they do, I'll visit you every day."

"It will kill your career, mated to a thief," I remind him quietly, barely able to look him in the eye. "So many people need your help. I'm not worth the risk."

His palms find my jaw. He holds me steady. "You're worth everything, Tristan. Haven't you learned that by now? I love you. I could spend a lifetime with you and never run out of ways to worship you."

It's the first time he's ever said I love you . I've known it to be true for weeks. I've felt it every day since he showed up at Father's house and claimed me in order to save me. He invited me back to the Dawes estate, asked Vincent to arrange for my things to be brought there from home, and hasn't stopped showering me with affection since. That first night, he'd nervously offered me my choice of bedrooms in the north wing of the house, mentioning something about not wanting to make assumptions, even after our time together during my heat.

He didn't need to worry.

I chose his room.

I chose him, the same way he chose me.

I'd choose him over the air in my lungs, if it came to it.

All my life, I'd dreaded being paired with an alpha. I'd feared it. I thought I'd lose my freedom and myself. But with Mason, I've found so much more than I ever thought possible. I've found safety—I've even found happiness.

So, when his warm blue eyes peer into mine and he says those three little words, I brush my lips against the inside of his wrist and say them right back without hesitation.

"I love you, too, Mason."

The courtroom falls quiet as soon as the judge, an older alpha with white hair and black robes, enters from his chambers. The bailiff calls for us to rise, and once we're seated again, His Honor reminds us why we're here: I, Tristan Turner Dawes, have been charged with twelve counts of petty larceny. One for every I'm sorry note I left behind after jobs for my Father—well, every job except the last, Mason's painting.

I'm lucky, I suppose, that the charges are downgraded from what they should be—and from what Father, Dane, and Blaise faced. When I cooperated with the courts, testifying against my family, the prosecutor agreed to be lenient. The only time I've seen Father or my brothers lately has been in passing, at the courthouse.

I rather like it that way.

"Before we begin with closing arguments," the judge announces, "I understand the defense would like to call one last witness."

My lawyer stands. "Yes, Your Honor. A character witness. The defendant's mate, Senator Mason Dawes."

What?

My heart races as I twist in my seat to see Mason, sitting in the front row behind me, get up. He avoids looking at me while he takes his seat by the judge and is sworn in, but I can't keep my eyes off him. He didn't tell me he was testifying. Why? Why didn't he say something? And to speak on my behalf, no less? No one since Papa has fought for me before, and yet here he is, boldly putting his future on the line for my sake.

He really meant it when he said I'm worth it …

"Senator Dawes," my lawyer asks, "can you please inform the court how you came to be acquainted with the defendant, Tristan Turner?"

Finally, Mason's gaze meets mine. He straightens the knot in his tie, and a grin plays at the corners of his lips. "I met Tristan the night of my recent fundraising ball. He was there to rob me."

Some members of the jury shake their heads, others murmur their shock and disapproval. My lawyer continues anyway.

"And did he?"

Mason leans closer to the microphone for emphasis. "No. I caught him before he could—and even if I hadn't, I don't believe he would have."

"Why is that?"

"Because Tristan Turner is one of the most genuinely good and well-intentioned people I have ever met. His conscience would not have let him."

My face warms, and I look down at my hands, but I can't stop the smile from stretching across my face.

"And why do you say that, Senator?"

"The evidence speaks for itself. My catering manager overheard him defending a fellow omega against bullies within minutes of his arrival at my estate. Tristan was gracious to each of my guests while in attendance at my event, and while staying with me through his following heat, he hesitated to make even the humblest request. The morning of his departure, he left little behind but a note apologizing for a crime he didn't even commit."

"And your broken heart?"

"Ah yes. He left that behind, too." Mason nods but chuckles. "The point is when I realized Tristan had intended to steal from me, I knew his apology was sincere—as I'm sure he was sincere when he left all those other messages. He didn't steal because he didn't want to. Tristan Turner is no thief—not by choice."

My lawyer turns and paces back across the space. "If the defendant didn't want to steal from others, then why do you think he did?"

"Because he was coerced—forced to by his family."

It feels like one of those moments when the prosecutor in a movie might call, "Objection, Your Honor!" Even the judge glances at him expectantly, waiting for him to say the words. But the attorney at the opposite table doesn't argue. He simply gives a single nod, as if to agree, and my lawyer continues.

"Why do you think he was forced to?"

"Because the night we met, I saw his father, Rex Turner, pull him aside and threaten him. It wasn't until I discovered Tristan's true identity and went to his home that I realized the nature of the threat."

"Which was?"

"The consequence for disobeying his Father's orders was an unwanted arranged marriage to someone completely unsuitable for his gentle disposition. That's why I claimed Tristan. It was the only way to protect him."

The jury murmurs again.

"You claimed your mate only hours after successfully advocating for a law to ban claiming, Senator Dawes. There's speculation that your claim of Tristan Turner was one of the last, if not the last, legal claimings before the ban was officially signed into law. What would you say to your critics who call this a hypocrisy?"

Again, there's no objection from the prosecution. Instead, everyone in the courtroom seems to be sitting on the edge of their seats, eagerly awaiting his answer. So, Mason shrugs and gives a charming grin. His answer rolls off his lips with ease.

"I'd say they're right. I shouldn't have claimed Tristan. But I'd also say that if Arden were a different place, I wouldn't have had to. It wouldn't have been necessary—it shouldn't have been necessary, I believe." Mason's gaze locks on mine. "But it was, and I did claim Tristan, so then I'd tell them what a wise omega I know told me: sometimes, you have to beat your opposition at their own game."

My cheeks already ache from how hard I'm smiling. Still, I grin harder.

It's me. I'm the wise omega.

"Thank you, Senator Dawes," my lawyer says. "That is all."

Mason steps down from the stand when the prosecution declines to cross-examine him, and somewhere in the back of the courtroom, a person claps. Then, someone else stands and claps. Then, more people do. Soon, the entire place is roaring with applause. Back in his seat in the row behind me, Mason reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder, and I finally start believing.

Maybe everything will turn out okay after all.

The verdict is returned after only fifteen minutes.

Not guilty.

When Mason and I leave the courthouse soon after, I feel clean in a way I haven't in years. Finally, I have a fresh start—a future waiting to be written not by Father or my brothers but by me, and me alone.

Outside, the front steps are flooded with people. Reporters and bloggers. Paparazzi with their cameras. Fans, even—not just Mason's, either. I seem to have them now, too. They call our names and snap our pictures, shouting an endless list of questions. That day by the pool when I asked Mason how he coped without privacy, I never imagined this would soon be my life, too. I'm relieved when Vincent steps forward to put distance between us.

Gods only know if I'll ever get used to this, but for Mason, I'm all too glad to try.

"See? I told you things would be fine," Mason, eyes shining, tells me as we get inside the town car. He reaches for my hand across the backseat and entwines our fingers.

"I still can't believe you testified for me. Why didn't you tell me you were going to?"

"It was too important. You needed one of your Father's marks to speak on your behalf, and you would have tried to talk me out of it."

I open my mouth to argue, but he raises his brows, and our conversation while dressing earlier replays in my mind. "I told you I wasn't worth it," is all I say.

"And I made it clear you very much are." He nudges my arm, and I scoot closer so I can rest my head against his shoulder. "But I'd be happy to continue making that clear as soon as we get home, if you like."

My cock twitches enthusiastically before I have the chance to speak my approval.

Yes, I would very much like.

"Is it clear yet?"

I barely remember what "it" is anymore, but that's beside the point.

"If I say yes, will you stop kissing me?"

Mason's stubble brushes against my jaw as he nibbles on my earlobe. His grip on my wrists—which are pinned in his hands over my head against our bedroom wall—tightens. We barely made it through the door before both our jackets, ties, and shirts hit the floor. Now, we stand together, painfully hard and partially undressed, eager to strip entirely but too turned-on to stop touching long enough to put in the work.

"There's one way to find out, and I truly hope you don't choose it."

"Then, no." I turn my head to capture his lips with mine. "Definitely not," I say between kisses. "Never foggier."

I feel the smile form on Mason's mouth. "I thought that might the case." He tugs me off the wall and turns me so I'm facing it instead. "I see you need a remedial lesson."

Letting go of my wrists, he reaches around my waist for my belt buckle instead. I glance down, watching his fingers move over the metal, undoing the clasp before starting in on my fly. A dribble of slick leaks from my hole. I can hardly wait for him to pull down my pants. He doesn't make me suffer for long. The fabric crumples to the floor around my ankles with a soft sound that's promptly drowned out by my own needy whimper.

"You're so wet already, Tristan," Mason marvels, tracing a fingertip around the damp spot on the back of my boxer-briefs. "Always ready for your alpha, the way a good omega should be."

His breath is warm against the back of my neck, but I feel the ghost of it everywhere across my body. I close my eyes as precum leaks from my crown. At this rate, my underwear will be soaked in no time. Mason is quick to remove those, too. Then, I feel him move behind me. Subtly. Quickly. Pulling down his own pants, maybe. He's back again the next moment, and when he touches me, it's with something other than his hands.

He has the fake knot.

We haven't used it since my heat. I didn't realize he'd kept it. Now that I do, I quiver, wondering if it will feel differently than it did back then.

"Tell me, Mason," I say as he traces the tip of the toy across my shoulders and down my spine.

He knows our little game well by now, so he does as I ask without my needing to say more.

"I'm going to fuck with you with this knot, Tristan. It's what a good omega needs. It's his reward for making his alpha so happy."

My ass juts out on its own accord. A blatant invitation. I couldn't resist him knotting me, real or fake, if I tried. "What makes you happy, my alpha? What's your reward?"

Mason leans closer. His cock brushes against my hip as he drags his lips against the side of my throat. "You, Tristan," he whispers, dragging the toy over my crease. "Your gasps are my gold; your cum is my silver. You're the only reward I ever need."

A moan slips from my lips. It could as easily be from his words as the tip of the toy when it breaches me. He inserts it slowly, letting my slick ease the way, until it's buried to the hilt and my knees are practically knocking. Keeping his fingers on the handle, he pulls it back again almost immediately before driving it forward once more.

"Mason!" The toy's tapered tip grazes the sensitive nerves in my channel, and I rise onto the balls of my feet. He repeats the motion, and my cock jerks wildly.

I have my answer: the artificial knot feels different, but sometimes, different is good.

"I'm going to bring you to the edge now, Tristan—more than once, if you'll let me."

Mason flicks the handle on the toy, and I feel the reverberations deep in my groin. I gasp and squirm—then gasp and squirm again when he keeps doing it. He alternates flicks with taps and taps with nudges until I'm breathless and sweaty, barely able to stand. Desire builds inside me like water rising behind a dam, and at the exact moment when I'm sure I'm about to break, Mason spins me back around to look at him.

I want to shout in protest, but his fingertips find the toy's handle again. He flicks a switch, and the fake knot swells to fill my rim, stretching me wide until it's almost too much. I whimper from the sting. My head drops to Mason's chest, and I cling to his arms. I'm not in heat anymore. No knot—real or artificial—is easy to take at the moment.

But, fuck, it still feels good.

"Too much, my omega?"

I shake my head. "I just need a second to adjust."

"Take all the time you need. We have plenty."

The burn melts to bliss before I know it, and I clench my walls around the knot, seeing stars the second it shifts inside me. I shudder.

"That's my good omega," Mason murmurs against my collarbone. "Even without being in heat, you take any knot I give you."

He kneads my ass cheeks in his palms, and the knot continues to move slightly with his motions. Its tip grazes my p-spot again, and I groan.

"Yes … Any knot. As long as it's yours."

"I love how hard you get when you're filled," he says as he continues to squeeze me. "Did you know I can feel the difference? Your thighs tremble. Your back arches. Your hips jut out."

As if on cue, the knot dips deeper and my pelvis tilts forward, seeking friction in the space between us.

"Sometimes, you even sweat." Mason leans closer, dragging his lips along my temple and kissing away a bead of perspiration collecting there. "If I could, I'd turn your whole body into a sleeve for my cock just to see the way you melt for me."

"Mmmm …"

Coherent thoughts completely fail me. I'm too distracted by the knot—by the rhythm of his hands and the way it moves as he keeps massaging my ass. Once again, my orgasm is a moment away. I'm not ready for Mason to stop, but sensing my imminent release, he does anyway.

Immediately, I whine. "Nooo. Why do you keep denying me?"

"I'll deny you nothing, my omega. I swear it."

Taking my cock in hand, he slowly strokes me as proof. He slides his palm along my shaft, base to tip, twisting his wrist. His thumb circles around my crown, then skims over my slit, smearing precum. Then, something strange happens. A sensation I've never felt before. I lift my head from his chest and look down to see Mason holding our cocks together—not side by side but tip to tip.

"What are you do— ohhh. "

Mason tugs his foreskin over his uncut crown first, then my circumcised tip, joining us in a way I never realized was possible. His looks into my eyes, and I wonder what he sees there—my awe, maybe? My desire, definitely.

"I've been inside you so many times. Now, I get to have you inside me, in a way," he says.

I swallow hard. If this is what being inside him feels like, I never want to leave.

"Tell me," I rasp a second time.

"I'm going to make you come now, Tristan." His fist begins to move, stroking our cocks together. "If you like this as much as I think you will, I'll do this for you every day, every night. All you need to do is ask."

If I like this?

Like is an understatement. A gentle suction teases my tip while Mason's hand works our shafts in a feverish tug-of-war. My cock gives, his takes. His cock gives, mine takes. I watch with fascination while he pumps us faster and faster, working us both into a frenzy. I'm far from inexperienced, but I have never seen or done anything like it before. I doubt even Dane, Connoisseur of Heat Porn, has either.

"And someday, when you're ready, I'm going to breed you, Tristan. I'll fill your sweet little womb with so much cum it won't be able to hold it all—so much I'll paint your body with it. I'll spread it across your lips and kiss it off again. You'll be my very own work of art."

"Yes, Mason … My alpha."

Sparks ricochet through my groin. Pressure builds at the base of my spine. My sac draws up. There's no stopping me; I'll shoot any second now. I want to look into Mason's face when I do, but I can't stop staring at our joined cocks in his hand—the lewd glory of them, two shafts made stronger, bigger, and better than either was alone.

"You'll be so gorgeous with our son growing inside you. Your belly round and full. Your nipples swollen, just waiting to be milked. I won't be able to stop touching you."

"I won't want you to … I never want you to."

Mason grunts. His fist is a blur between us. His slit kisses mine over and over again. I don't know whose precum I feel welling between us anymore, and I suppose it doesn't matter. Our bodies are indistinct, merged, like the alpha and omega in the Fairchild downstairs. Pressure and suction build. Seed leaks from the seam of skin that connects us. It dribbles over Mason's fingertips, then falls in heavy droplets to the floor. One splashes against my feet.

"Tristan …" Mason gulps for air, my name on his lips.

Gods help me, I love to hear him say my name. After everything we've been through, I'll never take the sound for granted.

He comes harder than I've ever seen before. His release erupts from him like a geyser, propelling against my crown. A whimper catches in my throat at the force of it. Our connection breaks, and cum douses my abdomen. It splatters against my womb, a reminder of the promise he just made to breed me.

I run my palm through it quickly, scooping up his juices protectively, like a gift that must be treasured. Then, stroking myself with his seed, I look up and watch while he shudders—his head thrown back, sweat trickling down his throat, his Adam's apple tensing.

Mason is as magnificent as he was the day of the fundraiser when I saw him getting out of the pool.

The dam inside me breaks as I watch him lose himself in pleasure. I climax with a sob, his artificial knot still expanded at my rim and a smile on my face.

I can't see the future. I don't have a crystal ball or tarot cards to read. So, I don't know if everything he said about breeding me someday will come true. But as my breathing steadies, I hope it does, and I suspect it will.

With Mason Dawes, everything seems to have a way of working out.