6. Mason

6

MASON

Tristan startles when I open the door to the bedroom. He turns away from the window quickly, the curtain falling from his hands, and the second our eyes meet, relief passes over his face. While I cross toward him, he stares at me longingly, as though I've been gone for days, instead of minutes.

"You came back," he says. "I was worried. I thought ..." He glances away as his voice trails off.

"You thought what?" Setting the fruit plate on the nightstand, I reach over and brush his chin with my fingertips.

"Nothing." He lifts his head again. "Never mind. It's silly."

From the way he called out in his nightmares last night, I doubt his fears are ever unfounded or silly. Still, I don't demand his confidence. He'll give that in time. If he decides I'm worthy.

I hope he'll find me worthy.

"I only went to the kitchens," I assure him. I slide my arms around his bare body, letting my hands wander over his shoulders and down his back before pulling him against me. "Jack will whip us up something more when he arrives, but in the meantime, I thought you might be hungry."

"You brought me food?" Tristan grins, his dick twitching against my thigh. Another heat wave must be building. They'll arrive more quickly and fiercely over the next day or so, now that he's approaching the cycle's peak. He looks over at the plate as though torn between wanting to rut against my bathrobe or fill his belly.

His stomach growls softly, and although his face brightens with embarrassment, he chuckles along with me.

"That settles that," I tease, reaching for an orange segment. I offer the piece of fruit to him, brushing it against his lips. The sheen it leaves behind is intoxicating. I can't help but imagine my cum glistening in its place.

"Good?" I ask, watching him chew.

He nods and swallows, eyes rolling back with pleasure. "Delicious."

My heart beats faster. Something tells me Tristan has had far too few happy moments in his life, and watching him delight in simple joys like this is a treat in itself. "In that case, we must be sure you get to eat your fill."

I tow him toward the bed and ease him back beneath the sheets, then slip my bathrobe off my shoulders and join him there, the plate between us.

"You don't have to feed me," he giggles when I offer him another segment.

" Have to has nothing to do with it, Tristan. I want to. I'm your alpha, and you're in heat. I want to spoil you."

He laughs again, but when he sees I'm completely serious, he clears his throat and eagerly accepts the fruit from my fingers. His eyes flutter closed with enjoyment as he eats.

"I don't know where you get your fruit, but it is not Arden Market, like my Father."

His Father. Someplace in the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I should insist Tristan call him—or, if he's afraid, offer to do so myself. Maybe I could give the man, whoever he is, a piece of my mind for however he's mistreated his son while I'm at it.

But like my initial misgivings when I found him in my office, as soon as the thought appears, it vanishes again—this time erased by the droplet of grapefruit juice trapped at the corner of his mouth.

The vision doesn't go unnoticed by my cock, either. I adjust myself quickly over the sheets before taking a bite for myself.

"Actually, we grow most of our own fruits and vegetables right here on the estate," I explain. "My omega-grandparent was an avid gardener."

Tristan's eyes widen. "They're amazing. So fresh."

"If you're feeling up to it, we can go for a walk through the orchards later—or perhaps a swim in the pool?"

"I'd like that."

He nods, and without questions or deliberation, we both seem to accept the matter is settled: he's staying for the rest of his heat.

Some alphas find their bravery in liquor. I've found mine in pheromones, it seems.

"Any other favorite foods I should know about for while you're here? Jack is quite the chef."

Tristan's nose wrinkles adorably while he thinks. "Pasta. I like pasta … And you don't happen to have strawberry candies, do you? The kind from the general store on Waterstone Street?"

Strawberry candies. Interesting. I wasn't imagining the sweetness of his lips after all.

"I'm sure Vincent can send someone out for them."

"Oh, I didn't mean to inconvenience—if it's too much?—"

Grinning, I silence his insecurities with another bit of citrus. "It's not an inconvenience, and you could never be too much. I want to, remember?"

Tristan relaxes against his pillow and smiles around his bite of fruit. And when he does, juice bursts from the orange and dribbles down his chin. "Oh!" The blush returns to his cheeks, and he sits up quickly, trying to wipe it away with his fingers. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to make a mess."

"Nonsense." I catch his hand and hold it a moment, overwhelmed by his loveliness. His small frame and delicate features. The peachy hue of his already-pebbled nipples. The way he's literally dripping before me. My alpha growls possessively. I want him again, whether or not his wave has begun.

Then, a lingering bead of juice runs down Tristan's throat, and it's too much. I tug him toward me and run my tongue over his skin, lapping up the sticky nectar in one long, languid stripe.

And I find out I was right: oranges and grapefruits have never tasted better than they do on him.

"Mason …"

Tristan squeaks my name as I keep going, licking over his smooth chin and jaw, darting my tongue in and out to taste his skin. The salt to the citrus's sweet. On my way back, I trace a line across the seam of his lips and dot kisses against the corners of his mouth. He catches my tongue with his own, breath quickening, and when I push aside the plate and roll him onto his back, he grips my shoulders and parts his legs so I can kneel between them.

"You're beautiful, Tristan," I say, staring down at him.

He glances away with a shyness that's completely unnecessary after how desperately we fucked last night. Then, he speaks, and my heart squeezes as I realize he's not embarrassed by sex or nudity. Instead, it's my compliment—a show of simple kindness—that he's unused to.

"You don't have to keep saying that."

"It's true, though. The only thing more special than seeing you wear my clothes last night is the vision of you without anything on at all."

"But I'm dirty and sticky," he insists.

"Then I'll fuck you clean again."

A smile plays on his lips. "That's not how it works."

"It is today."

Dipping down, I lick a circle around one of his areolas. They're puffy from the heat, and the tang of orange hits my tongue—a rogue droplet I must have overlooked a moment ago. Tristan's would-be giggle turns into a groan.

"Found a spot we missed. Shall I check the other?"

He nods and arches his back, pushing his chest toward me. "I think you better. Just in case."

"Just in case," I agree with a grin.

Then, I do exactly that. Taking his nipple between my lips, I flick my tongue over the peak. No juice, but the tiny nub is sweet just the same. Tristan can have his strawberry candies; this is all the indulgence I need. I suck and nip at him using different pressures and speeds until his nails dig into my back and his hips buck against mine.

"All clear," I tell him, glancing up over the tight little bud. "Anyplace else you'd like me to check?"

He doesn't speak. He only reaches for a few of the fruit segments off the abandoned plate, holds them over his chest, and squeezes them between his fingers. A river of liquid pours down over his body. It runs over his sternum, splashes against his just-licked nipples, and pools in his navel. And when the citrus runs dry, he takes the pulp and drags it up and down his ribs, painting every inch of his skin like an artist with his canvas.

Oh. My. Gods.

Watching him, my mouth goes dry. Then waters. Then goes dry again. My cock throbs, precum leaking from the slit. Reaching down, I give the base of my shaft a squeeze. Tristan came untouched last night, and I'm dangerously close to doing the same.

Except I can't. He needs my knot first.

"How about everywhere?" he says when he's finished dousing himself in citrus, finally discarding the rinds.

I let out a husky growl. It's the best I can manage. I'm buzzing and brutish, all alpha. If someone were to ask right now, I wouldn't even know my own name. There is only my omega and the need building between us.

Eagerly, I get to work on my task. I bathe him with my tongue like a cat fussing over its fur, leaving no part unkempt. The more Tristan moans, the slower I go, savoring each drop on my palate. He's finer than any wine in the cellar downstairs, and I'd rather drink to him than anything else.

After a moment, Tristan's hands find their way into my hair. He tugs at the strands, guiding me where he wants my mouth next. His collarbone. A nipple again. The ridge where his ribs end and his belly begins. Gradually, he pushes me lower. Lower. Lower. I lick into his navel and slurp at the juices there, chuckling to myself when he inhales sharply. I glance up to find him watching me with fascination, his dark eyes dazed and his lids hooded.

"I'm going to suck you off now, Tristan," I say. Not because he needs the warning but because I know he likes it. It turns him on.

It turns me on, too, if I'm honest.

"I'm going to drink your cum like the rest of these juices and finger you while I do it. And by the time I'm done, your next wave will be here, and I'll fuck your hole all over again with my dick."

"Mmm." His head bobs agreeably against the pillow, and his grip on my hair tightens. Then, further down I go again.

Like most omegas, Tristan is hairless in those spots where I have plenty. No happy trail. No curls at his groin. There's barely even peach fuzz. I nose along those special places, breathing in his scent, delighting in the way his shaft twitches against my cheek. His cock is lovely—shorter than mine, and thinner—but a pretty pinkish color and smooth, with no visible veins. His balls are also smaller. Omega cum is sterile. There's no need for them to have developed more. They don't have to carry genetic material, not when the precious pearls deep within an omega's womb already do.

I lick around his tip, then over his slit, collecting his precum on my tongue the way I have all the other fluids on his body this morning. Moving lower still, I trace around each of his balls, gently sucking them into my mouth. Left, first. Then, right. Then left again. For some reason, that one's my favorite. It's slightly smaller, maybe; it needs more attention, and I am nothing if not a perpetual advocate for the underdog.

Tristan moans, rolling his groin against my mouth. The pheromones are growing stronger by the second. Vanilla and spices, a hint of sandalwood. Intoxicating. By the time I swallow down his shaft, they're practically blinding.

"Hurry …" he tells me on a whimper.

So, I do. I work two fingers into his hole—he's slick and loose enough to take them without much resistance at this point in his cycle—and stroke his channel on the inside while I suck his dick outside.

"Mason ... Ma ... my ... alph … mine."

He comes quickly on my hand, a string of progressively incoherent syllables streaming from his lips. Cum floods my mouth. I barely manage to swallow down one jet before another follows behind it.

I simply keep sucking.

Tristan thrashes beneath me as his first orgasm crashes into another. And another. His gasps fill my ears, reverberating like an echo until I'm no longer sure if we're miles away from each other or laying right here.

His wave has arrived. His heat cycle is peaking, most likely.

My own dick throbs as I long to feel him pulsing around me, and I can't hold off my own release any longer. I have to be a part of his pleasure. Of him.

Even when I pop off his cock—even when I pull out my fingers—Tristan keeps coming. His cum spews like a fountain, squirting across the headboard, forming puddles on his chest, splashing over the rinds and pulp on the nearby plate.

I drive into him quickly, folding his legs over his shoulders until he's practically in half. Such a pretty little packet. And although I'm not usually a two-pump chump, I erupt into him after only a few thrusts. Luckily, Tristan is too immersed in his own bliss to notice. As my knot fills his rim, he comes again, his cock trapped between our bellies. His cries fall in time with my grunts, and we rock together wildly, with no concept of time or place around us.

It's a complete orgasmic frenzy.

Eventually, the wave passes. Our climaxes subside. We ignore a knock on the door—Jack dropping off our breakfast, most likely—and I turn onto my side so Tristan and I can face each other, limbs tangled, fused together by my knot.

"I was right, you know," Tristan says, tracing lazy figure eights through the cum smears on my sternum.

"Right about what?"

He grins. "About it being impossible to fuck someone clean."

I toss my head back, laughing, then press a kiss to his forehead. "I suppose I owe you a sponge bath once my knot goes down, don't I?"

Color rises in his cheeks. "Oh, you don't have to do that?—"

"I want to, Tristan. Not have to, remember?"

"Will my heats always be like this?" Tristan asks. Like with feeding him fruit earlier, convincing him to let me bathe him has required some effort. He kept trying to get out of bed, fetch the soap, or grab a towel. Now, his sleepy eyes track the movement of the washcloth as I swirl it over his abs, wiping away the outcome of his past few waves.

"Like what?" I submerge the cloth in the basin of warm, soapy water, ring the excess moisture from it, then gently start in on his cock.

"This … powerful." And although he's come multiple times in a matter of hours, Tristan's dick stiffens again. His fingertips grip the sheets, and his hips buck up, chasing my touch as I wash him. I give his shaft a long, slow stroke, then lower my head to suck the precum from the tip before washing out the cloth again.

"Your first heat will be the strongest." I grin at him as he parts his legs without my asking, inviting me to continue my work. "Or so I've heard. Afterward, they should come on easier—which will also make them more pleasurable. Eventually, when you've found your mate and are ready for children, you'll enjoy breeding orgasms most of all."

My hand falters at the idea of this—of how someday, Tristan will let an alpha breed him. Of how that lucky man won't be me.

Gods, I wish it could be.

Tristan tilts his head to the side and blinks up at me from his pillow. "You know so much. You've been with an omega in heat before?"

The image of Luke floats through my mind. "Only one omega. Only one heat." Avoiding eye contact, I turn back to the basin. "Until you."

A lump forms in my throat. I don't know if it's memories of Luke—or my strengthening feelings for Tristan—making me sentimental. I swallow hard, and when I look up at Tristan again, his brown eyes have melted like chocolate.

"Will you tell me about him?"

"The other omega?"

He nods, then lifts his ass so I can clean our dried cum and slick from his crease.

Such a compliant, agreeable omega. We work together in unison. Seamless. Our actions complementing the other as much as our bodies.

"It was a few years ago, Tristan. You're the only omega that matters to me now."

His chest puffs up, and he grins. Once more, I get the distinct feeling he isn't told how wonderful he is very often. And he should be told. Daily. If he were my omega, I'd never let him forget it.

"Please?"

Again with the sweet, gentle begging. Sighing, I set aside the cloth and basin altogether. He's clean enough, and my arms ache to hold him again. So, I settle back into bed beside him and face him, folding him against my torso like a sealed envelope.

"I haven't spoken about Luke in a long time—not to anyone," I explain.

"His name was Luke, then?"

I nod. "He was very handsome." I drag my fingertips up his arm, then trace along his shoulder and up his neck and chin. Such elegant features, such soft skin. "Though maybe not quite as gorgeous as you."

Tristan preens again, and I chuckle.

"We studied at university together." I clear my throat, fighting the tension twisting my words before I can get them out. This is harder to talk about than I thought. "We were in love … Well, I was in love."

Already sensing my story doesn't end with a happily ever after, Tristan's face falls. "What happened?"

I stare over his shoulder, to the door for the en suite behind him. Stopping here would be easier, more comfortable, but I don't. After everything we've shared so far, Tristan deserves to know. "After Luke's heat, my feelings for him grew even stronger. I proposed marriage … And he turned me down. He said I was too much. He didn't want to live in my shadow. He wanted to be independent. Alphas have dominated our culture for so long, he felt he owed it to his omega ancestors to enjoy the freedoms they didn't necessarily have.

"I can't fault him for wanting his own life. His strength is part of what I loved about him, and I would never claim an omega against his will. Still, I was devastated. Broken-hearted. I never meant to stifle him—I'd only ever tried to show him how much I care."

Tristan's eyes are watchful, warm and wide. Sad, even. "So, what did you do?

I sigh. "We went our separate ways. Luke became a teacher, and I dedicated myself to public service. I buried myself in my work, promoting omega rights, and I promised myself never to tread on an omega's will again. Vincent has hinted—and not so subtly, either—that I'm hiding behind my respect for omegas to protect my heart ... Sometimes, I think he might be right."

"The work you do means everything to omegas. Never stop." Tristan's palm finds my cheek, and his thin fingers brush over the stubble, lightly tracing my jaw. "And no matter what he said, you didn't tread on Luke's will. You wanted to be with him, and you loved him enough to let him go when he didn't feel the same. That makes a difference—it makes all the difference, actually."

Such sweet words from such a sweet man. Taking Tristan's hand in mine, I dust a kiss over his knuckles and manage a small smile. Luke's rejection had been cold and his accusations painful, but his words have never seemed so distant as they do right now.

"You're right. My feelings for Luke were real, even if his for me weren't. That's part of the problem in our world, though, isn't it? Both alphas and omegas are victims of our hormones, of nature, and heats can make it hard to see the truth. Sometimes, I wish it could be easier."

"Me, too." Sidling closer, Tristan tucks my face against his neck. He runs his fingertips through my hair. "I hope you find someone who thinks your love is a gift, not a burden, Mason, because that's what it is. You're special. You should be appreciated for everything you are and do."

My throat wrenches again, and my heart swells. I nuzzle Tristan's collarbone and breathe him in, letting his scent soothe me. A partner has never held me like this. Never comforted me like this. I had no idea it could feel so lovely. If only he could be the one—the easy one, the one who appreciates, the one who stays …

After he goes, you'll barely remember him, I try to convince myself.

But I know it's a lie. I'll never forget him.