Chapter 4
JACK
Jack stood outside the door to Arden’s chamber for a full minute, gathering himself.
His heart was racing, partly because he’d ridden day and night from the capital to get to Arden and Beckett, and partly because the moment the lights of Avendene had come into view through the dark and the rain, he’d downed a handful of rut suppressants.
Mostly, though, it was because everything he’d ever wanted was right there on the other side of the door, entwined together.
He would not, he swore, mess this up any more than he already had.
Jack took a deep breath, and then another. The suppressants were a gamble. He’d never used them before. He’d never had the need, nor had he ever expected to, and his secretary, Nolan, had called him a reckless idiot for even considering them.
As he stood in the silent corridor, his hair still damp from the rain, he wondered if they’d work at all. He shouldn’t have been able to get hard, and yet he was not far off halfway there.
They’d better work. If they didn’t, it was Arden—sweet Arden—who’d be the one to suffer.
Sounds drifted through the thick wooden door. Beckett was grunting, the way he did when he got going. Beneath the racket his lover was making, Jack just about heard Arden’s soft pants and moans.
Jack pressed a hand flat to the cool wood and rested his forehead against the ancient oak for a steadying moment. He inhaled deep lungfuls of Beckett’s and Arden’s combined scents.
It took another few minutes before he decided that he was safe to enter. Close to the edge, yes, but confident that he could stop himself from tipping over.
He unlocked the door and slipped in. The bed lay side-on to the door, giving Jack an unrestricted view of Beckett’s pumping arse and flexing biceps as he moved over the slender body beneath him.
Someone had tossed all of the bedding to the floor, except for one lone pillow that clung to the far edge of the mattress.
Arden had one leg hitched around Beckett’s hips.
That, and the arm drawn over his head and pinned to the bed, was all Jack saw of him.
Beckett was covering him completely and had tucked his face into the crook of Arden’s neck.
He was gnawing on it, no doubt, the way he liked to do to Jack, and he gleamed in the low light from the rosy lamp; thick muscles bunched and flexed under the satiny olive skin.
He was without doubt the most vigorous, forceful lover that Jack had ever had.
Since Jack had only ever been with other alphas, that was saying something.
Beckett, on the other hand, had been with all genders and designations.
Sampling, he’d told Jack one morning as they lay sated in bed, Beckett’s pupils tiny in the direct sunlight and showing off for once the depth and beauty of his honey-amber irises.
Jack didn’t get to appreciate them like that often.
Usually when Beckett looked at Jack, his pupils were dilated, eyes black with desire.
Also, it was more often than not night when they came together. Beckett had duties, after all. As did Jack.
The fact of it was, between him and Beckett, Beckett was the better mate for Arden. Even though Jack had assumed that the odds of Arden wanting to be taken were vanishingly small, he’d decided that if Arden ever did want it, Jack would talk to Beckett.
He’d have asked the lad if he’d do it.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Arden might go into heat and the issue would be forced. That was his mistake, and he’d fix it if it was the last thing he did.
Still. While matters hadn’t started quite as smoothly as he’d hoped, he couldn’t deny that things were moving in the right direction.
There were more than a few bumps in the road ahead, he knew that.
He’d make it work. His love for Beckett was bound to his bones. His love for Arden had lasted decades.
He’d make it work.
Jack was surprised that Beckett even noticed his approach, so lost did he seem in Arden’s body. Jack had only made it halfway across the room before Beckett’s head whipped around and he snarled a feral warning, baring his teeth.
The hair at the back of Jack’s neck lifted as he snarled back without thinking.
The whole thing could have ended right there in an instinct-driven territorial fight that neither of them wanted, and then Beckett curled over Arden.
The tenderness of the gesture cut straight to Jack’s heart.
He didn’t even have to try to force his dominance down.
Beckett was being protective, not possessive.
“Jack,” Beckett said hoarsely, sounding relieved to see him. His face blanked as he glanced down at the restless Arden before correcting himself. “I mean, Your Grace.”
Jack raised a single brow. “I’ve asked you a hundred times not to call me that.”
“In private.” It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. No wonder; Jack noted with amusement that his hips had started moving again, the bedsheets rustling quietly beneath his knees.
“We are in private,” Jack pointed out.
Arden must have done something then—tightened around him, perhaps—because Beckett gasped and his eyes rolled back. He shook his head sharply and returned to glaring at Jack with that challenge Jack loved so much.
Holding his gaze, Jack came over to the side of the bed.
He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Beckett’s hair.
It was loose, freed from its usual tidy queue, and Jack adored the feel of it tangled around his fingers, thick and silky.
He dragged Beckett up into a kiss, and Beckett met him hungrily. Desperately.
His kiss was, Jack noted with amusement, significantly less aggressive than usual. He’d been tempering himself for Arden, of course. He adjusted quickly enough, pushing up to his knees and twisting at the waist to catch Jack’s shoulders, to bite and suck at his lips. Jack returned the favour.
The quiet, breathless sob from below yanked him back to reality.
He really was messing this up at every single stage, wasn’t he?
Jack and Beckett both broke away at the same exact moment and looked down at Arden.
Clearly horrified at having caught their attention, he whimpered uncertainly and covered his face with his hands, even as his hips arched in demand under Beckett.
Jack sat on the side of the mattress and allowed himself one quick glance at where Beckett and Arden were joined, before he leaned down and brushed Arden’s hair back, tucking it behind a small ear. “Hello, darling,” he said.
Arden shook his head, still hiding.
“No?” Jack stroked a gentle line between Arden’s drawn brows. “No hello for your husband?”
One of Arden’s arms shot out and he moved his hand over the mattress frantically.
Beckett reached over, causing both of them to grunt softly as he shifted inside Arden, and snagged the lone pillow.
He tossed it onto Arden’s face and a startled Jack was about to snatch it off before he realised Beckett was giving him what he wanted, not being cruel.
Arden grabbed it and clamped it to his face.
Jack waited. He’d have to come out to breathe fresh air in a moment.
When the moment dragged on, he smiled and rubbed soothingly at Arden’s chest. “You come out when you’re ready,” he said. The pillow rustled. He rather thought that was Arden nodding.
Beckett was kneeling, still inside Arden, and he began to tremble. He was glaring at the pillow as if he wanted to bore holes in it.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said to him. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
Arden wailed behind the pillow.
“No, no, no,” Jack said, sliding his hand up to grip Arden’s throat lightly.
If he’d been stupid enough to try something like that on Beckett, he’d fight like an alpha possessed, but he knew that it soothed Arden.
He kept his hold gentle. “I meant that I’m sorry I wasn’t here, and couldn’t talk to you both about it.
I’m sorry I was late. I’m sorry I didn’t see this coming, and I’m sorry this is difficult, darling.
You haven’t done anything wrong. Neither of you have. I promise.”
Arden released the pillow to flail one of his arms around in the air. Jack caught it, kissed his palm, and set it on Beckett’s damp abs. Beckett flexed into it with one of those beautiful, supple rolls. Arden’s fingers spasmed then slipped to curl around his side and pull urgently.
He wanted to talk, no doubt, to fret and worry and have Jack soothe him. He was such a little worrier. He’d been that way ever since they were children, so long ago now. His body had other priorities, and it was beginning to override everything else.
Before it was too late, Jack tugged on the pillow. “Will you come out for me, sweetheart?” he asked. “I have missed your lovely face.”
Beckett’s breathing was rough, edged with a subvocal growl.
After a less subvocal growl and a demanding pitch of Beckett’s hips, Arden came out from under the pillow.
“Oh,” Jack said, and touched his cheek. “Look at you.”