Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Brooks
There's a deli around the corner. I buy a turkey sandwich and two chocolate cookies and march back to Laz's room before I can change my mind. The door is still unlocked when I try it, and I lock it behind me.
I find Laz on his hands and knees on his bed when I walk into his room. He's taken his shirt off and his skin glistens with sweat as his chest heaves with shallow breaths. He is beautiful and loathsome, and I have never wanted to touch someone so badly in my entire life.
I'm so fucking afraid of him.
“Brooks.” He says my name like it's a prayer, and I'm the only god who can save him. “Please.” A tear trails from his eye and mixes with the sweat dripping from his nose. “It hurts so much. Help me. Please.”
I can clearly see the muscles in his abdomen bunching and twisting with the cramps that are torturing him. I know it hurts. I've seen it enough times. I put the paper bag of food on the chest of drawers beside the door before I take off my jacket.
“Yesssss,” he hisses. “Oh, God. Yes. Please. Hurry. I'm dying.”
He isn't dying, but I'm sure he feels like he is.
I roll my shoulders and allow myself a resigned sigh. This is going to hurt so much. “What do you need most?”
“You.”
“Yes, but what would help ease your pain most?”
He licks his lips, and his eyes flick down to my obvious arousal.
I know the look.
I cross the room and stop with my thighs brushing the side of his bed.
He doesn't hesitate. He shoves the bedding away and moves to sit in front of me with his legs spread on either side of mine and attacks my belt.
The buckle jangles loudly in the room, and my body jerks as he undoes it and then starts on my slacks.
He looks up at me again before he pulls me free of them.
“You sure?” he asks, and the wet tip of his tongue flicks out across his bottom lip again.
“It's okay, Laz.” I offer him a tight smile. “Take what you need.”
He nods and tugs the front of my boxers down.
I've been varying levels of hard since I first caught his heat-drenched scent, but the moment I'm free of the fabric constriction, hard is no longer a proper adjective.
Laz lets my heavy length bounce upwards so that it slaps my stomach, humming his appreciation and scooting closer.
“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping his tapered fingers around my base. “It's been so long. I missed you.”
I don't respond to that statement. Laz's mind is addled by the drug right now.
If he truly missed me, he would have contacted me before now.
Laz missed my dick and how well I take care of him when he's on fire.
I've already made the decision to detach myself from my hurt so I can see him through this moment, but it's hard to hear him say things I so badly need to hear when I know the truth.
He strokes gently, barely making contact with my skin. Teasing me. Taking the ache to almost a painful level as a drop of precum leaks from the slit. “I need this,” he whispers and leans forward to lick across the head.
I suck in a breath and tighten my fists to keep from sinking my fingers into his hair.
His mouth opens, and a hot breath puffs around me before he takes me inside. He doesn't suck; he just swirls his tongue around and around the head. Then he tightens his fist and switches to slow, firm strokes, and my right knee starts to shake.
It's been too long. I've fucked plenty of times since I was last with him. I've offered my cock to more than a few needy Omegas. But it's been so long since he's touched me, since I've had his mouth on me. The raw pleasure is taking over more than just my physical being.
The truth. The raw, awful truth is what's going to keep me standing. That, and nothing more. Laz just needs a body right now. And I'm too stupid to run. I'll pay for this. One way or another, I'm going to pay for it.
I'm going to enjoy it first, though.
Laz moves his hand back down to my base and hooks a finger behind my balls, holding me steady and still.
Then he sinks down, taking my full length into his mouth and pushing just a little farther so that my head tests the limitations of his throat.
He looks up at me as he pulls back, then holds his mouth wide open, tongue out, and milks a few drops from me to savor.
“So good,” he murmurs before sinking down on me again.
I stand there, legs trembling, and let him suck and lick and make the most obscene sounds around me while I clench my fists and look around the room to distract myself from the urge to fuck his mouth the way I want to.
It's just a bedroom. Nothing special. No extra blankets.
No pillows. He used to like scented candles, but there aren't any of those, either. It's a blank space. Neutral.
It's neutral.
I drag a deep breath in through my nose.
I'm prepared for the onslaught of pheromones from his manufactured heat, but what I'm not prepared for is the absence of anything else.
I should smell his Alpha's presence. Whether there's an actual nest or not, I should be able to smell his Alpha's scent in this room.
But I can't, and that's almost as strange as the lack of a nest. This whole thing is strange.
The longer I look at this empty room and notice all the things that I don't like and can't understand about Laz's situation, the angrier I start to get.
No warm scents. No warm blankets. No sweaters, which I know for a goddamn fact he loves.
No additional scents. No hoodies. No music, which I also know he loves. No anything.
I sink both hands into his hair and yank him off of my dick, tilting his head so that his dazed eyes have no choice but to look at me. “Where is your nest?”
“What?” he asks, straining against my grip.
I tighten my fists, pulling hard enough to hurt. “Your nest, Lazarus. Where is it? Is it in her room?”
“Nest?” his brows scrunch. “Oh. No. I don't need one.”
What? What does that mean?
“You are an Omega in heat. It doesn't matter if you put yourself into it. You need a nest.”
“I don't need one.” He strains even harder to get back to me.
I give him a small shake. “Lazarus.”
“Just drop it, Brooks. Please?”
The things I don't like are piling higher and higher.
I release my hold on his hair abruptly, pulling a sound from him. “Fine.”
He watches my face for a few moments before his shoulders relax and he takes me back into his mouth.
I grunt as he sucks me deep and I allow my hips a shallow thrust. Despite my inner turmoil, my body is singing with his attention.
He pulls back again to speak with his lips against my swollen head. “Touch me. I need to feel you.”
“I'm afraid I'll be too rough. I don't want to hurt you.”
He smiles and flicks his tongue over me to catch a drop. “You can't.”
I can. He knows that I can. And if I'm not careful, I will. I want him badly enough to lose myself, and I'm more than angry enough. Still, I slide one palm along his jaw and let my fingers play in the hair behind his ear and cup his chin with my other hand. “Better?”
He smiles again. “Yes.” Then goes back to the world's most agonizing and confusing blow job.
Eventually Laz works into the rhythm that's going to rip an orgasm out of me whether I want it to or not. My knot is beginning to swell in preparation, and his lips nudge it every time he takes me deep.
“So good, Laz,” I purr for him. “You're going to make me cum.”
The scent of slick dominates the air around us, and the neediest, most delicious sound vibrates around me.
“Just like that,” I murmur. “Keep going. Don't stop.”
He doesn't change his pace, but it somehow becomes more urgent anyway. He moans, and my eyes roll back and close.
“Like that, baby, just like that. Almost.”
He whines through his nose and swallows around me.
“Yessss,” I purr. “There you go.”
He swallows again, and it trips me over the edge. I pull him back so that my release fills his mouth and dribbles down his chin instead of spilling directly down his throat. He swallows greedily as I groan and fist his hair. Stars flash behind my eyelids as the last pulse leaves me.
He licks my head one last time before he runs his hands down the backs of my thighs.
“Thank you,” he whispers and kisses the bit of skin not covered by my unbuttoned pants.
I take a few breaths to steady myself, then open my eyes to look down at him. “On your back.”
It takes him a moment to get his limbs to do what he wants them to do, but he eventually rolls onto his back. He reaches for me but frowns when I shake my head.
“No,” I say gently. “I can't let you hold me. But I can make you feel better.”
I undo the buttons on my sleeves and roll them up a few inches. “Put your legs together.”
If he spreads himself open for me, I won't be able to refuse him or myself. I simply won't put myself in the situation. What I've done and what I'm going to do is dangerous enough.
Laz brings his legs together and laces his fingers together behind his head without being asked. I wasn't going to tell him to do that, but it's probably for the best right now.
“Stay just like that,” I order, letting just a bit of command mingle with my tone. “Don't move. If you move, I stop.”
His head jerks with a quick nod.
I don't believe him. He's never been good at staying still or doing what he's told. But I've decided to move forward with this idiotic plan to ruin my life—again—so I put a knee on the bed beside him. Then I watch his face as I drag his pants down far enough to bare him to me.
I wrap my hand around his terribly hard cock and stroke him from base to tip, and he groans, lifting his hips off the mattress as much as he dares. His balls are still partially trapped between his thighs, so I pull them free and gently roll as I stroke him again.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Yes. Thank you. Please don't stop.”
“I'm not going to,” I assure him. “I'm going to make you cum, Laz. Don't worry.”
I loosen my grip and move my fist up and down his shaft as he gasps and groans and begs for more.
“Harder, Brooks. Tighter,” he says, thrusting into my fist.
The defined muscles that make up his stomach bunch and twist hypnotically as he reaches for more pleasure.
“Yes,” he pants. “More. Please.”
I grip him tightly and twist my fist, watching his stomach move with his gasping breaths. I twist over the head and he jackknifes into an upright position. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, trying to force me to stroke him faster.
I let go completely, and he snarls.
“I told you I would stop if you moved.”
He lies back down.
“Can you stay like that?”
He nods quickly.
I run a fingertip across his leaking head. “I don't believe you.”
“I will,” he pants. “I promise.”
He's a liar. “Put your hands by your sides.”
It isn't so much that I want Laz to be still.
I would much prefer to watch him flail and writhe all over this bed, but I can't allow him to cling to me.
The strength of my determination to leave this room without fucking and knotting him is not boundless.
If he clings to me, if I allow him to wrap himself around me, I won't leave him until his heat lifts.
And I will kill his Alpha if she tries to stop me.
Which will hurt him.
So I can't allow it.
I plant my knees on either side of him, trapping his hands against his sides, and lower my weight onto his thighs.
“Brooks,” he chokes out.
“I've got you,” I purr, and wrap my hand around him again.
I stroke him easily, not too fast or slow, and cradle his balls with my opposite hand. His entire body twitches with every movement, and he continuously leaks. If I were to slide my fingers between his thighs, I would find him absolutely soaked.
I keep the steady pace until he's practically thrashing under my weight and nearly bucking me off, then I tighten my grip and jerk him with purpose.
His back bows and he releases a string of incoherent curses.
He's getting hotter and harder with each pass. He's almost there. “You're going to cum for me soon, Laz. I can feel it. Your balls are so tight.” I squeeze them gently for emphasis. “And you're so fucking hard. It's going to feel so good.”
“Yes,” he huffs. “Don't stop.”
“I won't,” I purr. “I want you to cum all over my hands.”
He groans, and his body tightens impossibly. Tighter and tighter and tighter...
But nothing happens. His orgasm doesn't come. And then he lets out a broken sob.
“Please!” he cries. “Please, don't stop. I can do it. I need it. Please, Brooks. Please.”
I don't know what's wrong, but I don't stop.
“Almost,” he grits out. “I'm almost there.”
He isn't, though. He's strung so tightly that it looks painful. Even the muscles in his feet are locked up so hard that the joints pop.
“Please,” he sobs again. “Please.”
It's the drugs. They've caused him to become either too sensitive or not sensitive enough. It happened before. He needs a week of knotting and then a month to get this shit out of his system. But at least I know what the problem is now.
I lean over him and take just his head into the heat of my mouth.
He screams and spasms. I suck hard one, two, three times, and then his orgasm floods my mouth.
The taste of him, even chemically altered, is enough to make me doubt my resignation.
All I want to do is make him cum again and again until he's no more than a satisfied puddle on the mattress.
And then I want to fuck him until he can't breathe without saying my name. That's not what I do, though.
I wait until he stops jerking in my hands and then lift off of him.
“Brooks,” he croaks, reaching for me again.
I fold the edges of the blanket around him. Then I do up my pants and pick up my jacket.
“I'm going,” I say quietly. “Before I do something else stupid. Your Alpha will be up soon to care for you.”
I leave before I give myself time to change my mind. I had considered tracking down his Alpha, but I remind myself that it's none of my business. I shouldn't have gone as far with him tonight as I did.
I can still taste him.
I am so unbearably stupid.