19. Grayson
Grayson
By eleven, Luther has outside counsel on speakerphone in the office while Maceo works through the complaint page by page. The original envelope, transcript, and sealed storage device sit inside separate evidence sleeves, each marked with the delivery time and the name of the person who handled it.
I stand in the doorway long enough to hear counsel explain that the Omega Welfare Board has opened a preliminary review rather than issued a finding.
The deadline for a formal response and the limits of the Board’s authority are still being confirmed, so Maceo is building a factual chronology instead of drafting arguments around assumptions.
Luther writes down every date the attorney provides.
His voice remains measured as he asks which records the Board can lawfully request, whether the complaint affects Ember House’s current operating status, and what protections apply while the altered recording is examined.
Maceo keeps the complaint open beside his laptop, matching each allegation to the original transcript fragments Blake recognized the previous night.
Neither of them speculates about who edited the audio or how Alastair reached the Board. The questions exist, but the first response has to remain narrower than the fear moving through the house.
Blake stands beside the desk with one hand resting on his cane.
He has already changed out of the clothes he wore to Quentin’s clinic, though exhaustion still shows around his eyes after the pregnancy confirmation, the children’s celebration, and the complaint arriving before any of us had absorbed either one.
“I can review the allegations against Keller Industries and Ember House,” he says when counsel pauses to search for a procedural citation. “The complaint mixes corporate funding with Luca’s medical history, and that overlap matters.”
Maceo lifts his attention from the chronology. “It does, but I need another hour before I know what belongs in the initial response and what needs to remain separate. Let me finish the first pass before we add another analysis.”
Blake’s grip shifts against the cane. He doesn’t argue with Maceo, but I know the stillness that comes over him when he is trying to determine whether stepping away means abandoning something important.
Luther ends the call after arranging another conference for the morning. He removes the phone from the center of the desk, then reaches for Blake’s wrist and rubs his thumb once over the skin there without turning the touch into a medical check.
“Let him finish,” Luther says. “You’ve already read the packet, and you’re exhausted.”
Blake looks from Luther to the evidence sleeves surrounding Maceo. The answer doesn’t come immediately, but he eventually nods and eases his wrist from Luther’s hand only so he can adjust his grip on the cane.
“Wake me when you have the deadlines,” he says. He leaves the office without asking for a briefing before sunrise or trying to take any of Maceo’s files with him.
I remain in the doorway until Blake disappears upstairs. Maceo has already returned to the chronology, and Luther is preparing questions for the next call, so I close the office door and take responsibility for everything outside it.
The children need dinner, baths, and three separate explanations for why the adults keep speaking quietly.
Quentin confirms Luca’s prenatal bloodwork and schedules the first scan.
Blossom sends the revised resident-security plan from Ember House, and I approve additional overnight coverage without placing unfamiliar guards inside the residents’ living areas.
Luca eats half a bowl of soup before the smell turns his stomach. I replace it with toast and sliced fruit without discussing how much he left behind, then make sure the prenatal vitamins Quentin prescribed are beside the glass he takes upstairs.
Samuel watches me more closely than usual during his bath. He sits between my knees while I rinse shampoo from his hair, one hand shielding his eyes from the water.
“Why does everybody smell scared?” he asks.
The question tightens something beneath my ribs, but I keep my palm steady against his forehead. “Something happened at work, baby. The grown-ups are handling it.”
He leans back against my arm and blinks water from his lashes. “Is the baby okay?”
“The baby is okay, sweetheart.” I wrap him in a towel and rub his hair while he starts explaining where the crib should go and why the baby will need a light shaped like a dinosaur.
The answer settles him enough to carry him into his room. It does nothing to settle me.
Rosalie wants her crown placed where the baby cannot reach it.
James asks whether the complaint means Luca will miss the prenatal appointment I just scheduled.
I tell them the appointment is still happening, tuck each of them into bed, and return twice when Samuel remembers questions he forgot to ask the first time.
After midnight, the office door remains closed and a narrow strip of light cuts across the hallway.
Luca has gone to the nest with Luther’s jacket wrapped around him, though the quiet movement upstairs tells me he isn’t sleeping.
Maceo and Luther are still working, and the children have finally stopped calling down about the baby’s room.
I check the doors, confirm the appointment time again, pack enough food for Luca and Blake to have options in the morning, and return to the kitchen when I run out of legitimate reasons to move through the house.
The counter is already clean. I wipe it anyway, following the same section of granite until the cloth begins drying beneath my hand.
The office door opens once, but the footsteps that enter the kitchen don’t belong to Luther or Maceo.
I turn and find Blake sitting on the counter beside the sink with one bare foot resting against a cabinet door.
My tablet is balanced across his thigh, the Welfare Board’s procedural rules open on the screen.
A mug of coffee sits beside him, along with an empty plate marked by chocolate crumbs and a streak of frosting.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” I place the cloth beside the sink and walk toward him.
Blake lowers the tablet enough to look at me over the top of it. “I am resting. I’m sitting down.”
I take the mug before he can lift it again. The coffee is still warm, and the smell is strong enough to confirm what I already suspect. “That isn’t decaf.”
“No.” Blake doesn’t attempt to defend it. His gaze follows my hand as I move the mug out of reach.
“And the cake?”
He glances toward the empty plate. “Too much sugar. Too many carbs. Not enough protein.”
My hand tightens around the mug while his mouth begins to curve. The complaint is waiting in the office, everyone in the house is exhausted, and Blake has chosen midnight to sit on the kitchen counter drinking coffee and eating the cake Rosalie was promised tomorrow.
“Give me the tablet.”
He tucks it against his chest instead. “Come take it.”
I step between his knees and reach for the tablet. Blake shifts it behind himself before I can catch the edge and closes his legs around my hips, trapping me against the counter.
“Stop playing,” I say, bracing one hand beside him.
“I’m not playing.” Blake sets the tablet farther behind himself and hooks one ankle behind my thigh. His expression loses some of its teasing as he studies me. “You’ve spent all night looking at everyone except me.”
“Because you’re supposed to be asleep.”
“I wasn’t asking you to check whether I’m tired.”
His fingers catch the front of my shirt and draws me closer. The irritation in my chest changes shape when his mouth brushes mine, soft at first and then firmer when I don’t pull away.
“What are you asking for?” I murmur.
Blake’s smile presses against my lips. “For you to stop being careful for five minutes.”
Blake kisses me before I can answer. He’s still smiling against my mouth while he drags me closer between his knees. I reach behind him for the tablet, but Blake pushes it farther across the counter and tightens his legs around my hips, making it clear the tablet was only an excuse to get me close.
I catch Blake’s jaw and ask whether he is sure.
Blake gives me a clear yes and tells me he wants me to stop treating every touch like a risk assessment.
I remind him that he still has to say if he needs to slow down, change position, or stop.
Blake agrees, then immediately provokes me again by grinding against me and telling me I am taking too long.
I take control there in the kitchen. I push Blake’s shirt up his chest and kiss down his throat and over his collarbones.
My mouth moves lower across his chest while my hands work open his pants and push them down his thighs.
I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke him slowly while my other hand slides between his legs.
Blake braces himself against the counter.
He tries to keep his laughter quiet as I push two slick-coated fingers inside him.
I work them in and out, stretching him open while my mouth sucks marks into the skin just below his ribs.
Blake keeps pulling me back up into kisses.
He bites at my lower lip and whispers that everyone else is asleep, which only makes the risk of being heard more exciting.
I add a third finger and curl them inside him, stroking that spot that always makes his breath hitch.
His cock leaks in my hand. I keep stroking him steadily while my fingers fuck into him deeper.
I check him one more time before I pull my fingers out. “Still good?”
Blake nods quickly. “Yes. Fuck, Grayson, stop checking and just take me already.”
I push his pants the rest of the way off and free my own cock.
I line up and press the head of my cock against his slick hole.
I push inside him in one slow, steady thrust. The tight heat of him surrounds me completely.
Blake’s head falls back. A low moan escapes him as I bottom out.
I hold his hips still when he tries to rush me and start moving with deep, controlled thrusts.
I drive into him against the counter while I keep kissing him to muffle the sounds he cannot fully control.
Blake continues teasing me between broken breaths.
“That all you got, Alpha?” But the words start falling apart as I drive deeper.
I angle my hips to hit that spot inside him with every thrust. My hand strokes his cock in time with my movements.
The kitchen fills with the wet sound of my cock sliding in and out of his slick hole and the quiet slap of skin on skin.
When I feel my knot beginning to swell at the base of my cock, Blake laughs breathlessly against my mouth. “You cannot knot me here.”
I still just enough to look at him. One hand stays firm beneath his thigh. “Then hold on.”
Without withdrawing, I lift Blake from the counter. He locks both arms around my neck and both legs around my waist. He buries his face against my shoulder to smother another laugh while I carry him down the hall, moving to the spare bedroom so we don’t wake anyone.
Once the door closes behind us I lower Blake onto the bed.
I stay buried inside him the entire time as I reposition us.
I brace him securely against the pillows and begin moving with longer, deeper strokes.
Blake remains playful. He asks whether stolen cake is all it takes to earn this kind of attention, but I answer by kissing him deeply and increasing the pace until he can no longer finish the sentence.
I make love to him rather than turning the scene rough.
I keep one hand beneath his back for support and the other controlling his hip.
I kiss him through every change in rhythm.
My cock slides in and out of his slick heat in steady, thorough strokes.
Blake’s legs stay wrapped tight around me.
His hands move over my back and shoulders.
I feel every flutter of his walls around my cock.
Blake reaches release first while I am still deep inside him. His body tightens around me. His cock pulses between us as he comes with a muffled groan against my mouth. His slick gushes hotter around my cock. I keep moving through his orgasm, drawing it out until he is trembling beneath me.
Blake’s voice is wrecked when he finally speaks. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”
I continue thrusting into him. My pace builds as my knot swells larger.
Blake moans and clenches around me. I push my knot past his rim and lock us together as pleasure crashes through me and I come deep inside him.
I fill him with thick spurts while my knot stretches him wide, Blake shuddering through the sensation.
We remain joined until the knot begins to ease. Blake relaxes beneath me with one hand moving lazily through my hair and the other tracing the back of my neck. I keep kissing him softly and checking his face without turning the moment clinical.
Once I can withdraw safely, I gather Blake into my arms and carry him toward the bathroom.
He hums into my shoulder. “What are you doing?” His words slur a little, his lids already fighting him like they used to do when he was still an Omega.
“Mmm, we can just go back to bed.” Blake protests, still sounding pleased with himself.
I kiss Blake before the complaint can grow. “If I don’t give you a shower, you’re going to complain tomorrow. And if I take you into that room smelling like this, no one’s getting any sleep.”
Blake chuckles and holds me more tightly. “How do I smell, Alpha?”
I kiss him again as I carry him into the bathroom. “Sweet. Like pear tart. If none of us worked tomorrow, I’d show you exactly how much I like that smell.”
His smile presses against my mouth while I turn on the shower and carry him beneath the warm water.
I keep him in my arms beneath the spray until his legs are steady enough to hold him, and he makes no effort to hurry the process.
He rests against my chest while I rinse the evidence of the scene from both of us, occasionally tilting his head back for another kiss.
“You’re still throwing away the coffee, aren’t you?” Blake asks when I reach for the soap.
“I’m putting away what’s left of the cake too. In the freezer or I’ll put it in the breakroom at work.” I turn him beneath the water and smooth one hand down his back.
Blake’s mouth curves against my shoulder. “Rosalie is going to blame you.”
“She can have another piece tomorrow.” I kiss the damp hair at his temple while he settles closer. “You’ve had enough sugar.”
He lifts his face, clearly preparing another argument, so I kiss him before he can begin.