7. Mad dog hunt and finally mine

7. Mad dog hunt and finally mine

Work again. There was nothing left but work. If he saved enough, perhaps he could build a cage to lock that wretched count inside.

God, I really am losing it.

Kloff had just scrawled Aeroc Teiwind across an important document. He threw down the pen and sighed. Two months now without seeing Aeroc. At this rate, he'd either go mad from frustration or bleed dry from vomiting blood.

He'd spent the occasional night with other omegas. It didn't help. Like drinking saltwater for thirst — it only made the burning worse. Unable to hold out any longer, he grabbed his jacket and left the office. He took the cane from where it leaned by the door and headed downstairs at a brisk clip.

It was late evening. No point taking a carriage; he walked. The way home was long, but manageable on foot and exactly what he needed when his mind was in knots. The streets changed as he went. His office was in the city center, his house on the outskirts, and between them lay shopping streets and residential blocks interspersed with dark alleys and red-light districts. Most people went the long way around. Kloff went straight. His gloved hand tightened on the cane.

Not far into the shadowed, foul-smelling alley, drug-addled omega prostitutes of both sexes emerged from somewhere, showing a leg here, baring a chest there. To Kloff, the display was nothing but unpleasant. Their dead eyes triggered something — as though a memory were trying to surface but couldn't, an odd, maddening frustration.

He turned the feeling over as he walked, but the harder he dug, the more it retreated — as though sealed behind a lock that tightened the deeper he pushed — until eventually he forgot what he'd been trying to recall. Meanwhile, his legs, moving of their own accord while his mind wandered, had carried him into unfamiliar territory. That, too, was routine by now.

"Where am I this time?"

Kloff scowled. The deep alleys of "the bottom" had no proper streetlamps. Far down the lane, a shabby bakery was just visible, its dying light the only illumination.

He approached to ask directions. As he did, two alpha-looking men appeared from the alley opposite. They wore reasonably good clothes; they glanced at the stranger walking these dark streets, saw the cane in his hand, and quickly looked away. They entered the bakery. By the time Kloff reached it at an unhurried pace, the owner was about to close the shutters. He wedged his cane in to stop them. The rough-looking owner snapped:

"What? We're closed."

"I just want directions. Which way to the river from here?"

The informal address earned no objection once a few coins appeared. The owner snatched them and jerked his chin toward an alley. "That way."

As Kloff glanced toward the indicated alley and then turned back to give the owner a nod, he spotted the two men from earlier sitting at a table inside the small shop. The place was tiny and the surrounding streets dead quiet — their loud voices carried clearly.

"That omega showed up again?"

"Came for the drug. I gave him some, but——"

"An aristocrat, loaded — the kind who'd never set foot down here in a lifetime. How did he even find out you sell?"

"No idea. Sent servants to ask around, probably."

"Is it dangerous? Could be an informant."

"There's been some devil nobody can identify, half-killing people left and right. Could be connected."

"Let's look into it."

At that point the owner looked at Kloff and said, "Anything else?" — and the two men shut their mouths and turned away.

"No. Thanks."

He gave a nod and turned to go. The owner immediately started shuttering up, shouting at his apparent associates inside:

"Where's that omega now? We'd better take care of him before there's trouble."

He'd been tired, half-inclined to keep walking. This particular unidentifiable devil had plenty of targets without adding these to the list. But the thought of an omega — by the sound of it, someone who had no business being in this world — about to come to harm at their hands was something he could not let pass.

When he'd first started cutting through the bottom on his way home, he'd only dealt with people who came at him. Word spread fast — a physically imposing upper-class alpha with a cane and formidable skill. At first, groups tried to take him on. He'd been burning with unspent fury at the time, and he'd obliged them lavishly; after that, no one challenged him on his regular route. A pity, really.

Once they realized he wouldn't start trouble unprovoked, and that he walked past their business — however dirty or brutal — without interfering, they left him alone. Kloff, in turn, didn't care what they did among themselves.

But when he'd witnessed two bottom-dwelling alphas gang-raping a female omega in the street — that was different. The crime he loathed above all others was vermin descending on a single omega.

The moment his eyes met the terrified woman's — too frightened to scream properly — to the moment the two alphas were crawling away with cracked skulls, he had no memory at all. When he came to his senses, his cane was smeared with sticky blood, and the woman, clutching her torn clothes, was shaking in terror as though she'd seen the devil himself. He'd been shaken too, and left quickly.

That night, Martha's worried fussing over the bloodied cane faded behind him as he lay in bed. He'd been thinking of the count, he was fairly sure. Seeing a wretched prostitute being raped in an alley and thinking of Aeroc Teiwind — who stood at the pinnacle of society, draped in luxury, attended by scores of servants — was an utterly irrational association.

That must be when the brain damage started.

He tucked the cane under his arm, tugged his gloves taut, flexed his long, thick fingers to confirm their range, and watched the bakery from the shadows. Shortly, the two men and the bakery owner — three in all — emerged. Scanning in every direction, they set off at speed. Kloff followed in silence.

They were cautious, doubling back through the maze of alleys repeatedly. Tailing them at a distance without being detected while keeping up with locals who knew these labyrinthine streets was all but impossible. They must have sensed a follower — they split three ways and scattered. Kloff lost them. Enormous fury and a near-unbearable wave of anxiety crashed over him. He had to find them. Otherwise——

He'd been spotted already; there was no point in stealth. He strode through the alleys openly, breaking into a run at times. But they were nowhere.

At the peak of his desperation, Kloff reached the center of the bottom — a far cry from the city proper, wretched and filthy, but at least the streets were wider, with the occasional gas lamp. Groups huddled around outdoor tables, throwing back cheap liquor. He was about to approach them and ask whether they'd seen a stranger omega or the baker — when he spotted a familiar face.

Finding this man here was astonishing. Kloff himself looked out of place in the bottom, but this person's very existence was alien to the surroundings. Seated at one of the outdoor tables with regal composure, listening to the man across from him, the figure noticed Kloff at the same moment — and the wolf-like silver eyes widened.

A short while later, Kloff was following a taciturn man through the alleys. The man — one of Wolfrake's people — said nothing, carrying a lantern as he navigated turn after turn at speed.

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

His question earned only a nod. The man was rough in appearance but inspired an inexplicable trust. Even so, how a marquess came to know people like this was beyond imagining. Most astonishing of all was that Wolfrake was helping Kloff.

We don't like those men either, the marquess had said — nothing more — but given the hostility he'd shown Kloff before, the cooperation was baffling. He'd even sent one of his people to guide Kloff. There was clearly more to the man than met the eye. But none of that mattered now. The mad-dog hunt came first. The wolf could wait until the dogs were caught.

"The one you're looking for is over there."

The terse words, accompanied by a gesture toward a narrow alley. As they drew closer, several sets of sounds emerged from the perpetually gloomy passage — snickering, hurried footsteps. Kloff took the cane in hand and met the man's eyes. The guide set his lantern on the ground.

"I'll hold this end. Can't have them running. Go on."

The alley was very dark, but outlines were just visible. At the far end, against a dead-end wall, someone had run. Behind, the swaggering figures were focused entirely on their quarry and hadn't noticed the newcomer. The cloaked, hooded person reached the wall, turned, and looked back.

"Hey there, omega. Three silver coins gets you a good time. I'll be your man."

The three cackled obscenities among themselves. The person addressed as omega said nothing — stood frozen.

"Sweet-smelling thing like you — must be in heat. Skip the pills, I'll take care of it. One taste of my cock and the heat goes right away."

"A noble omega, all soft and pretty — share some charity with us poor bottom-dwellers, won't you."

As the alphas closed in, the omega suddenly bolted forward. Evidently hoping to push through and escape — but to Kloff's eyes, it was hopeless. The person ran straight into the alphas' grasp. Hands clamped over the mouth; others seized the body and tried to force it to the ground.

"Take your hands off that person."

The icy warning from behind made all three jump. In the gap, the omega scrambled up and ran again. Still hooded, too panicked to look properly, the omega barreled straight into Kloff. The figure stumbled and nearly fell backward — reflexively, Kloff caught the waist. Through the billowing cloak, a sweet body scent hit him like a fist.

The waist in his arm felt shockingly familiar. And this scent——

It was impossible. The man was supposed to be at a country retreat. There was no conceivable reason for him to be in a place like this, chased by men like these. And yet instinct said otherwise. The person who had frozen in his grip was exactly who he thought.

Kloff pulled back the hood. And met a pair of blue eyes as stunned as his own.

"Aeroc?"

The shock was too great to process. Standing right in front of him and he still couldn't believe it. Words wouldn't come. Aeroc, equally horrified to see Kloff, stared up at the man holding him — then seemed to recover first, and tried to shove free of the arm around his waist. Trying to run again. That snapped Kloff awake. He tightened his grip.

"Let go."

"Run and you're dead."

The words came out cold enough to freeze his own lips. His hand clenched around the waist hard enough to bruise. Aeroc flinched, then went still. He let the tension drain from his body and leaned slightly into Kloff. Through the sharp alpha scent, the sweetness spread further. That this man was walking around reeking of omega body scent strongly enough to be mistaken for one — the fury nearly made him bite through the man's throat on the spot.

Meanwhile, the thugs were approaching.

"What's this? That omega's my wife — you touched her, so that'll be five silver."

They smirked and drew short blades. Without a word, Kloff pulled out the coin purse he always carried and tossed it on the ground. It fell open with a clink, silver coins spilling out. At least thirty.

Their eyes went greedy. They licked their lips. "Enjoy yourself," one said, and they started to leave. But one of the three wore a peculiar expression — he seemed to recognize Kloff, and whispered something to the baker. They exchanged a loaded glance, then made to pass.

"Hold on. I have a question."

Kloff pushed the unarmed count behind him and adjusted his grip on the cane. The men turned with ugly faces. "What?" Kloff smiled politely and asked:

"You said this is your wife?"

"Wife, sure, but I've only had her a few times — hole's still tight. You'll have fun. Heh——"

The man never finished the word. His eyes bulged as he looked down at the blade buried in his stomach. Then at the cane handle it extended from, and the gloved hand slowly twisting it. Then, last of all, he raised his head and met the smiling eyes above.

"Say that again. Whose wife?"

"Gkhh……"

Silver coins trickled from his shaking hand.

When the first man hit the ground, the other two panicked.

"Murder!"

They came at him with their blades swinging wild. Kloff shoved Aeroc deeper into the alley and raised the sword. No amount of street experience could match formal training. One slashed and got his arm run through for it; he stumbled back, tripped over the first corpse, and went down. Before he could scream, the blade went through his throat.

The baker, chalk-white, bolted for the alley mouth. He almost made it — but something heavy and blunt caught the back of his skull and he dropped. Wolfrake's man emerged, studied the bodies with a flat expression, and gave Kloff a nod.

Kloff approached Aeroc at the far end of the alley. Shocked rigid, the count couldn't stop staring at the bodies being dragged away by the guide. When Kloff came within arm's reach, Aeroc took two steps back. The blue eyes were flooded with terror.

In that instant, Kloff felt his stomach turn over — the one that had been quiet for days. The metallic taste of blood surged up his throat. He barely choked it down, tried to smile, couldn't manage it properly. The cane blade still dripped warm blood. Of course Aeroc was afraid. But they couldn't stay here.

Kloff held out his hand. The voice that emerged was cold beyond his control — pressed flat, rigid. If he didn't hold it that way, he'd collapse where he stood.

"Come here."

The ashen count looked at the outstretched hand, then up at Kloff's face. His expression was layered beyond reading — fear, pain, sorrow. The arrogance and the cutting wit were gone. What filled him now was a grief so deep that looking into it felt like staring into an abyss. Every moment of meeting that gaze was, for Kloff, the agony of being burned alive.

Why…… why…… must I feel this for him? He would only be rejected again. Why did I reach out? Just as the lover he'd once cherished had done, this beautiful creature would recoil from his violent, brutal nature and turn away. Before tonight's chance encounter, the man wouldn't even look at him. Blood pooled and sank inside him. His head swam; his body drained of strength. The arm he'd extended could no longer hold itself up.

As the arm began to fall, Aeroc took one step forward. Still watching Kloff, he took another, and reached out to catch the sinking arm. Then he closed the distance entirely and stood at Kloff's side.

Kloff was terrified to move — the slightest shift and the man might vanish. In the darkness, the blue eyes shone like jewels, drawing close until they disappeared behind lowered lids. Soft gold hair brushed against his chin. Taking in the scent he'd been starving for, Kloff wrapped his arms around the person who had come to him of his own will.

Walking was out of the question — Aeroc was too shaken, his steps tangling. Kloff, for that matter, was in no state to walk either: the killing, the relief of finally having Aeroc in his hands, and the body scent had left him painfully hard. Before they'd even reached the center of the bottom, Wolfrake's man led them to an exit.

"Don't worry about the cleanup. We'll handle it."

Despite the brusque manner, the man went so far as to hail a carriage. When Kloff thanked him, the reply was: "Not me — thank the Lord." The Lord could only mean Marquess Wolfrake.

He'd written the man off as an inexplicably hostile oddity — and now this. The idea that Aeroc, untraceable for months, had been wandering the bottom; that coincidence had led Kloff to find him; that the count had nearly been raped and now sat leaning against his shoulder, eyes closed in exhaustion — none of it could have been predicted.

The word rape crossed his mind, and a chill ran the length of his spine. His hands shook; a fresh wave of fury made him regret how cleanly those three had died. He should have peeled the flesh from their bones one strip at a time and poured acid on what was left. If Aeroc hadn't been there, he might actually have done it.

Kloff drew the sleeping figure closer, buried his nose in the soft gold hair, and breathed.

The carriage reached his house. He didn't want to wake Aeroc — he pulled the cloak tighter around the man, lifted him carefully, and stepped down. He'd tried to move gently, but at some point the count had woken; a drowsy voice murmured:

"Where is this? It's not the manor."

"My house."

"What?"

Aeroc began to struggle. Kloff set him down before he could be dropped, and the count, looking around in alarm, pushed his hair back.

"Call me a carriage. I need to go home."

That was not going to happen. Kloff knocked on the front door for Martha while keeping an iron grip on the fleeing wrist.

Martha opened the door ready to lecture — then saw Aeroc being dragged in and shut her mouth. She looked him over once, then wordlessly stepped aside to let Kloff through.

"Taking tomorrow off?"

She asked as they climbed the stairs. Kloff nodded.

"Get word to the office — cancel or postpone everything for the next two days. And don't come upstairs. If I need anything, I'll come down."

Martha covered her mouth and nodded. Aeroc, being towed along, was shouting "Wh-what are you planning?!" and fighting to free his hand. Kloff had no intention of letting go.

"Shut up and follow me. Unless you'd rather have it right here in the corridor."

He dragged the resisting body — rigid as livestock being led to slaughter — into the master bedroom on the second floor. He'd been called a brute and a savage, so he might as well give the refined nobleman the full brute-savage experience. He stripped off only the cloak and threw Aeroc onto the bed.

"Ghk— What are you doing?!"

Protest or not — Kloff didn't answer. He locked the door first. Without the key, it couldn't be opened from inside. Then he shut the windows and drew the curtains. The key went into his jacket pocket; the jacket went over a chair. Then he approached the bed.

Aeroc tried to scramble off. Kloff caught him, threw him back down. Aeroc looked up at him, terrified. There was nothing to say. Kloff let out a short sigh, stripped off Aeroc's jacket, pulled off his shoes, and tossed them off the bed.

"Kloff, w-wait——"

"Shut up. Before I kill you."

He meant it. If Aeroc stopped him now, he would kill the count and then himself. The murderous intent in his bearing was enough to blanch Aeroc completely. The count pressed his lips shut. He made a token resistance, then gave up — covered his face with his arm and only bit his lip. The fine tremor running through the body sent a cold wind through Kloff's chest, but he ignored it. If he didn't make this man his own right now, he would die.

Undoing the waistcoat, unbuttoning the shirt — the body scent hit full force. Alpha sharpness laced with dense omega sweetness — obscenely provocative. He'd smelled it before, but the concentration was different now. Rich enough to suggest a long, thorough night with someone. Kloff's hands shook on the white shirt. The rage spilled over no matter how he tried to contain it.

"Who were you with? Those men?"

Aeroc had been hiding behind his arm in desperate avoidance; at this, he snapped his head up and shook it violently.

"No."

"Hired someone, then?"

"Never."

"Then what were you doing there?! And what is this filthy scent all over you — like some worn-out whore?!"

The shouted demand made Aeroc visibly recoil. Terror-soaked eyes, mouth gaping — he tried several times to speak, then gave up and shut his mouth again. Watching the man refuse to meet his eyes, Kloff thought he'd truly lose his mind. Or already had.

"Fine. Doesn't matter who or what. I'll make sure it never happens again."

With that, he stripped Aeroc bare. Buttons flew, fabric tore — but the rough hands drew no protest. Too frightened to resist, the count lay still.

Aeroc's naked body was nothing like the nightmares. Of course it wasn't — this was a well-fed, well-clothed aristocrat. The slender frame carried lean muscle in elegant proportion; the silk-smooth skin bore its pearl-like sheen without a single mark. Exactly as it should be.

What stood out: the flush of shame mottling the skin here and there; the pale pink nipples, risen and taut in the air; and between the thighs, nestled in hair as soft as the hair on his head, the vividly colored sex. Sensing Kloff's gaze traveling downward, Aeroc curled onto his side and grabbed for the sheet. Pointless — but endearing, so Kloff let him.

Even that wasn't enough to soothe the man's nerves. When Kloff started removing his own clothes, Aeroc began inching toward the edge of the bed. He kept looking back with terrified eyes, then toward the door. Admirable persistence — or a deliberate provocation — either way, Kloff only smirked.

The low laugh made Aeroc whip around, catching sight of Kloff over his bare shoulder, and he curled tighter. Unable to wait any longer, Kloff shed the last of his clothes, came to the count's side, caught one trailing leg, and dragged him back.

"Please…… Kloff…… I……"

"Alpha, omega — I don't care anymore. Whatever you say, I'm going to have you."

The voice, roughened by desire, was absolute. Aeroc squeezed his eyes shut. And when Kloff took his ankles and spread them apart, he let it happen. Between the parted legs, a thick body scent seeped out.

Drunk on the scent, Kloff spread the legs wider and pushed his middle finger inside.

"Ngh."

Aeroc's face twisted in pain. He'd suspected as much since feeling the scent flow from between the thighs. But the ease with which the finger slid in — the jealousy was maddening. Where gentleness was called for, he twisted the finger with deliberate cruelty instead. Aeroc broke the seal of his pressed lips and writhed.

"Ahh……"

"How long has this been going on? An alpha whose body opens up this wet — were you on the receiving end rather than the giving? Looking like some well-used omega while putting on airs about being expensive."

He'd heard that some alphas preferred being taken — sought out male omegas specifically for it. The crudeness drew no response from Aeroc. He couldn't manage words — not with a second finger now inside, and Kloff's rough strokes hitting every nerve. Hands pressed together over his mouth, he trembled. The pain had worried Kloff, but the muffled moans that soon leaked through drove fresh profanity from his lips.

"Goddamn whore. So loose back here you've learned to feel it — did the scent change from getting fucked that much?"

"Ah…… ahh…… nn…… ahh, nn."

Between the spilling moans, Aeroc shook his head — not denial, but reflex. Kloff's fingers had found a swollen spot deep inside, and when he pressed it, Aeroc cried out in shock. Then something like a held breath — before a faint, helpless moan broke free.

Enough slick flowed that lubrication was unnecessary. A few strokes and the third finger was taken easily. The untouched nipples had risen stiff; the sex between his legs was rigid, leaking clear fluid from the tip. Kloff registered all of it, but foreplay was the last thing on his mind.

He withdrew his fingers in frustration. Aeroc's thighs clamped shut in a futile effort; Kloff wrenched them apart, positioned himself, and drove in to the root in one thrust.

"Aahh……"

Pierced against the grain of nature by another male's body, Aeroc let out a sound that was anguish and surrender at once, and shook in every limb. The shadow falling over him moved closer, seeking a deeper join, and the blue eyes looking up held nothing but despair.

The room filled with ragged breathing. Were it not for the quality of the mattress, the bed would have been screaming. Two sweat-slicked, fluid-soaked bodies tangled into one.

"Nn…… ahh, hnn…… aah……"

"Tch."

The moans climbed. The man atop the white body pulled the waist against him hard enough to break it and thrust upward with force. When the swollen spot was struck repeatedly, the hot inner walls clenched around the rigid shaft. Kloff's vision went black.

He had to stop or lose consciousness. He paused, caught his breath, and rose. Without breaking the join, he gripped the waist of the ruined-doll body and pulled it upright. Arms and head dangled forward. The man seemed about to fold in half — Kloff slid his hand up the slick back, past the shoulder blades, and cupped the shoulder. The white arms draped naturally over both of Kloff's shoulders.

Settled face-to-face on Kloff's thighs, Aeroc couldn't lift his head. Through the disheveled gold hair, a flushed, sweat-damp face was visible. The blush across his cheeks was unbearably beautiful. Kloff tilted his own head and kissed the parted lips. Sweet and soft. He slipped his tongue inside to taste what lay within; the jaw opened without resistance.

Aeroc followed wherever Kloff led, as though he had no will of his own. Each time, a searing heat bloomed in Kloff's chest. After a long, deep kiss, he opened his eyes — and found Aeroc already watching him. In the blue mirror of those irises, the reflection of Kloff looked no different from the men he'd just killed.

Self-loathing crashed over him. The yielding lips, the damp arms draped on his shoulders, the inner walls clenching warmly around him — all of it was nothing more than what he had taken by force.

How am I different from them? Low birth? A pittance of acquaintance? Pinning someone down and taking selfish pleasure — there was no distinction whatsoever. The only difference was that he was raping this man on a clean bed while calling his name. His vision blurred.

"Aeroc, I……"

Despair. After this, the count would never look at him again. The thought of it made Kloff want to close his hands around his own throat. Nausea surged; bile rose. He couldn't tell where things had gone wrong. Forcing the rising sickness down, Kloff stared at the ugly reflection of himself in those blue pupils.

"Kloff."

The blue mirrors vanished behind lids, then reappeared. At the same time, Aeroc wrapped both arms around the broad, solid shoulders. He lowered his face and buried it in Kloff's neck.

Don't stop.

A small whisper at his ear. It was a single thread of light, reaching down to pull a sinner from the fall.

What followed was nothing like the rough violence before. The single fact that Aeroc was not rejecting him — that alone — and every drop of Kloff's boundless jealousy and fury evaporated in an instant. With the dark, viscous emotions drained away, the gaping space filled with infinite tenderness for the person joined to his body. He pulled the clinging, achingly beloved figure close and pressed his face into the damp chest. Aeroc, gently, cradled his head.

His lips found the skin of their own accord. Not the slack softness of a typical omega — resilient, smooth, sheened with sweat. He traced the taste along the breastbone.

"Nn……"

At the sound, Kloff closed his eyes and kissed his way along the chest, turning his head. Following the faint swell of the pectoral, he breathed in the scent, drew the skin between his lips — then reached the taut, upright peak and paused. If he took it into his mouth, he'd bite through. He pressed his lips there instead, feather-light. Even that made Aeroc gasp and pant.

He worked the texture against his lips, rubbing lightly — then couldn't resist, and opened his mouth around it. He grazed it with the edges of his teeth, then pressed it flat with his tongue and ground.

"Ah…… nn…… Kloff."

More sensitive than anywhere else — Aeroc straightened his spine, and the shift made the join shallower, but the hands cradling Kloff's head tightened.

When he rubbed the other nipple with his thumb, a sharp cry broke free. He sealed his mouth fully around the first, sucking hard, and Aeroc threw his head back and shuddered. His body locked; as he tipped backward, Kloff eased him down onto the bed, then licked the other side. Aeroc squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed.

Rigid fingers scratched down the equally sweat-slick broad shoulders, then traveled lower to fist the sheet. The knuckles went white — and at the tip of the untouched sex, clear fluid was dripping steadily. He was close. But Kloff wasn't going to let him finish alone.

He took the parted legs and wrapped them around his waist. Pressed deeper — and the shallowed join sank to its full depth. Aeroc bent his neck backward and called Kloff's name in a thin, breaking voice.

"Hold me."

He caught the arms drifting in empty air and drew them back around his shoulders. The legs around his waist tightened. Every squeeze felt like an invitation to go further still. When there was nothing left to give or take, when they were joined as deeply as two bodies could be, Aeroc sighed and opened his eyes to narrow slits. Kloff drowned in the blue — hazy with desire, undone — and covered the murmuring lips with his own.

Even in this state, Aeroc turned his head by fractions, making Kloff chase each kiss — never quite surrendering his mouth. Kloff, endlessly pursuing, finally let his weight down. Their chests and stomachs sealed together without a gap, and Aeroc, pressed under the weight, exhaled long — and at last accepted the kiss. Kloff drank in every breath, every trace of scent, as though he could swallow the man whole, and began to move again.

Aeroc's brow furrowed deeply, but it was not pain — pure pleasure and aching satisfaction. The legs around Kloff's waist tightened and loosened to match the rhythm, and between their firm abdomens, the trapped sex began to spill white in thin pulses. As the climax hit, Aeroc screamed — but Kloff swallowed it, and nothing escaped.

Aeroc's body locked in reflex, inner walls clamping hard, and moments later Kloff followed. The long abstinence had built; the release was not small — and before his hazed vision could clear, a swelling sensation rose from the base.

"Damn."

"Nn. Kloff, you're heavy."

Spent, every fiber wrung out by the long act, Aeroc blinked lazily — like a well-loved omega — drowsy and slack. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, squinting at the weight on him with a faintly petulant look. Watching that, the swelling didn't subside — it grew.

Belatedly registering the pressure, Aeroc raised a leaden hand, rubbed his eyes, and called out in a scratchy voice: "Kloff?" But there was little Kloff could do at this point. Before the swelling locked them completely, he shifted — lifted one of Aeroc's legs over to align them side by side, then settled behind him and lay down. He wrapped an arm around the waist and pulled them flush. Aeroc fumbled for words:

"You're…… not pulling out?"

"Can't. Not right now."

The bewilderment was plain — Aeroc tried to look back over his shoulder, felt the full extent of the swelling for the first time, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Kloff caught a glimpse of the ear nearest him: burning red.

"How……"

"I don't know either. Your omega scent triggered it, maybe."

He was genuinely satisfied, and since he had no intention of letting go and the anxiety had eased, there was truly no malice in the remark — just honest bafflement offered aloud. But Aeroc went silent, holding his breath. Worried that the man would slip away in sleep, Kloff fought the drowsiness and held on. Eventually, through the quiet, a small, thorned voice:

"It hurts."

Kloff chuckled softly and pressed his lips to the nape — warm with sweat, tinged with that bittersweet scent.

That night, he slept without a single nightmare.

He'd passed out like the dead. When consciousness surfaced, late the next morning, the first thing that registered was satisfaction. His body, chronically tense and starved for months, had unraveled into boneless warmth — he couldn't even make a fist. The bed that had felt desolate was blissfully warm, and he could have stayed there for eternity.

Kloff drew a long breath, released it, and cracked his eyes open. Even with the curtains drawn, light crept in. In the sheltered half-dark, something golden rippled at the edge of his vision. Is the sun rising from under my bed? The idle thought made him lower his gaze — and there, still asleep, was the person he'd spent the night with. Kloff smiled vaguely.

Aeroc.

He called the name silently, again and again, and held the sleeping body close. They must have been locked together when they fell asleep — at some point in the night they'd come apart, and Aeroc had turned to face him, nestled against his chest. Perfectly still in sleep — but nothing doll-like about it. Peaceful. Kloff brushed an eyelash with his thumb; Aeroc's brow creased faintly, but he didn't wake. Kloff was too spent to move; Aeroc had to be more so.

But this unguarded state was too much to leave alone. He tilted the chin up — Aeroc's head rose obediently — and left a lingering stolen kiss on the sweet lips. Then the eyes, the tip of the nose, the forehead — every surface within reach of his mouth. Only after all of that could Kloff settle back and fall asleep content.

He next woke to a squirming in his arms — late afternoon, from the angle and color of the light slipping past the curtains. Teatime, perhaps. Kloff dragged a hand over his forehead and looked down. The person in his arms was trying, as quietly as possible, to disappear. Plotting to slip away without waking him. A futile endeavor — but the furrowed brow and earnest wriggling were so endearing that Kloff watched in silence until a laugh escaped him. Aeroc's head snapped up, glaring. Even that, now, sparked the opposite of irritation.

"Let go."

Naked, drenched in Kloff's scent, still held fast, the hoarse-voiced command was not remotely frightening. Kloff pulled him closer, pinned him beneath his weight, and — propped on one arm — traced the still-pink cheek with the back of his other hand.

"Aeroc."

The low, roughened murmur of his name made Aeroc startle as though struck by lightning, then immediately avert his eyes. The shock seemed excessive — Kloff soothed the trembling shoulder, kissed it, then the collarbone, the nape, the jaw, and was just about to reach the lips when Aeroc whispered in a voice near death:

"If you want to do it again, go ahead. You don't have to pretend to be gentle."

As he spoke, he took a visible, steadying breath — and then let all the tension leave his body. He even spread his legs to make room for Kloff. The raw invitation hit like a shockwave — and in the next beat, the ache of arousal was savage enough to hurt. He lowered his hips; even without entering, the rigid heat grazed the flushed sex, then slid lower to the hidden entrance, and Aeroc's breathing roughened — but he only opened wider.

"Why do you keep acting like you've been used up."

"Because I have."

The flat reply stung. So last night had been special to Kloff alone. Aeroc simply didn't want it — one night together and Kloff was behaving like a lover, and the count found it distasteful. The spot beneath his sternum throbbed again.

Stubbornness flared. That cool, half-lidded composure — he wanted to shatter it into begging. There was plenty of time. The night ahead would be long.

"Aah. Kloff, stop……"

A plea threaded with tears. But he paid it no heed. Aeroc was face-down, hips raised, face buried in the pillow, shaking. Everything was on display. Kloff had spent the time since the shower exploring with his fingers and tongue — the entrance, swollen and flushed from repeated use, reddening further under his attention.

Fingers probing, scraping the inner walls — when they withdrew, the slick, rosy flesh clung and followed. The plump rim pulsed with tiny contractions, leaving small bubbles in its wake. When his thumb traced the center of that pucker, the sex hanging between the spread thighs stiffened and dripped.

Kloff took hold of that vividly colored shaft and began a slow, firm rhythm. Aeroc's moans turned convulsive; his whole body trembled. Each time he tried to pull away, Kloff gripped the hip and applied his tongue. In the end, Aeroc lost again.

"Please…… please……"

"Tell me what you want."

He knew perfectly well — but asked as though he didn't, and Aeroc, barely containing the tears, managed in a voice all but swallowed by the pillow:

"Put it in."

"Why should I bother with something so worn out?"

The cruelty drew the tears out at last. That wasn't the end. Kloff marked the kiss-mottled waist with another, and waited — until what he wanted to hear finally came.

"You're my only alpha. No one else. So please — hold me."

"Good."

Kloff turned the prone body over, kissed the tear-streaked cheek with a lapping tenderness, then slid his hands under the arms and propped Aeroc against the generous pile of pillows and cushions. He took one knee, folded the leg up, and — letting Aeroc watch — guided himself to the softened entrance. When Aeroc saw it clearly for the first time, his eyes went wide. Kloff positioned the leaking tip and pressed in; the resilient ring yielded and took the thickest part easily. Seeing it happen to his own body, Aeroc flushed scarlet and clapped both hands over his face.

"See? Nothing tore. After all the times you've clenched down like you were trying to bite it off — spare me the theatrics."

Kloff snorted and sank to the hilt. Aeroc hid behind his hands. The shame that only made the scene more provocative — Kloff didn't stop until the tears were streaming freely, until Aeroc was crying out in helpless, wrecked abandon, until every plea had been uttered and answered.

Into the Rose Garden — Part 2

To be continued in the next volume……