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He’s too pretty for his own good, Mace thinks. She props her chin on the table, watching Lenny make pancakes one-handedly with Zander propped on his hip. He’s almost too big to be held like that, and the pancakes are mostly lopsided, but the scene is so storybook quaint—something out of those old pulp novels from the ‘50s—that it makes her heart throb in her chest. The little beach house they rented is cozy and small. She spends most days chasing Zander back and forth from the waves and chasing Lenny with a bottle of sunscreen.
Despite her efforts, Lenny has a sunburn across his nose and shoulders, making his spray of freckles stand out. Almost without thinking, she walks up behind him and presses a soft kiss to one over-warm, red shoulder. Lenny twitches but keeps working the stove. Mace moves to kiss Zander’s forehead. He giggles and motions for her to pick him up, so she does, with an over-exaggerated heave-ho which sends him further into laughter.
“When’d you learn to cook?” she teases, nuzzling at the nape of Lenny’s neck. He hasn’t showered yet this morning, so his scent is still thick and sweet.
“I had to do something in the mornings before I went out to peddle my wares at night,” he says, expertly flipping a pancake on the griddle. “‘S not my fault you make better chicken than me. My parents are from Sacramento.”
She snorts a laugh. Deposits Zander in his own chair and gets him set up with orange juice before pouring herself a cup of coffee. Mace’s happy with pretty much any old sludge so long as there’s caffeine in it; Lenny fancies himself a damn barista with expensive roasts and lattes. It’s a pastime of theirs for her to complain that he embarrasses her at the coffee shop with some fancy, complicated order, and for Lenny to smugly ignore when she starts drinking his.
“What time do we have to be out of here?” he asks, setting a fat stack of pancakes on the table alongside margarine and syrup. He expertly cuts up Zander’s for him, ruffling his hair when he beams up in gratitude.
Mace’s stomach does a funny little flip like she missed a step going downstairs. It takes a moment for her brain to come back online. Shaking her head to clear out the haze, she says, “Check out’s at ten.”
Lenny kisses the top of Zander’s head before heading over to kiss her. It’s warm and brief, but he tastes like coffee and syrup. Her toes curl against the cool, linoleum floor. “I’ll go get the car packed,” he says, rubbing his nose along her jaw.
Grabbing his arm, she says, “Put a pair of pants on before you go out there.” The low, rumbling alpha growl shocks herself. Lenny, though—his eyes go unfocused, soft. He nods and disappears into the bedroom.
With him gone, Mace gasps. She stumbles a little, catching herself on a nearby chair. Head dizzy, her body flushes with slow-moving warmth. It fizzles through her veins. God, it feels like she’s on the edge of a rut even though she’s not due for one for another few weeks.
“You okay, mama?” Zander asks, sweetly, through a mouthful of pancakes.
“Yeah, baby,” she manages, breathing through her mouth and deliberately looking away from Lenny when he traipses outside with a suitcase in each hand. “I’m fine,” she finishes, stamping over to the phone to call her sister.
The car ride back to their place in Los Angeles seems like it takes an eternity. It’s never a fast drive getting back into the city, but with Lenny entertaining Zander with stories or jokes, and his milk-sweet scent thick in her nose, it’s nigh unbearable. Her gums itch, gut heavy with warmth. It feels like she’s swelling, pushing out of the seams of her body.
Lenny had offered to drive with that who, me? tone of voice of his. The one that makes Mace weak-kneed, ready to give him anything his heart desires. To spoil him rotten, give in to his every whim, make him come on the tip of her tongue. . .
“You don’t even have a license, Lenny,” she had said, all but caging him into the side of the car with her body, pushing and pushing until his back arched. Her hand resting on the curve of his hip.
“Aw, come on, Macey. ‘S only expired. I know how to drive.” He tips his head to the side, baring his throat. She hasn’t claimed him yet, not in that way, and she certainly wouldn’t do it in the driveway of a rental house like this. But, damn him, she wants to do it so bad. She’d fuck him over the hood of this car in front of the God and the neighbors if her son wasn’t buckled into the back seat.
It takes every ounce of concentration to unpeel her fingers from him one by one, unlatching and putting enough air between them to satisfy propriety. “Just get in the damn car,” she says, half-way to a command. With that foggy, dazed look again, Lenny obeys.
Now, continuing to her sister’s place just north of the city, she ignores his curious gaze when she skips their exit. “Change of plans, she announces. She glances at her son in the rearview mirror. “Zander, baby, you’re gonna spend time with your auntie, okay? Just for the night.”
Zander, idly kicking his feet, pauses from playing with the action figures Lenny handed to him earlier, and says, “Alright, mama.”
She holds a hand up to stave off any of Lenny’s questions. “Save it. I’ll explain later.”
The unmistakable scent of slick wafts over her, and she shoots him an incredulous look. His expression turns sheepish as he rolls the window down a crack. His usual scent—a little herby, like patchouli, a little warm—pours off him in waves. Reaching over, she grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles, brief and sweet, which only serves to make his cheeks pinken. God damn her, but she wants to swallow him whole.
After they drop Zander off at her sister’s place, with a good deal of faux-tears from Lenny, she takes the short-way back to her place. All her years driving the who’s-who of Los Angeles around means she knows the streets like the back of her hand. Knows the timing of the lights the way she knows her own heartbeat—how she can tell if Zander’s having a nightmare through four walls separating them.
“So, uh, are you gonna explain now or anytime in the near future?” he says as she corals him and their suitcases into the house.
In lieu of words, she takes his face between her palms and kisses him quiet. Mace walks him backwards until he hits the door. Lenny lets out a surprised, pleased whimper before going liquid against her. When she finally lets up, he blinks, eyes dark and unfocused. “I guess the near future,” he says, voice thin. He wriggles, adjusting his position until her knee slips between his. “Not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on?”
Trailing her nose down the column of his throat, Mace says, “You’re good with him.” She unbuttons his shirt far enough that she can latch her teeth into the knob of his collarbone.
His body rolls into her. A tidal push-pull of her hands heavy on his hips, yanking him down onto the plane of her thigh, and his pelvis rocking in wide, easy circles.
“Who? Zander? He’s your kid, Macey, of course.”
She worries the thin skin of his collarbone until the skin turns a mottled purple-blue. “No, you treat him like he’s yours, too.” She trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down from the hollow of his throat to his sternum while he gasps hah—
Fingers dig bruises into his waist that she’ll rub on in the morning and know I put them there. Her skin fucking itches. She needs to be close to him, needs to have nothing but skin separating them.
With one hand behind his knee, Mace hauls Lenny over her shoulder, ignoring his squawking and tossing him onto the bed. He quails into the pillows and sheet, looking up at her with wet, wide eyes and mouth kiss-bitten. Mace tears her clothes off as quick as she can, need and heat thrumming through her veins. She kneels, crawling up the length of the bed. He scrambles away from her, tries to cut and run, but she grabs his ankle and yanks him close. She knows this game, knows Lenny’s limits probably better than her own, and knows what he’s angling for.
Mace shoves him face-down on the bed. He squirms and wriggles, but she's got him effectively pinned. Drapes her body along the length of him. Their curves slot into place, bodies heaving together like an ocean wave cresting. Lenny’s never been a good omega. Never fit the dictionary definition people tried to put on him; he defies categorization. A glitch in the VHS tape of society. He likes the tussle, likes the chase. Never, not once in the time they’ve been fucking (and slowly circling something akin to a relationship) has he ever submitted easily.
Lucky for him, Mace likes a challenge and a victory well-earned.
Pinning his hands above his head, she lets her weight drop onto him, brackets his hips with her knees and pins him. Mace noses along the column of his throat, lips delicately edging over his thundering carotid, before sinking her teeth into the thin skin.
Lenny squirms and jumps, futilely, with nowhere to go. He makes a plaintive, omegan, noise almost involuntarily. One that’s supposed to be a cry for mercy, for kindness, from alphas. Mace’s long learned to ignore it.
“Mace— Macey—” he pants, wetting the sheets with his breath. “Give me a break. Don’t be mean.”
“I thought you like it when I’m mean?” she says. She rocks her hips against the curve of his ass, presses her cock into the fat of it, then reaches down and fumbles with the fly of his pants. Painted-on, too-tight velvet things that aren’t really suited to chasing around a child, but that’s Lenny for you—all slick style and tricks, so you don’t notice him pulling whatever information he needs out of you. She wriggles a hand between his belly and the bed, gets the buttons undone, and slides a hand down the front.
She presses her palm to the ridge of his cock, short and fat. Mace adjusts her hold on him so his legs are spread a little bit wider, and slips her fingers further down to where he’s wet and open already. Lenny lets out a thin keen, embarrassed, and his body rolls beneath her trying to buck her off.
She moves with him. Cups her palm over his cunt and runs her forefinger over his clit, tucked neatly behind his balls. “Why’re you fighting me if you want it so bad, huh?” she teases. “C’mon, baby, let me get you out of these clothes, yeah? Eat you out all nice?”
Mace knows when Lenny lets go because he goes limp and pliant, all the fight drained out of him in an instant. Rolling off him, she turns him over and quickly divests him of his stupid velvet trousers and silk shirt, tossing it onto the floor despite his grumbling that It’s Versace! Ignoring his grousing, she straddles his waist and noses along his jaw, behind his ear where his scent is strong and rolling off him in waves.
Being with Lenny is an exercise in refamiliarizing herself with her instincts, ones that had long laid dormant. They stretch in the back of her mind like a cat, long-limbed. Make her hungry, make her crave. She licks a long stripe up his neck, drinking down his sweat and his scent that rolls off him in waves. Mace sinks her teeth right where the slope of his throat meets his neck, notches her teeth into his skin and sucks. His hips stutter, a wave of slick perfuming the air. Continuing down his chest, she laves warm suck-brusies all over his breastbone, his abdomen, his pelvis. One on each hip bone, his sensitive inner thigh.
Bullying her way between his legs, she tosses one over each of her shoulders and presses one more suck-kiss right on his cunt, right where he’s open and wet and wanting. Lenny’s body rolls under her, too-thin hips jerking up against her mouth. No matter how many meals she forces on him, he can’t seem to put on extra weight. The quiet alpha part of her paces at that. ‘S not right. Her omega should be soft, protected.
Fingers digging into his waist, she holds him down. Drags her tongue in a long, languid line up his cunt, tracing the tip around his clit, flickers over it. Mace groans at the burst of bitter musk in the back of her throat, lapping at him and nosing like she could crawl inside him and stay put. She slides two fingers inside the astonishing heat of him. Flutters her tongue over his clit, licks around his stretched rim and swallows down more of his slick.
Grabbing his thighs, she flips him onto his stomach until he’s half-presenting, shoves her nose where he’s open and wanting. Lenny yelps as she licks at his hole, drooling and messy and hungry. The goddamned taste of him. She pry him open, make a home for herself between his ribs, keep him safe. She nips at his ass, teeths at his inner thighs before returning to his hole. Working at him with wriggling twists of her tongue. Sometimes she doesn’t do anything. Just molds her mouth around her cunt to breathe hot and damp into him. He writhes beneath her; he’s not really trying to get away, but it’s enough movement to wake up her instincts.
Mace moves up to his cock, sucking down the head and lapping at the slit. She bobs once, twice, and then Lenny cries out and comes against her tongue, dribbling down her chin. It’s thin and musky, but Mace purses her lips and spits it down Lenny’s cock until the whole softening length of it is a mess of come and spit.
She pulls back, sitting on her heels and wiping her chin off on the back of her hand. Lenny’s legs tremble beneath her palms as she rubs up and down his shins, his thighs. Tickles her fingertips over the wiry, sparse hairs to try and soothe him. His chest rises and falls as he huffs, trying to catch his breath.
“Get on your back,” she says.
“Very cavewoman, Mace,” Lenny jokes, though the quiver in his voice gives him away as he does what she orders. “You’ve already carried me to the hovel, no need to lay it on so thick.” Mace doesn’t reply. Lowers her weight along the length of him to keep him held and gets her knees between his. She noses along his throat, the space behind his ear where his scent is thick and hair matted with sweat. Licks a long, languid stripe to feel the blood thrumming.
She wants to bite him, claim him. Something that says Mine, he’s mine, don’t fucking touch. She doesn’t, though. They haven’t talked about that. She settles for running her lips over his bonding gland, mouthing at it. A hint of teeth but nothing that could draw blood. Her cock aches. It hangs heavy against Lenny’s belly, reaching up towards his navel and making his own softening omega cock look small in comparison. Blood and heat ache in the cradle of her hips, begging her to fuck, knot, claim.
Spreading his thighs wide, she wordlessly instructs him to hold them open so she can slot into place. With a hand around the base, she drags her cock through the mess and ruin she made of his cunt. The head of her cock slides over his balls, kissing his clit and pulling away with a sticky string of pre-come. She watches, fascinated, as it stretches until it breaks, and Lenny sobs.
“Macey, please—” Blindly, Lenny reaches between them, trying to aim her cock into himself. Without a word, she shoves his wrists above his head. Presses their sweaty palms together and laces their fingers. Looms over him far enough that he can only sweetly arch for her mouth. Another gush of slick perfumes the air. Knew you liked that, her mind crows. Can’t hide from me.
She runs the head of her cock along the length of his, down behind his balls. Slides it along his cunt before pushing the head in and out, in and out. Several times until her vision whites out at the tease, at the promise of a good fuck.
He squirms. Props himself up on his elbows to get some leverage until she shoves him down and holds him in place. “I know,” she coos. “You need it so bad, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you.” Mace fits her cock against his hole and slides in with a slow, easy push. Lenny keeps making these high-pitched, ah, ah, ahs— as she thrusts all the way in, carving a home for herself deep inside. His hips are so narrow, but he has a small, little roll of fat protecting his womb, and as Mace hefts him further into her lap, it bunches and squishes. Unbidden, her mind provides the image of him, fat and pregnant. Far enough along that she’d have to fuck him on his side with a pillow to ease his swollen belly.
Once she’s seated all the way inside, she has to breathe deeply through her mouth to calm down. To not just frantically hump away at him like an alpha during her first rut. It takes every ounce of control she’s learned over the years to pause, wait.
“Oh— my God, Mace,” Lenny whines. His mouth hangs open, brows furrowed.
“You looked so fucking good with Zander,” she growls, a low, rumbling noise that has him arching his throat and shuddering. “Take care of him like he’s your own.”
Breathy, undone, he says, “He’s your baby.”
Mace experiments with a shallow thrust. “How’s that?” she rasps.
Lenny writhes, cross eyed with the stretch and pressure, so she does it again. Faster and deeper, angling her hips up to get her cock right where it feels best. Slapping the bed, Lenny says, “‘S good, Macey. Don’t stop.”
“Gonna put a pup in you,” Mace blurts out, watching in rapturous fascination as his face twists up in agonized pleasure. “Give you a pup of your own. Watch you grow. You got so much love to give, baby, you look so good with a pup on your hip.”
“Macey—”
“I know you want it, Lenny. Let me give it to you. I’m not kidding, I’ll do it. I’ll fuck a pup in you.” She smears her mouth along his throat, his collarbones. Her own blood rushes in her ears, heat swirling liquid in her belly.
She shoves him over onto his front. Adjusts his ass up and knees bent so he’s properly presenting his time. Grabbing his wrists, she pins them to the small of his back. She plants her foot on the bed and nails him. Lenny yelps, shoving his face in the sheets. With her free hand, she grabs his hair and yanks his head up, “Don’t you dare hide from me. You got so much love to give, baby, I want it for both of us.”
Lenny sobs. A quiet, broken noise. God, he’s gorgeous—in a “body under exertion” type of way: splotchy red, all the way down to his nipples. She loves how it contrasts her porcelain, dark skin. Her fingers slide through the sweat dripping down his spine to pool in the small of his back. His half-moon eyes are dreamy, mouth open and letting out the sweetest, smallest curses.
Mace builds up her pace, slow and inescapable. Harsh, heavy knocks of her hips against his ass, grinding when she’s all the way seated. Adjusting her angle until he lets out that broken wail. Constant ramp-ups and slow downs, so he can’t adjust. Her knot starts to swell, and she teases the extra width and stretch—makes his hole clench around her and flutter, empty, when she pulls out. Fuck, the sound of it is filthy. Wet, squelching, skin on skin. She’s so close to the edge. So close to losing it inside him, and he’s leaking so much that it’ll spill everywhere: trickling down his thighs, over his balls, soaking deep into his womb and her bed sheets.
Macey snarls, yanks his ass up a few inches higher to fuck him harder, deeper. Lenny quivers beneath her hands, stuffed full and open and pliant for her. She spots him trying to touch himself, and she slaps his hand out of the way.
“Tell me you want it,” she says, squeezing his hip. “Tell me, and I’ll let you come.”
Lenny whimpers. Mace feels his body ebb and flow beneath her, the snaking of his spine as he rolls with her thrusts. She’s almost yanking him back onto her cock, using him like a toy, he’s so easy. She ruts against his ass, mounted on top of him. Pulling all the way out and slamming back in to the hilt, watching the fat of his ass jiggle with the impact.
His brow furrows, face pinched like he wants to refute it, and it kills him that he can’t. He’s a good man beneath all that gilding. Beneath the scuzz this town leaves on you. He’s a good man who loves her, who loves Zander. Who wants a baby all of his own to take care of.
She thrusts into Lenny, watching as her cock disappears into him, as the swollen beginnings of her knot catches on his rim. Creates a hint of resistance on each stroke as it pops back in. Alphas rely on instinct to know when their knot’ll pop; experience to know when it’ll catch and tie to their omega. Mace knows she’s getting close—she can feel control slipping away from her like trying to catch smoke. Knows she’s cutting it close when she pulls out once more, watching as Lenny’s pink hole stretches impossibly wide.
He whines, knees sliding wider, face sinking into the mattress. His back dips into an arch. When Mace goes to push back in, Lenny’s hole won’t give—too big to squeeze in. He shudders underneath her. She pants, head buzzing. Her knot is painful, every inch of her instincts telling her to fuck into the warm clutch of Lenny’s body. It’s swelling, the push for more rising along the back of her thighs, pooling into her belly. She’s gonna have to force it.
“You’ll be so beautiful with your belly all full up.” Bringing one hand down to his taint, she rubs tight circles into the soft skin there. Teases the taut, brimming-over rim until fresh slick dribbles out to ease the slide. “Good baby, good. Let me give it to you. Let me put a pup in you,” she says. Her voice sounds strained even to her own ears, the pleasure ripping through her needing an outlet.
Lenny makes a pleading, desperate noise, nodding into the sheets.
“Want it,” Lenny moans. “Macey, please.”
Grabbing both his hips for leverage, Mace thrusts hard. The extra slick eases the push enough for her knot to slide with a loud, filthy noise that makes her face burn. She gasps in relief as she comes. All the love in her spilling out in a wrecked tangle between them as she makes a mess of him, so deep he won’t ever get her out.
Lenny cries out, reaching back for her hand and squeezing it bloodless. His knotting muscles clamp down around her, and he comes one more time with thin, animal noise. The heat and pressure of him bearing down around her is intoxicating, heady. Better than a shot of tequila. Her hips flush against his ass, she tests the tie, shoving into him deep and firm, just to feel Lenny shake and hear him squeal. Her instincts are firing on all cylinders; she wonders if she could feel the blood rushing through his veins beneath her lips. She does it again, and again, until Lenny starts trying to crawl away from the stimulation.
“You feel good,” she slurs against his spine. Notches her teeth in the knobs of his spine. “You feel so good, baby. I’m gonna make you dad.”
Lenny angles for a kiss, and Mace seizes his lips, sliding their tongues together. “Fuck,” Lenny says, and Mace wants to agree, but she’s busy seeing stars and trying to gather her thoughts after coming harder than she has in what feels like years. Then, he goes limp beneath her with a quiet grunt, exhausted.
Mace turns them on their side to try and keep them positioned in a way that won’t strain his back. She rubs his stomach with wide circles until his chest rumbles with a purr. “Macey,” he says, hoarse. “Did you mean it?” He lays his own hand overtop hers.
It’s an absurd question to ask when she’s knotted in him, but the moment, and Lenny himself, feels fragile. She buries her nose in his sweat damp hair. “If you want it, then yeah, baby. I’ll give you a pup,” she says.
His head tips back, a dopey smile creasing his features. “Aw, gee, that’s swell, Mace.”
She pinches his waist where he’s helplessly ticklish. “Asshole.”
“Yours,” he says.
“That too.”