18 Overcoming

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18


The rhythmic, relentless ticking of the clock over the mantle filled the growing silence and Hannibal shifted in the stiff, uncomfortable parlor chair, pinned beneath his cousin’s cool, assessing blue gaze.

She blinked, a soft frown pursing her mouth.

“Bedelia,” Hannibal said, striving for patience. “Have you anything to say? If you prefer to stare silently at me, I will return to Hartford House—”

“I am… attempting to find something beneficial to say to you,” she informed him, an expression of polite horror tightening her smooth features as she settled her teacup delicately on the saucer in her opposite hand. “Considering what you have just told me.” Continue reading

11 A.M.

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At eleven a.m., like clockwork, Adam’s phone buzzed on his nightstand and he reached for it, smiling. He’d been laying awake for an hour, waiting for this call. Now that he allowed it, every single day at eleven a.m. on the dot, he got a call from his Bull.

All part of Elias’ training, of course.

“Elias,” he answered, smirking when he heard a breathless little gasp instead of a proper response. “Darling, are you somewhere private?”

“Yes, Mother,” he said, his voice unsteady and breathy. Adam could hear him struggling and asked, “How long have you been holding it in for this time, Elias?”

“N-ninety minutes, Mother.”

“Good boy,” Adam crooned, grinning at the helpless moan he got in return. “Put your earpiece in, like I showed you, and turn the screen on.”

There was a soft rustle, a shuffle and chorus of wrong buttons being stabbed at with a slippery, frantic finger, and Adam’s screen flickered to life, showing him Elias’ flushed, sweaty face. Continue reading

The Death of Me (The Visit)

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Curious that he hadn’t heard from Adam, Nigel gave him a call, lounging outside in the shade on his porch to have a cigarette.

“Hello, Nigel.”

Funny that such a calm, even voice could raise goosebumps on his skin. Then again, he knew just what that voice was capable of, so maybe it was little wonder.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Nigel said, grinning without realizing it. “Thought I’d check on you.”

“Thank you.”

“You doin’ okay?” Nigel asked, conjuring Adam’s sweet, impish face behind his closed lids.

“I’m really very sore, still,” Adam said, matter of fact about it.

“Ah.” A flush of pride swept up Nigel’s cheeks and he grinned, imagining Adam wobbling delicately around his apartment, tender with day-after aches.

“Thank you for checking on me, Nigel,” Adam said. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait—”

He pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it as if it had hung up on its own. The little picture of Adam’s grin went dark and he ruefully got to his feet, finishing his cigarette with a lot less relish than he’d started it.

Damned if he could figure exactly why, but Nigel decided he was going to see Adam.

Bearing gifts, of course.

Continue reading

The Death of Me (Knotting)

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“This is my favorite part,” Adam breathed, completely focused on screen.

Nigel glanced over, less interested in knotting porn than he was in the intriguing little Omega next to him, but stared in surprise at what had snared Adam’s attention with such force.

The Alpha’s knot had fully risen and was swollen, red and angry and exposed, slamming against the Omegan woman’s body with force enough to make even Nigel wince. She was wailing, that artificial shrieking used in porn, but there was a note of desperation to it and suddenly, much to Nigel’s wide-eyed appreciation, she took his knot with a keening sob and an audible pop.

Ah…”

He looked at Adam when he made that soft, sighing sound of appreciation and saw his long, dark lashes fluttering, his blue eyes unfocused and dreamy. Then Nigel noticed a faint shudder running through him accompanied by a responsive twitch of his slender hips.

He reached out and brushed his curled knuckles down the side of Adam’s throat, heart kicking up its pace when Adam tipped his head unconsciously, offering the smooth column of his neck for Nigel’s touch. Cautiously, Nigel asked, “Adam, did you just—”

“Yes,” he said, no blushing, no stammering, no hiding, just flat agreement that he had indeed had some kind of mild orgasm just watching it. “I always wonder how it feels to do that and it makes me climax.”

This boy, this beautiful and bewildering boy, was going to be the death of him.

Nigel wet his lower lip with his tongue and leaned closer to ask, “You like big knots, Adam?”

He got a vigorous nod of agreement but still couldn’t capture his attention. Adam’s blue eyes were fastened and unwavering on the screen, his full mouth parted in awe as he watched.

“Look,” he said, pointing, and Nigel looked, seeing a closeup of her pussy bulging around the huge knot inside of her, stuffed to bursting with it. The Alpha was no slacker and apparently no stranger to pain because he kept tugging harder and harder as if trying to wrench his knot free. He did, both of them groaning, and immediately shoved his wet-slick knot back inside of her, straining and pushing to force his way in.

Adam was almost panting next to him, fascinated. His voice was soft but excited when he asked, “Do you think it hurts to do that?”

“I think it must, a little,” Nigel said, certain he’d never chance such a thing.

“I think so, too,” Adam said, his white teeth sinking into his full lower lip as he shivered again.

Certainly, certainly the death of him.

“You ever do that with someone?” he asked, half hard and aroused by Adam’s arousal, by the faintest scent of wet slickness he could smell wafting from between Adam’s loosely-spread thighs.

“No,” Adam said, shaking his head. “My ex-girlfriend, Beth, used a strap-on sometimes but she was afraid to inflate the knot and we stopped using it when she said it made her uncomfortable.”

“So you’ve never had one,” Nigel said, a predatory smirk flitting over his lips. “Can I tell you something, Adam?”

“If you want,” Adam said, less focused on the screen now that it was full-body shots of the two locked together in a knotting. His blue eyes drifted to Nigel, curious.

“I’ve been told I have a very big knot,” Nigel said, the absolute truth, too.

Those blue eyes widened and flicked to his groin with sudden interest.

“Would you like to see for yourself?”

Continue reading

The Death of Me

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Nigel was bored.

It was partly this town, partly his own natural restlessness. He’d only just arrived, after all.

That part still troubled him, as did his murky memories of what had happened. There’d been a sorry little excuse of a man who’d somehow enticed his Gabi, and police had come and—

—and nothing.

He’d come to with a pounding headache after a dream about his mother scolding him to find himself possessed only of the clothes on his back with a wrinkled Social Security card and a brand new driver’s license listing an unfamiliar address in a wallet with a concerning amount of cash.

So he’d memorized the address, wandered out onto the street on foot, and decided to spend a little bit of that cash on some cigarettes and a badly-needed drink.

The bar was one of those golden-lit places that also served food, more restaurant than bar but, hey, Nigel wouldn’t complain except for the fact that no smoking was allowed within ten feet of the building.

“Guess I’ll stand in the fucking road,” he muttered, going to the bar to claim an empty stool. The bartender took his order for a burger, fries, and a beer and left him with a bowl of peanuts and growing disdain for the people around him.

They were all soft somehow, well-fed and smiling, their problems blanketed in money and societal bans on speaking of anything of substance. Nigel had heard about Californians before but he’d never expected to have to deal with them; yet, here he was, sitting in a bar in his worn jeans and button up, bristling like a fighting dog while he ate his burger.

No one bothered him, and after a few beers he found himself looking around, a little more interested in the growing crowd.

There were some pretty ones, he noticed, mostly beta females, a few Omegas of one ilk or another in the mix. He couldn’t scent any one of them straight away that didn’t have the acrid warning undertone of an Alpha tingeing their otherwise welcoming perfume, and felt a little disappointed. He’d given up Omegas for Gabi—in retrospect quite a mistake. Maybe if he’d brought an Omega home, he and his Alpha wife wouldn’t have clashed as ferociously as they’d been wont to do.

Well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned that two Alphas could never make it work. Continue reading

17 Overcoming

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17


The ride to Duxbury left Hannibal with too much time to think about the reasons why he had never been back, not since Melinda had been buried. He found himself reluctant to go there despite his provoking, pressing need to find Will, as if the ghosts of his neglected family might hold him accountable for his absence.

Now, with no company other than his own thoughts and the surety of seeing her final resting place at last, Hannibal found himself thinking about her. Their childhood friendship was still one of his fondest recollections of his time at Hartford House. She had taken the place of his lost little sister at first, being so close to Mischa in age. Hannibal had been besotted the moment they met, taking the role of her protector, much to the amusement of her parents. His middling years had passed in a blur of exploration, climbing trees, being carefree and happy, always with Melinda next to him. His grandfather had tried to discourage their association, but Hannibal had found ways around that, as children often would. Even then he’d known he would have to marry well when he was of age. He’d been told time after time by Grandfather that someone was already picked out for him, that it was settled and contracted, that he would have no choice in the matter.

Those warnings had fallen on deaf ears, slamming up against the wall of youthful surety that he knew what was best for himself. He’d been determined to marry Melinda when they both were old enough, the four years of difference between them seeming to stretch forever, long enough that his feelings for her had altered from brotherly to something else entirely.

And then she’d finally caught up to him and everything had fallen apart… Continue reading

16 Overcoming

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16


It took several hours to reach the village and, once there, Will had no idea where he was going. Duxbury was not as large as the town that had sprung up south of Hartford House, but it was large enough to have a main street with a proper cobbled road and several fine little shops doing brisk business. Deciding not to risk getting lost, Will carefully swung down from his mare’s back and looped her reins over a hitching ring at the least busy storefront, which looked to be some kind of dress shop.

Holding his basket half behind him, Will pushed the door open, wincing at the merry jangle of bells above which got the attention of a bright-eyed, plump-cheeked blonde woman behind the counter.

“Well, good morning!” she said, her voice pleasantly raspy and warm. She came around the counter with a wide smile, so delighted to see him that Will actually looked behind him to see if there was someone there. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, yes, sorry,” he said, flushing a little. “I’m… I’m afraid I’m a bit lost.”

Her brows rose. “Now, that is a surprise,” she said, chuckling. “Considering what a large and confusing town we are.”

Will smiled at that, her friendliness putting him at ease.

“Maybe I can help you find your way, Mr…?”

“Graham,” Will said, offering his free hand, which she shook with the same sure confidence of a beta male. “Will Graham.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Graham,” she said. “You can call me Molly. Or Miss Foster if you like, but I prefer Molly. We’re not much for formalities around here. So, where are you trying to get that you find yourself stranded in my dress shop?” Continue reading