Feral (The Wrong Alpha 2)

Except even that fantasy wasn’t enough. Thinking about the Xeus just made his broken bond ache. Ache and hurt like an old wound that was starting to bleed again. The pain somehow amplified the desire, and soon Jules was half-sobbing into his pillow, his hips pushing greedily onto the dildo. Need him, need him, can’t need him, need him. Gone, need him, gone. I need—I need—I need. It was fucking horrible. Jules had never felt worse in his life, his muscles trembling, his cock sore, his body oversensitive and needy, and his bond aching.

So he tried not to think about his Xeus. He made himself think of other alphas, trying to tell himself that any alpha would do. Any alpha with a thick, hard cock would do. He was desperate enough to almost believe it.

He imagined going to a ball, his cock stiff and his slick dribbling down his leg. He imagined alphas turning toward him, their nostrils flaring and their cocks straining their pants. He would be attractive to alphas for once. They would want him.

He imagined an alpha holding him indecently close during a dance until Jules was desperate enough to beg for his cock. The alpha would then lead him to the nearest table and bend him over it. He would unzip his fly and take him, just like that, immaculately clothed but for his cock. Jules moaned, imagining that, imagining strong, hard fingers, a hard body behind him, and the familiar alpha scent surrounding him. The alpha would fuck him, hard and fast, without care for his comfort, in that arrogant, infuriating way of his, as if he knew better than Jules what he needed. He would say into his ear, his familiar husky voice even lower than usual,“You’re such a slut, brat. They’re all looking at us, and you don’t even care. Right, Julian?”

Jules shuddered and came, clenching around the cock in him, feeling so guilty for so many reasons he didn’t know where to start.

Reason One: Jules had recently lost a mate. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about another alpha during his heat. How could he be such a slag?

Reason Two: Said alpha was very publicly courting Jules’s brother, and their marriage was imminent. You should not covet your sibling’s mate—it was an unwritten rule everyone knew about.

Reason Three: Even if Reason Two were invalid, said alpha was the Duke of Westcliff, the most handsome and desirable alpha on the planet. He was so out of Jules’s league it wasn’t even funny.

Reason Four: Jules hated his insufferably high-handed attitude. Hated it. It made him scowl just remembering the way Dev—Westcliff— tried to pressure him into surgically removing his mating mark, the way he was such a dick to Nasr, acting as if he knew better than Jules. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about the asshole when he jerked off.

Reason Five: Westcliff saw him as his future mate’s baby brother. He’d never want him back. He was just an unattractive relative Westcliff looked out for as an alpha, not an object of attraction.

So yeah, there were too many damn reasons why this… attraction was stupid and wrong.

Attraction. The word somehow felt wrong, too.

Regardless of the word he called it, he needed to stomp this feeling out of him.

Jules fucking refused to be pathetic and pine for something impossible.

He was resolved to ignore Westcliff starting from tomorrow.

***

“Tomorrow” passed in a daze of heat. By the end of the day, Jules felt like crawling up the walls—or crawling out of his skin. Everything ached. And when he said everything, he meant everything: his muscles, his bond, his cock, his hole—hell, even his hair hurt, which was something that shouldn’t have been possible. At some point, he thought he might be dying.

By the time it finally ended, it was evening. Jules curled up miserably on the couch in the drawing room, because he couldn’t stand the thought of staying in the bedroom that stank of heat, desperation, and loneliness.

“Are you sure you’re okay now?” Liam said from the opposite couch.

Jules gave a small nod.

Liam sighed, still looking at him with a frown. “No offense, but I’m so glad I’m not a Dainiri omega.”

Jules didn’t take offense, but he glared at his annoyingly beautiful, perfectly put-together non-Dainiri brother. He croaked out, “Anyone ever told you you suck at comforting people?”

Liam grinned. “It speaks! And yes, you have. Multiple times.”

“I feel sorry for your future kids,” Jules grumbled.

His smile fading, Liam looked at the magazine in his hand unseeingly. “Kids… I can’t imagine having kids in the near future.” His forehead wrinkled. “I suppose Westcliff would want kids soon.”

Ignoring the way his stomach churned painfully, Jules said, “If the rumors are true and the king is really making him the heir to the throne, of course Westcliff would want kids.” He made a face. “Heck, the king would probably demand it, too.” He looked away, looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, before saying in his most neutral tone, “You’re talking like it’s a done deal. Did I miss anything? Has he proposed already?”