Page 5 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Rhett

“Are you sure you have everything?” Myrick flits around our bed, vanishing into the bathroom, then darting to the closet. A swirl of his clean spring scent lingers in his wake, and I draw it in. He always smells stronger when he’s anxious. Which, lately, is always.

“I have everything,” I say calmly, but he doesn’t hear me. Or refuses to.

He reappears a moment later with one of my dress shirts draped over his arm and a handful of pocket squares clutched to his chest like precious jewels.

“Just in case,” he mutters, moving toward the duffle bag I’d already packed. He’s not talking to me—he’s talking to himself. It’s his way. When he’s nervous, he busies his hands, fusses, plans, rearranges the world until it feels manageable again.

His usually impeccable hair is fluffed up in the back, and he’s wearing oversized silk pajama bottoms with one of my black t-shirts hanging off his shoulders like it was made for someone twice his size. The shirt swallows him whole, but I can still see the long, lean lines of his frame underneath.

This version of him—the frazzled, pajama-wearing chaos sprite—is my favorite. It’s him in his most raw and tender form.

“Beta,” I murmur as I watch him dig out a suitcase from under the bed. Dolly, our tiny white Maltese, lifts her head as he unceremoniously drops it beside her. “I don’t need an overnight bag.”

“I want you to be prepared,” he argues, brushing past me.

His tone has that snap it gets when he’s pretending not to worry.

“You said last night that the black market moves around. That it never stays in one place.” He yanks the zipper back with a zzzzzzrk that makes my ears twitch.

“If it’s that unpredictable, then who knows what you’ll walk into?

You could be gone for days. ” He cuts a look at the flyer on the dresser like it personally offended him.

“That location could be a rally point. Or a trap. Or…or a diversion. We don’t know. ”

He grips the top of the suitcase, but I place my hand on it, not letting him open the damn thing.

“Look at me,” I say quietly, but my voice leaves no room for argument.

His eyes meet mine, hesitant, still wound tight. I cup his cheek with my other hand, grounding him with my touch.

“Everything is going to be okay.” I try to push reassurance through the bond, but I’m not sure he can feel it.

Betas don’t always connect with alphas the same way omegas do. While Myrick has my mating bite on his neck, our mental bond has never been great. On a good day, I can catch whispers of his emotion. Today? It’s silence. Frustrating silence .

Still, I can see it all in his eyes. The worry. The love. The helplessness.

“The black market is near Stalken,” I say softly, tracing my thumb along his cheekbone. His skin is smooth after a morning shave. “I’ll fly in, take a car a few hours east, pick up our omega, and be home before dawn.”

Myrick shakes his head, clearly unconvinced.

“She’ll be exhausted, Rhett.” He stays stiff in my hand, not melting into the touch like he usually does.

“I think you should stay the night in Stalken before flying home.” His blue eyes gleam, sharp with that little flash of defiance I secretly love.

“Omegas are delicate and easily stressed. You need to prioritize her health.” Then he gives me the look.

Chin lifted. Brows slightly arched. Daring me to argue with his logic. “It won’t kill you to stay one night.”

Goddamnit, I love this man so much.

He cares so deeply for those around him. Even people he hasn’t met.

Not wanting to upset him too much, I sigh, then lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Fine. If she’s too tired, we’ll stay the night. But,” I arch a brow at him, “I’m not taking the suitcase.”

He blinks innocently up at me. “The duffle bag?”

I pretend to think. “The duffle bag is acceptable.”

Myrick exhales in dramatic relief and watches as I kneel to slide the suitcase back under the bed. He practically pounces on me once I’m upright, wrapping himself around my torso and pressing his cheek to my chest like he’s trying to fuse with me.

His nose nuzzles between my pecs, and I feel the gentle drag of his scenting. “Text me her measurements the second you have her,” he says, muffled by fabric. “I want her to come home to a full closet. She shouldn’t have to wear hand-me-downs or hospital gowns.”

I chuckle, pulling him in tighter. “You are too good, my love.”

“I’m just better than you,” he says sweetly, brushing his lips along mine. “We both know it.”

I laugh against his mouth and kiss him again, longer this time. I linger, taking my time to enjoy the feel of him. Slim. Solid. Soft where it matters.

“Just wait,” I whisper, bumping my nose against his. “Once we have her, we sell the business, buy a hut on some godforsaken beach, and raise our kids like a couple of wild recluses.”

“Yes.” He hums against me, practically purring. “Sunburned and barefoot, with fruity drinks, and no clients.”

“No clients,” I echo.

He sighs happily, like the very thought gives him life.

“Fuck,” I growl as I brush my lips over his. “I wish you could come with me.”

Myrick hums, deepening the kiss. “Someone has to walk the dog.” His tongue brushes over mine. My cock is instantly hard, pushing against the front of my dress slacks.

“She’ll live,” I whisper into his mouth. Dolly sits up, tilting her head one way then the other, watching us kiss.

“Rhett,” Myrick whimpers when I palm his dick through his black silk pajamas. I squeeze his balls and he gasps, “Alpha! We can’t.” He pants as I move down to his neck, nipping at my mating bite. “Brock will be here soon.”

“Fuck Brock,” I say, slipping my hand around the back of Myrick’s neck.

The freshly trimmed edges of his hair prickle my palm.

Then I move it up, into the longer strands.

I fist his hair, forcing his head back. A submissive whimper pushes from his throat, and I smile.

“Such a good boy.” I push my hips into his, letting him feel every inch of my cock.

“Hmmm.” Myrick’s eyes float closed as his arms circle around my neck. “You feel so good.” He lifts up onto his toes, bringing his mouth to mine. “We’ll have to be quick.” He gives in, and a pleased rumble pushes from my chest. “Hurry.” He tugs the oversized shirt over his head.

“Turn over.” My voice is low, firm. No room for argument. I grab the beta by the upper arm and guide him face-first onto the bed. He goes easily—almost too easily—melting into the sheets with a soft, obedient exhale.

Dolly hops up in front of us, unconcerned, and trots to her usual spot at the foot of the bed like this is part of the morning routine.

“Just like that.” I run a hand down Myrick’s spine to the curve of his ass, palming his flesh as I adjust his hips, making sure his feet can still touch the floor. He shifts under my touch, compliant, hips tilting the way I like.

Then I reach for the hem of his pajama pants and tug them down in one slow motion, baring him to me.

“So perfect,” I say as I squeeze his flesh hard, fingers sinking in to leave their mark. Mine.

Then I drop to my knees behind him. Holding a cheek in each hand, I spread him open, and lick right over his tight little hole. It flutters as I eat him out, lubing him up. This would be better with proper lube, but we don’t have time.

Not bothering to remove my pants, I unzip and pull my cock out. Spitting on my palm, I pump it a few times before lining myself up. Then I push into my beta’s tight heat.

Myrick sucks me in, inch by glorious inch.

He gasps and moans, curling his long fingers into the white comforter as I settle deep inside him.

He’s especially tight without the help of lube, but the beta loves going without it.

He says he can feel more of me. I’m always a little scared I’m going to rip him in two.

“How does that feel?” I thrust slowly, savoring the feel of him around my shaft.

“Harder.” Myrick reaches around, clawing at my hip the best he can. He grips the fabric of my pants, then pulls hard, forcing me to fuck him deeper. Faster.

“You’re so tight.” I grip his trim waist, pounding into him with everything I have. He feels like heaven.

We’ve both wanted an omega for years, but honestly? I can’t believe anyone could ever feel half as good as Myrick. His lean, toned body fits against mine like it was made for me, and he tastes like fucking perfection.

Grabbing a handful of Myrick’s hair, I pull, forcing his upper body off of the bed, making his back arch. I roll my hips as I suck my mating bite. His fresh spring scent floods my senses, leaving the slightest twinge of sweetness on the tip of my tongue.

“No cleaning up, beta.” I snarl in his ear as I stretch into his asshole. “I want you dripping cum all fucking day.”

“Yes, sir,” he whimpers, then moans. It’s a throaty sound, telling me he’s close.

“Let’s see how messy we can make you.” I release his hair, slowly moving my hand down his body. Over his smooth chest, caressing his slight stomach. His abs clench when I reach his groin, but I stop myself. “Touch your cock,” I command as I keep my hand over his middle. “Jerk yourself off.”

He shifts, pushes his hand between himself and the bed. I lift his upper body slightly, and his long fingers brush against the back of my hand. He moans when he grips his shaft, and I growl in approval. “Are you going to come for me? ”

“Rhett,” he mewls. “Please.”

The doorbell chimes, echoing through the house. I hear the front door pop open, and Dolly lets out a sharp, gruff bark before leaping off the bed. It has to be Brock. He’s the only asshole who’d barge in uninvited.

“Your brother!” Myrick gasps, eyes wide with shock, but I keep thrusting, steady and relentless. “Rhett,” he struggles to catch his breath, voice shaky. “Your brother is here.”

“Not until you come.” I slam my hips into him, making him yip. “I want your ass bursting with cum all fucking day.”