Omega's Stepbrother : An MPREG romance (Men of Meadowfall Book 3)

by Anna Wineheart

  Wyatt glanced up just as a folded towel sailed through the air, Raph reaching up to grab it. Raph’s biceps flexed, all solid muscle, and Wyatt stared. His body ached.

  “Here, wrap up,” Raph said. He turned Wyatt away from the nearest townsfolk, stepped onto the shallow pool steps, and spread the towel open in front of himself.

  Wyatt’s cheeks heated. This was too intimate, walking into Raph’s arms like that. But there was no other option, and maybe he wanted Raph to hold him close. Just once.

  He followed Raph up the steps, holding his breath when his hips cleared the water. “I’m not eighteen, Raph,” he muttered. “I’m not little anymore.”

  Raph’s arms wrapped around him, tucking him snugly into terrycloth. He studied Wyatt with dark eyes. “No, you’re not.”

  A thrill shot down Wyatt’s spine. What do you want? You’re in a rut, aren’t you?

  Up close, Wyatt realized that Raph had grown a little older, just like he had. Nine years ago, Raph’s face had been smooth, his lips curved up in a perpetual smirk. There were fine lines around his eyes now, and no smile on his lips. Raph tightened his arms around Wyatt, a comforting pressure.

  Then Raph released him, guiding him up the steps with an arm across his shoulder, scanning the crowd.

  To everyone else, it probably looked like Raph was pulling his brother out of the pool, guiding him someplace warm. Except Wyatt chanced a look down—the line in Raph’s jeans was still there. Beneath the chlorine scents, Raph still smelled like musk, like powerful, capable alpha.

  And Raph was heading them up the stairs to the back door of the mansion, where a butler stood. The butler was new—Wyatt had met him for the first time an hour ago, when he’d been heading into the mansion for a change of clothes. Bob glanced briefly at Raph, then nodded at Wyatt.

  “Thanks, Bob,” Wyatt said. If Bob breathed in deeply, he’d smell the musk on their skin. But Bob opened the door, and Wyatt strode through like he had every right to be in his childhood home.

  The lights in the mansion had been dimmed—an orange glow kissed the violin paintings on the walls. Wyatt’s damp feet dragged across the hallway carpet, and Raph’s shoes squelched.

  “That almost sounds like sex,” Wyatt murmured.

  “That’s where your mind is?”

  Was there somewhere else his mind could be? Raph squeezed his shoulder, and Wyatt imagined his touch further down. Between his legs. Up his ass.

  The corridors were familiar—simple lights along the ceiling, cherry-wood trim lining the walls. Even though he hadn’t stepped into the mansion for a few months, Wyatt knew where exactly they were headed—the bedroom wing.

  He held his breath as they stepped past their father’s study, then their mom’s sewing room. Grandma might’ve been around somewhere, but Wyatt hadn’t smelled her bitter-lemon scent yet.

  Behind a third oak door, Penny’s voice rang out—she was in a conversation with someone.

  Raph’s strides lengthened. Wyatt’s heart thumped.

  “This can’t be happening,” he said.

  “We’re gonna talk. That’s all.”

  Raph didn’t smell that way, though. A coil of musk rolled off his skin, and his hot gaze drifted down Wyatt’s body. Maybe they’d finish what they couldn’t, back in the piano room. Wyatt’s cock throbbed; he hoped like hell their sister didn’t step out of her room. Unlike the butler, she knew them too well. “Penny—”

  “None of her business.”

  They paused in front of Wyatt’s old bedroom. Relief fluttered down Wyatt’s nerves. Almost there. Raph grabbed the door handle, guided Wyatt through the doorway first. Then, when Wyatt was enveloped in the shadows of the room, he breathed out, the tension in his body easing.

  Raph closed the door behind them. Locked it.

  Wyatt’s hole grew damp.

  The room smelled faintly like lilac, like it had been cleaned even though he hadn’t slept over in years. The shirt and pants he’d worn to the party lay strewn at the foot of the bed. Raph strode past the footboard, pausing at the windows. Faint light from the party traced his roguish, handsome features.

  Wyatt’s breath caught. What could they talk about? He wasn’t in a mood to talk.

  Raph drew the curtains shut, casting them in darkness for a second. Then he touched the metal edge of a lamp, and a golden glow burst through the room, lighting them both. The bedroom had been cleaned up since his teenage years, but the heavy blue curtains remained, and so did the carved wooden closet, and the queen-sized bed.

  Wyatt pulled his towel tighter around him, keenly aware of his dripping trunks, his bare feet. The hunger in his body.

  Raph’s hair was plastered to his head, his shirt translucent, his taut nipples straining against thin fabric. The hard line in his jeans was still there. Thicker than Wyatt had imagined, bigger.

  He imagined it pressed up against him, and groaned.

  Raph’s gaze cut to his. “I haven’t seen you in nine years.”

  What was new? “No, you haven’t.”

  His body humming, Wyatt glanced at his abandoned clothes. He should leave the mansion. Get out before he did something completely stupid. Before he succumbed to the scent of Raph’s rut, the dark gaze that lingered on him.

  “I’m sorry,” Raph said.

  Wyatt dragged his gaze back up. “Sorry about what?”

  “Everything. Grandma. Max. That bastard—”

  “I’m not talking about Max right now,” Wyatt said, dragging the towel over his head. He dried his hair roughly, turning toward his clothes. How in all hells had Raph found out about Max? Max was ancient history.

  Raph hissed. In the space of a breath, he was behind Wyatt, his warm hand sliding around Wyatt’s arm, his warm fingers trailing down Wyatt’s spine, to the small of his back.

  “The fuck is this?” Raph growled in his ear.

  The tattoo...? Why would Raph get angry over a tattoo? Because it said Drive In? Because he thought Wy was a slut, or something?

  A stream of hot anger bubbled up through Wyatt’s chest. Why should Raph’s opinion matter? Raph hadn’t been around when things happened. He had no say on what Wyatt chose. Especially not a tattoo that Wyatt had been so proud of, back when the drive-in had crossed its three-year birthday.

  Wyatt tried shaking him off, but Raph held on, his body broad behind Wyatt, strong and inviting.

  “That’s none of your business.” Wyatt scrubbed harder at his hair. Then threw the towel on the bed, so it wasn’t separating them.

  “You’re my brother. It’s every bit my business.” Raph’s palm burned against his back, right over Wyatt’s ink. His lips brushed Wyatt’s ear, his breath damp. “You showed this at the party. Were you asking every alpha there to ‘drive in’?”

  Wyatt’s heart pounded. This could go either way—he could say something scathing, and Raph would leave. Or he could give in to his heat, and the months and years he’d thought about Raph, wishing they’d never been brothers.

  “How does it read to you?” Wyatt asked, his voice so quiet he wasn’t sure if Raph heard.

  Raph drew a shaky breath, gripping Wyatt’s arm so tight it almost hurt. “It reads as an invitation.”

  “And would you—” Wyatt swallowed “—would you accept it?”

  Raph groaned, his fingers brushing down the tattoo, catching along Wyatt’s waistband. “We’re goddamn brothers, Wyatt.”

  “Stepbrothers. We aren’t related by blood.”

  Except everyone outside this room would condemn them if they did. There was Penny, and their parents, and their grandmother. The people at the party. Wyatt’s insides squirmed; they shouldn’t do this.

  And yet his body ached. If no one found out... “Just once, Raph. Please.”

  Raph’s breath rushed out of him. He pressed his forehead to Wyatt’s shoulder, his fingertips trailing down Wyatt’s back, over the curve of his ass. “How many other people saw this tattoo?”

  “Plenty,” Wyatt said. But that w
asn’t what Raph was asking. Raph meant How many people have you seduced with it? and Wyatt would answer that. He wasn’t eighteen anymore. He had regretted the times they’d danced around each other an age ago, waiting for Raph to respond. Waiting until it was too late. “But I haven’t slept with anyone since I got it. Two years ago.”

  “Fuck.” Raph pressed his palm against Wyatt’s ass, squeezed his cheek. Spread him open through his trunks. “I swear it’s just my rut.”

  “I need to know, Raph,” Wyatt said, his voice cracking. “I need to feel your cock.”

  Raph swore. He slipped his arm around Wyatt’s waist, hauled him backward. Wyatt bumped into the fly of his jeans, shoving back against that thick length, his body aching. He reached behind, fumbled with Raph’s belt until Raph released him and tugged it off. It landed on the carpet with a thud.

  Wyatt’s fingers were already on Raph’s fly, dragging the zipper down. Then he shoved his hand into Raph’s drenched boxers, and Raph’s cock jerked against his fingers, hot and hard.

  Wyatt’s breath rushed out of his lungs. He’d waited years for this, since that sunny afternoon on the piano bench, when he’d inched his hand along Raph’s thigh, nudging his cock through his pants.

  He followed the silky length of Raph’s cock now—from its damp, blunt tip down its ridge, to the base of it. Then Raph’s balls, soft and sensitive and drawn up against his body, demanding to unload into an omega.

  “Damn it, Wy,” Raph hissed, rocking into his hand, his cock grinding into Wyatt’s palm. Wyatt leaned back into it, angling his hips up, trying to compensate for their height difference.

  Raph shoved him down against the mattress. For a moment, Wyatt flailed, hips in the air, trying to gain his bearings.

  Before he could, Raph stepped between his legs, hauled him up by the hips, grinding his covered cock between Wyatt’s cheeks. It was hot, insistent against his body. Wyatt dripped, dragging the leg of his swimming trunks up, tugging when it caught on his damp skin.

  Raph helped push the fabric up, until it reached the curve of Wyatt’s ass. Then he slipped his thumb under the trunks, stroking the cleft between Wyatt’s cheeks. Wyatt’s breath snagged.

  Raph was touching him. His thumb was rough, more callused than Wyatt had imagined. He slipped it between Wyatt’s cheeks, spreading them. The cool air of the room brushed over Wyatt’s hole, made him so very aware of Raph, of what Raph could push into him.

  “You’re so damn wet,” Raph whispered, his thumb grinding against Wyatt’s skin.

  “You haven’t seen anything.” Wyatt rolled his hips. Raph groaned. And the next thing Wyatt knew, a puff of damp air rushed right over his hole.

  “Gods, Raph.” Wyatt hissed, his hole clenching tight. He wanted Raph inside. He’d dreamed of it. He’d pushed his own fingers into himself, wondering if that was how Raph would fuck him, deep and thorough.

  A soft, warm touch landed on his thigh, dragging up. When Wyatt twisted around, all he saw was the top of Raph’s head. Raph was licking up Wyatt’s thigh, his ass, along his crack.

  Wyatt’s cock jerked, leaking through his shorts. “Raph,” he gasped, moaning when Raph parted his ass further, his tongue flicking deeper between his cheeks. “Raph—”

  And Raph reached into the leg of Wyatt’s shorts, between his thighs, skimming over Wyatt’s balls with his fingertips. They pulled up tight against his body, needing release.

  “Very nice,” Raph murmured against his ass. “Gonna be tight for me?”

  Raph wanted him. And the ache in Wyatt’s body intensified.

  “Find out for yourself,” he gasped, shuddering when Raph’s fingers slid over his cock, all the way to his tip.

  “Didn’t realize you have foreskin,” Raph murmured. And Wyatt felt every caress of Raph’s fingertips around his head, playing over his exposed, sensitive tip, dragging his skin down, then up, smearing his precome down his cock. He curled his fingers around Wyatt, pumped him twice, and Wyatt’s hips bucked, shoving his cock into Raph’s hand. “You’re so damn hungry.”

  Raph hitched up the leg of Wyatt’s swimming trunks, enough that he could ease Wyatt’s cock out of its confines. Then he released Wyatt, letting him strain helplessly, his tip flushed and glistening.

  Wyatt’s face burned. Raph was looking at his cock. His brother, the best friend he’d left behind when he’d fled their home. The man he’d thought about on lonely nights, when memories of his ex had threatened to drown him in misery.

  Raph traced his fingertip down Wyatt’s cock, a feather-light touch that set his nerves ablaze. Wyatt arched. Raph nudged his knees open, caught Wyatt’s cock, and angled it down. He pressed his face between Wyatt’s thighs, licked up his balls, wet and soft. Wyatt jerked, his hole neglected, his cock too hard. Raph’s touching me.

  “Raph—fuck me already,” he whispered. His face scorched. He shouldn’t be saying this. But Raph licked down the length of Wyatt’s cock, his tongue swirling around Wyatt’s tip. He slid his tongue beneath Wyatt’s foreskin, sending a jolt through his body. “Raph!”

  “Quiet,” Raph whispered, his lips moist on Wyatt’s skin. Then he took Wyatt into his mouth, and Wyatt almost came right there, down his throat.

  “I can’t—” Wyatt pressed his face into the soft sheets, his limbs trembling, his fingers scraping over fine cotton. Raph was really touching him. Raph’s mouth felt like heaven, and Wyatt wanted this to last forever. Wanted Raph to pin him down, shove his cock in, ride him to release.

  Raph sucked on him, pulling a whimper from Wyatt’s throat. Wyatt shoved his fist against his mouth, trying to keep silent. But it was difficult, when Raph took his cock in deep, kneading Wyatt’s ass, spreading him open. He was looking at Wyatt’s most intimate places.

  Raph slid his fingertip against Wyatt’s hole. Wyatt cried out, relaxing for him, trying to hold on to something, anything.

  With deft fingers, Raph caught Wyatt’s waistband, sliding his swimming trunks off his hips, down his thighs. Wyatt’s cock jerked up, finally free, its tip gleaming damply.

  Raph slipped the wet shorts off Wyatt’s legs—first one knee, then the other. Then they fell onto the floor with a heavy thud, and Wyatt was naked, vulnerable. Especially when Raph turned him onto his side, holding his knees open.

  “Wanted to see you,” Raph said, his voice rasping, his lips glistening with Wyatt’s precome. He licked it off, rolling it through his mouth. Tasting Wyatt.

  Wyatt’s cock throbbed, his face burning. His mind said they should stop this insanity. Except Raph’s cock was thick and red, and he was stroking it, his eyes dark with hunger. He wanted it inside Wyatt. Wanted to fill Wyatt up with it.

  Wyatt’s body ached, his heat demanding more.

  Maybe this was fine. Maybe one night wouldn’t be so bad, if they both kept it a secret. If they never saw each other again.

  Wyatt angled his cock down, so it pointed at Raph. Raph’s pupils dilated. He climbed onto the bed and leaned in close, brushing his lips over Wyatt’s shoulder, down his chest, his stubble scraping against Wyatt’s ribs. He took Wyatt’s nipple into his mouth, sucked on it. Pleasure jolted between Wyatt’s legs, made his spine arch.

  “Raph,” he gasped, a trickle of slick leaking from his hole, hot and slippery.

  “Shh.” Raph reached down, caressed Wyatt’s cock in a slow, smooth stroke. Then he reached behind Wyatt’s balls, brushed his taint, and rubbed his fingers over Wyatt’s hole, pressing down lightly on it. Wyatt’s balls ached; he scrambled to find leverage on his toes, so he could push up at Raph, take him in.

  Except Raph caught him behind the knee, held his thigh down, keeping him spread. “You on BC?”

  “No. But just... just put it in. Pull—pull out before you come.” He wanted to feel all of Raph, just this once.

  Raph closed his eyes, his chest heaving. “Gods, I don’t know if I can,” he muttered. He shoved down his pants and boxers, kicked his shoes off to free his legs. “Hard to think in a rut. It’ll get worse when I�
�m inside.”

  Wyatt’s hole squeezed. “That just means you’re gonna fuck me through the bed, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to knock you up.”

  Wyatt pressed his face into the mattress, groaning. “Just fuck me, Raph. It shouldn’t—shouldn’t matter if you pull out.”

  He should know better, after Hazel. But it seemed so unlikely, if Raph came outside, and all he did before that was massage Wyatt with his cock.

  “Raph, please.”

  Raph hesitated, his fingers smearing precome over his tip. “I’ll...” He swallowed. “I’ll do my best.”

  Wyatt reached out for him. Raph pushed into his hand, heavy and smooth. Then Wyatt squeezed him, and Raph pushed his fingers into Wyatt’s hole, two at once. Wyatt choked, his body stretching, his nerves humming.

  Raph withdrew, smeared Wyatt’s slick over his cock. Then he fitted himself between Wyatt’s legs, one knee against Wyatt’s back, the other by his stomach, grinding their cocks together. Wyatt’s slick coated them both. Raph’s cock was big against his, hungry, and Wyatt leaked onto him.

  He spread his cheeks, showing Raph his hole, trying to tempt him inside. Raph groaned, leaning back to fit his tip between Wyatt’s cheeks.

  “You’re sure,” Raph growled, his chest heaving, his fingers shaking a little.

  “Yeah.”

  And Raph rolled his hips, breaching his hole, sinking in. He was big. Wyatt groaned, at the same time Raph did.

  Raph stretched Wyatt open, thick and solid, sliding in a couple inches, before withdrawing a little. Wyatt whined. Raph caught his hand, squeezed it, as though he was reassuring Wyatt that he wouldn’t leave. Then he sunk back inside, deeper now, working his way in slowly so Wyatt’s body had time to adjust.

  After years of only toys keeping him company, Raph’s cock was refreshing. Good. So damn hot, with the way it slid inside him, sinking all the way in. Wyatt’s breath snagged in his throat, his mouth so dry he couldn’t speak.

  “Good?” Raph whispered, his breathing unsteady.

  “Fuck,” Wyatt gasped. “Yes.”

  The moment the word left his lips, Raph snapped his hips. Pleasure rolled through Wyatt’s body, a spark of lightning bliss. Raph was inside. This shouldn’t be happening. But Raph felt delicious, every inch of him, and Wyatt’s cock leaked shamelessly onto the bed.