by Piper Scott
“Finch?” Hugh asked breathlessly after one of those times. Four days had passed since Finch had first gone into heat, and if Hugh’s nose was to be trusted, Finch was starting to recover. Hugh was, admittedly, woefully undereducated in matters of omegas’ reproductive health, but his previous attempts to produce a clutch had all lasted a full seven days. If Finch’s heat really was ending, then…
Hugh grinned and kissed his secretary. “Finch, sweet, do you hear me?”
“Mm?” Finch hummed. His eyes were closed and his hips rocked in a slow, steady rhythm as he milked Hugh’s cock.
“Are you coming back to me?” Hugh asked. “I feel like you are. Do you think we’ve reached the end?”
Finch blinked his eyes open. “Maybe. How long has it been?”
“Four days.”
“Mm.” Finch closed his eyes again. “Too soon. Heat should last a week. No doubt I’ll succumb to it again. You feel too good for it to end now, anyway.”
The compliment bolstered Hugh, who kissed the corner of Finch’s mouth while Finch made pretty noises for him.
“There is a way for a heat to end prematurely,” Hugh said at last, kissing the words into Finch. “Do you think maybe you’ve conceived?”
Finch laughed in exhaustion and found Hugh’s lips in full, kissing him soundly. “Impossible.”
“Why?”
“It’s just… outlandish. For reasons we’ve already discussed, I should add.”
“But my brothers’ mates have all conceived, and they’re more or less Disgraces, just like you.”
“Well, yes.”
“And I’ve taken your heat.” Hugh announced it with pride, his chest puffing up a little at the accomplishment. On the inside, his dragon preened by fanning its wings. What it had wanted all along was finally theirs. “I know that it’s a long shot, but what if Harrison is right? What if it’s not all just a fluke, and Disgraces really are dragons? You would lay our eggs, and I would shower you in gold as you bask with them in the sunlight, their pretty purple shells sparkling like the jewels they are. Not even heaven could look half as beautiful.”
The tips of Finch’s ears pinkened. “Sir…”
“Hugh,” Hugh corrected with a smile. “I know I shouldn’t count my whelps before they hatch, but imagine it, Finch. Imagine us curled in bed with young dragons snuggled between us, their scales still soft and their wings not yet strong enough to lift them off the ground. I think they’d be like you, you know. Or, rather, I hope they would be. Gentle, meticulous, and so incredibly intelligent. Our little scholars. Not even Geoffrey’s whelps could compete.”
Finch’s ears pinkened further. “Sir, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. If you keep imagining scenarios like that, you’ll only end up disappointed. My heat will take hold again any time now. It’s natural for it to wax and wane over the course of a week. It doesn’t mean I’ve conceived.”
Hugh sighed. Finch, as always, was right. It was much too early to get his hopes up. Besides, fantasizing about the future had only ever brought him heartache. Focusing on the present was much more sustainable. With that in mind, Hugh asked, “Are you thirsty, Finch? Do you need me to fetch you some water?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“Hugh.”
“Yes. Hugh. Old habits.” Finch offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m neither hungry nor thirsty. I’m simply tired. I’ve never… with anyone. It’s more exhausting than I was led to believe.”
“It is quite physically taxing,” Hugh agreed. By now his knot was receding, so he pulled slowly out of Finch and lay at his side. Finch moaned in disappointment when he withdrew, but it was for the best. Rest was essential. When Finch’s heat picked back up, they’d be glad they’d spent some time apart. “I’ve entertained a few omegas through their heats over the course of my life, and I have no idea how they ever got by without the help of modern medicine. But I suppose biology doesn’t care. Reproduction eclipses all, doesn’t it? As long as offspring are being reliably produced, it doesn’t matter how inconvenient the method of conception.”
Finch snorted. “I’d like a word with evolution.”
“You and me both.”
A comfortable silence followed, during which Hugh plucked a loose coin from the sheets and teased it between his fingers, wanting badly to run it along Finch’s skin or place it in a dip somewhere on his body. Even when Finch’s heat wasn’t in full effect, he wanted to drown the man in gold, blanket him in billions, and bejewel him with finery even kings and queens would envy. But for the moment, the best thing he could give Finch was a nap.
“I’m off to take a shower, sweet,” Hugh told him, then kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll bring back more water and some snacks. You may not be hungry now, but the same won’t be true after the next wave of your heat strikes. Rest while you still can. I shan’t be long.”
Finch, whose eyes were closed and whose body was blissfully relaxed, hummed in agreement, so Hugh left him in his hoard and went to shower. Like he’d promised, he didn’t take long, but he was delayed in the kitchen while Emma fussed about his shoddy diet. Hugh came out victorious, however, and left the kitchen in possession of a platter of leftover petit fours. Expecting to find Finch in the throes of heat, Hugh popped a Funfetti confection into his mouth on the way back to his hoard, but when he arrived, Finch was asleep, and the scent of his heat had faded away.
Don’t get too excited, Hugh told himself as he returned to the bedside and placed their snacks on the nearby table. Heats come and go. It will be back. Finch said so himself.
But the scent of Finch’s heat didn’t return later that evening, or the day after that, or even on the morning of the seventh day, when Hugh woke to find Finch slumbering peacefully at his side. By that point, there was only one possible conclusion—Finch had conceived, and the clutch Hugh had dreamed of all these hundreds of years would be his.
27
Finch
Hugh insisted that Finch book an appointment to see Everard at his medical office to confirm the clutch. He was so keenly positive and happy, and Finch tried to be the same, but he was worried. Very worried. Hopeful, too, but mostly worried. Therefore he made two appointments: one he’d attend together with Hugh on Friday in roughly two weeks’ time, and one by himself on Thursday the day before that. In the interim, he was free to dream of how wonderful a clutch would be, and how it would be even better to wear Hugh’s mate mark, and how much more wonderful yet it would be to wake up every morning for hundreds of years in Hugh’s bed. But dreaming wasn’t all Finch did with the time he had before his first appointment—in addition to satisfying his secretarial duties, he used every spare moment he had to satisfy Hugh in bed.
Hugh was a remarkably inventive lover. He had a way of using every inch of his body to arouse Finch to greater heights of pleasure. Hugh did things that even the cloister hadn’t warned Finch to expect—things that were decadent and somehow forbidden and absolutely wonderful. Hugh in a nutshell. Finch had thought that would change after his heat receded, but it hadn’t. Hugh’s frantic, frenetic desire had abated, somewhat, but his ardor remained undimmed. Without the influence of Finch’s heat, Hugh painstakingly explored every inch of Finch’s body and cherished each one thoroughly.
“Mine,” he said over and over, biting Finch’s neck or teasing a nipple or sliding his cock into Finch’s eager body. “Always, forever, mine.”
And as if the thorough lovemaking wasn’t enough, Hugh did other smaller and simpler things for Finch. He secured Elizabeth and Eleanor a gilded cage and installed it in Finch’s suite, and took Finch on walks around the estate during which he always held Finch’s hand. They ate their meals together, sometimes in the dining room where a smirking Bella brought in dish after dish, and sometimes in Hugh’s room. They also talked for hours and hours, or rather Hugh largely talked and Finch added the occasional observation. The conversations were often absurd, but Finch loved them. He loved every single word that came out of Hugh’s m
outh, no matter how silly it might be.
Finch, in short, allowed himself thirteen days to wallow in Hugh’s regard. He let himself dream of love, and marks, and forever. He hoped, in a hard and helpless sort of way, that his body held the thing that Hugh most wanted in the world. But, shoved deep under layers of happy dreams, contentment, pleasure, and love as sweet as honey, Finch still worried, made plans, and tried not to hope too hard, just in case that was what jinxed him.
On the Wednesday evening before the appointment, Finch took charge. Despite his new relationship with his employer, he was still Hugh’s secretary, and he knew a thing or two about organization. He spent the day with Hugh playing with the girls—Hugh had become particularly fond of Elizabeth—and then baking a Funfetti cake for that night’s pudding. After the cake was carefully put in the oven by the formidable Emma, Finch drew Hugh to his hoard and asked to be told the story behind several of his most interesting pieces. Hugh cheerfully nattered on, happy as the proverbial clam, and when Finch drew him to the bed in the center of the room, Hugh went with no fuss at all.
“Finch, you wicked boy. I see your plan now!”
“I’m hardly a boy, Hugh.”
Hugh huffed, a bit of smoke escaping through his nose. “You, my love, are but an infant compared to me.”
Finch couldn’t help but smile. “I’m afraid that doesn’t sound much better.”
“Nonsense. Now come here so I can undress you, my darling boy.” Hugh made a grab for Finch, but he nimbly stepped out of reach. “Finch?” Hugh asked, sounding plaintive.
“Tonight, I wish to do something different. These past weeks have been beyond lovely, but I want more.”
Hugh looked both concerned and intrigued. “What kind of more?”
Finch disrobed quickly and efficiently, folding his clothes neatly as he went and laying them down on a small gilt table. “Tonight I wish to serve you, sir.”
“Hugh, Finch. In bed, I’m Hugh.”
“Sir,” Finch insisted. “Please.”
Hugh blinked at him as if processing the idea in his head, turning it around and looking at it from every angle. “I… oh. Oh! My. Well, if that’s the case, then yes, Finch. Proceed. I will always give you whatever you wish.”
Finch shook his head very slightly. He didn’t miss that Hugh’s gaze seemed locked on to his body, especially his cock, which was already hard and leaking precum. “No, sir. Tonight, it’s whatever you wish.”
Hugh smiled his sweet, slow smile, the one he gave only when he was truly contented and happy. It was Finch’s favorite smile. “All right. And just how will you serve me?”
Finch tried to keep his expression impassive, but he couldn’t stop the betraying twitch Hugh’s words brought to his lips. “First, I will help you disrobe.”
“Quite cheeky for a secretary, don’t you think?” Hugh asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Ah, but there’s where you’re wrong. Tonight, sir, I will be your valet. Let me assist you.” Finch stepped forward and removed Hugh’s clothing with care, giving his body soft, sly caresses as he went. He ended up on his knees, taking Hugh’s shoes and socks off, then pulling down his trousers. Unable to help himself, Finch swayed forward slightly, just enough for his mouth to touch the bulge hidden behind the dark violet cotton of Hugh’s boxers. He ran his lips over the hard length, wetting the fabric and making Hugh moan.
“More. Finch, I need more. God.”
Finch pulled back so he could look up into Hugh’s eyes. He rested his hands on Hugh’s hips. “Should I remove these as well, sir?”
“God, yes.”
“Very good, sir.” Finch smiled up at Hugh. “My pleasure.”
Hugh groaned as Finch pulled down the briefs far enough so Hugh’s cock sprang free. It was fully erect, the foreskin pulled back, and the bright pink head begging for Finch’s mouth. Finch touched the tip of his tongue to its slit, tasting the salty, smoky flavor with relish.
“Please,” Hugh moaned. “Please, Finch. My love.”
Finch obliged his lover and drew the head of Hugh’s cock into his mouth. He sucked hard on the sensitive flesh, making Hugh cry out and bury one of his hands in his hair. While he did, Finch relaxed his throat and drew Hugh’s cock into his mouth, this time not stopping with the head. He felt the need to gag and suppressed it, as he’d been taught in his cloister, and kept going until his throat spasmed around Hugh’s cock. Wanting more and knowing Hugh wanted the same, he cupped Hugh’s gorgeous ass and pulled him closer still.
Hugh, swearing and muttering incomprehensibly, got with the program. He grabbed fistfuls of Finch’s hair in each hand and pushed just a bit more into Finch’s mouth. Finch hummed with pleasure and approval, making Hugh swear more. He thrust again and again into Finch’s mouth and they both gloried in it. It was so good. So good. Too good. But Finch shoved that thought aside and focused on the joy of knowing it was his mouth that was coaxing Hugh toward orgasm.
One bob of his head at a time, Finch brought Hugh closer. He licked and sucked and teased until Hugh was close to tears, then swallowed Hugh deep and let his throat do the work. Finch was practically a virgin, but as a member of the Pedigree, he’d been taught how to please a man, and he knew how to do it well. In no time at all, Hugh tensed, then roared, and Finch tasted victory. It was surprisingly smoky.
Hugh didn’t pop his knot to lock Finch’s jaw in place—thank god—so when he was done, Finch pulled away. No sooner had he than Hugh pulled him to his feet and kissed him deeply and thoroughly.
“My love,” Hugh rumbled, somewhere between man and dragon. “Oh, Finch. My dearest, my—”
“Would sir please lie down on the bed?” Finch asked solicitously.
“Huh?” Hugh stared at Finch, his glassy eyes wide.
“On your back, sir, or else I won’t be able to please you.”
“Uh… right. Yes.” Hugh blinked then sprawled out on his back on the bed with sheets as dark as Finch’s eyes. “Is this good?”
“That, sir, is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Just like you.”
Hugh frowned. “I’m a decent enough dragon, true, but—”
“No buts, sir. You are wonderful.” Finch crawled onto the bed and straddled Hugh’s thighs. “The very best dragon there is, bar none. And the very best employer. You know,” Finch trailed his fingers through the thick hair on Hugh’s chest, “from the very first time I saw you at that interview, I knew that there would be no one else for me. Right then and there I told myself that I would serve you, and only you, for as long as I should live.”
Hugh sucked in a breath and squirmed. He’d never gone entirely flaccid, but his erection was back and harder than it’d been before. It rubbed enticingly between Finch’s cheeks.
“You,” Finch said, leaning down to whisper the words against Hugh’s lips, “were the subject of my wet dreams these thirteen long years. I used to imagine that you would bend me over my office desk and do things to me no employer ever should, and now here I am, on your lap, ready to serve you in ways no Attendant ever will.”
Hugh’s cock throbbed, so Finch clenched around it. He didn’t let it inside of him—not yet—but he was as eager for it to happen as Hugh appeared to be.
“All I ask,” Finch continued in a low voice meant to tease as he curled his fingers in Hugh’s chest hair, “is that you don’t treat me any differently after this, Mr. Drake. I’m still your employee, after all.”
Hugh groaned and began to thrust his hips, desperately driving his cock against Finch in search of somewhere to put it. How intoxicating it was to see Hugh driven mad with lust. Finch kissed him firmly, over and over, not wanting any kiss to be the last one. He didn’t stop until Hugh begged him.
“Please, Finch, darling, please.” He ran his hands up and down the sides of Finch’s body. “Please, love, I need more. I need you. Right now I’m controlling my dragon, but he’s about ten seconds from taking over and fucking you quite thoroughly, and while I don’t wish to upset your plans, I do
advise that you give him what he wants.”
Finch kissed Hugh’s neck and throat, then moved on to his collarbones. “And what does His Excellency want?”
“You,” Hugh replied, his plum-colored eyes seeming to glow from within. “Always, always you. Only you.”
That squeezed Finch’s heart hard. He opened his mouth to ask if Hugh’s dragon also wanted whelps, but then didn’t. There was only so much self-inflicted torture he could stand.
“Would sir kindly hand me the lube?” Finch asked.
“Anything for you.”
“Especially when that anything gets you laid?” Finch prepped himself quickly then spread more lube up and down Hugh’s shaft. Finch knew he’d had the massive thing in his ass dozens of times, but it hadn’t stopped being intimidating.
“No, Finch. Especially when that anything gets me you.”
Finch felt that painful squeezing of his heart again. He rose slightly, positioned Hugh’s cock at his entrance, and slid down it. Under him, Hugh stiffened and arched his back. “You have me, sir,” Finch said. “You always have. You always will.”
Using his entire body, Finch tried to show Hugh how very much he meant it. He rose and fell, rose and fell, and worshiped Hugh in ways only a lover could. Finch wanted it to never end.
Hugh’s dragon was impatient, though, and had other ideas. He rose from the depths of Hugh, trailing smoke out his nostrils. He grasped Finch’s cock and started to pump. “Come for me, darling. Come all over me. Show my dragon how much you want this.”
Finch whined for perhaps the first time since he’d been a very small child. He threw all thought and worry and practiced skill out of his head and concentrated on one thing: his need to please his dragon. The first spasm of pleasure hit, but it wasn’t enough to push him over the edge. “Knot me. God, knot me. Please. Hugh. Please!”