Beg

by Piper Scott

  Beg

  Piper Scott

  Beg © Piper Scott 2017.

  Amazon Kindle Edition.

  Edited by Courtney Bassett.

  Cover design by Terram Horne.

  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The author has asserted his/her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature readers.

  First LoveLight Press electronic publication: August 2017

  http://lovelightpress.com

  Subscribe to Piper's newsletter to be the first to hear about new releases and gain access to free bonus content:

  http://eepurl.com/cw6BMD

  Beg is set in the USA, and as such uses American English throughout.

  Contents

  1. Lucian

  2. Marcus

  3. Lucian

  4. Marcus

  5. Lucian

  6. Marcus

  7. Lucian

  8. Marcus

  9. Lucian

  10. Marcus

  11. Lucian

  12. Marcus

  13. Lucian

  14. Marcus

  15. Lucian

  16. Lucian

  17. Marcus

  18. Lucian

  19. Marcus

  20. Lucian

  21. Marcus

  22. Lucian

  23. Marcus

  24. Lucian

  25. Marcus

  26. Lucian

  27. Marcus

  28. Lucian

  29. Marcus

  30. Lucian

  31. Marcus

  32. Lucian

  33. Marcus

  34. Lucian

  Epilogue

  Bonus Scene

  About the Author

  Also by Piper Scott

  More from LoveLight Press

  1

  Lucian

  The knot inflated, and Lucian Bracknell let out a shuddering sigh as he sank face-first into his pillows. For a while he laid there, rocking his erection against the mattress, until a jerky movement caused the knot to slip deeper and put pressure against his prostate. With a strangled cry, Lucian jerked back and pressed against it.

  He found release before his hips landed on the mattress.

  There were few things better than lazy afternoons like these. Alone in his small apartment, Lucian let go of what was right and what was wrong to embrace what was good. And working himself through another fantasy was more than good—it was orgasmic.

  As Lucian’s pulse returned to normal and his excitement wore off, he activated the pressure point on the base of the dildo and released the knot plugging him. The toy shrunk. Lucian removed it and tossed it into his laundry basket. It landed on one of his dirty work shirts with a plop.

  Life was good. Maybe not great, but certainly far from bad. For an omega who’d just been through a prolonged stint at Stonecrest Rehabilitation Center, Lucian knew he couldn’t complain. He had a roof over his head, food in the fridge, and enough disposable income to buy frivolous things—like knotting dildos. But good sometimes wasn’t enough.

  Lucian rolled over and planted his feet on the floor. His body begged him to stay in bed, and his knees were like jelly when he rose, but he had too much to do to laze around all day. The sheets needed to be washed, for one, but for two, he needed to get back to job hunting. The part-time gig he worked at the florist’s shop was low-pressure, but it would never get him to where he wanted to be in life.

  There were other jobs out there that an omega with limited skill sets could capitalize upon. The problem would be finding them. So far the job placement agency hadn’t given him any leads, and job hunting during his time off was slow-going at best. Lucian didn’t let it discourage him. He was capable, and he was determined to see himself succeed.

  Lucian stripped the bedsheets. He stuffed them into a laundry bag, then dressed. Before long he was out the front door and navigating the labyrinthine basement of his apartment complex, destined for the laundry room.

  His clothes would make it on the second trip.

  The laundry room was empty when he entered. Artificial floral scents drowned out the notes of the other omega tenants, but Lucian’s nose still picked up the faint trace of someone’s heat. He frowned and stuffed his bedding into one of the washers, then loaded coins into the slots and let the machine run. No matter how much therapy he received, the scent of heat still made him uncomfortable. He didn’t think that would ever change.

  Once his laundry was started, Lucian hurried back to his apartment. There wasn’t any reason to be afraid—the subsidized housing he lived in was a designated omega-only zone, and he knew alphas weren’t permitted anywhere on the premises—but fear didn’t heed reason. All Lucian could do was breathe in deep and remember the calming techniques that Counselor Ellis had taught him during his time at Stonecrest.

  One. Two. Three. Hold it.

  Three. Two. One. Let it go.

  Heat wasn’t a big deal. Heat was a normal part of an omega’s life. Now that Lucian was liberated from The White Lotus, he didn’t have to worry about what would happen if his heat hit early, or if a john decided that he was the one they wanted to bring to bed when he lost his mind to lust. He was safe now. He was free. In time, the scars would heal.

  For now, all he had to do was keep moving forward.

  A familiar sound pulled Lucian out of his head. Crisp bell tones, light and cheerful, cut through the silence of his apartment.

  His phone was ringing.

  “Shit,” Lucian murmured. He pushed off the door and hurried back to his bedroom. It didn’t take long—the apartment wasn’t all that big. “Don’t hang up, don’t hang up…”

  Lucian fished the phone from his bedside table and answered. “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Lucian Bracknell?” The voice on the other end was female. It dipped low, sweet like honey, but refined like whiskey. Lucian didn’t recognize it.

  “This is Lucian,” Lucian replied, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. He’d spent the last few weeks applying for jobs, but there was very little demand for an omega whose only accomplishments were a recently obtained GED and four years of illegal prostitution.

  “Hi, Lucian,” the woman said. “This is Clarissa Holt. I’m calling to follow up about a job application that was forwarded to us from a placement agency.”

  “It’s nice to hear from you, Ms. Holt,” Lucian said, praying to god he didn’t mess this up. He felt Counselor Ellis peering over his shoulder in spirit, coaching him on.

  Be approachable. Be humble. Be sure of yourself, but don’t come across as pushy.

  “It’s nice to hear from you as well.” Her voice brightened. “I was wondering if you’d already found employment.”

  “No. No, I haven’t.” Lucian grinned. He sat on the side of his stripped bed and ran a hand down his thigh. “If you’re looking for someone, I’d be happy to interview with you. What kind of position are you looking to fill?”

  “We have a bartending position available for the correct candidate, thirty-five hours a week, benefits after six months. If you’re interested, I’d be thrilled to have you in for an interview.”

  “I’m interested.”

&nb
sp; “I have availability tomorrow at three. Does that work for you?”

  “Definitely!” Lucian bit down on his bottom lip, but his grin broke through regardless. “Will you be able to send the details to the email I have listed on my resume? I need to make sure I know where to show up.”

  “I’m sending it as we speak.” From the other end of the conversation, Lucian heard the clack of a keyboard. “And… sent. In case the email doesn’t arrive, you can call me back at the following number. Do you have a pen and paper?”

  Lucian bolted from the bedroom into the kitchen. On the fridge was a magnetized grocery list. He snagged a pen from the top of the fridge and pulled the cap open with his teeth.

  “Got it. Ready,” Lucian said, speaking around the cap.

  Clarissa recited a string of numbers, and when she was done, Lucian had a phone number listed beneath milk and potatoes.

  “If you have any questions between now and then, feel free to give that number a call and ask for me.”

  “I will.” Lucian capped the pen and set it back on top of the fridge. On the inside he was close to bursting with happiness, but he kept his excitement from his voice. “Thank you.”

  “I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Bracknell.”

  “Likewise.”

  The call ended. Lucian looked down at his phone, the grin he’d once bit back emerging in full. It lifted his cheeks until they ached.

  Thirty-five hours a week, tips, and a chance to make good money without an academic background.

  It felt too good to be true.

  The excitement he’d suppressed bubbled up and burst from his lips as laughter. Lucian rubbed his mouth to try to hold it back, the thick, coarse hairs of his stubble scraping against his fingers. Stonecrest had set him up to work at the florist, but this job? It would be the first job he’d land through his own efforts. There was something magical about that. At twenty-one years old, Lucian was starting to take control of his own life. Independence really was possible—Stonecrest hadn’t blown smoke up his ass.

  He’d make it work. He knew he would.

  On his way back to the bedroom to pack the rest of his laundry, Lucian checked to see if the email Clarissa sent had arrived. It had. He opened it and scrolled through the enclosed info, feeling giddy. All of it was straightforward. An address, a phone number, and a business name. It was enough to get him to the interview. The rest would be up to him.

  Lucian tucked the phone away and set to gathering the rest of his laundry. On his way to the front door, he tossed his dildo in the bathroom sink. Tonight would be for celebration, and a little silicone company was in order.

  The Shepherd would be his first official step toward freedom, and damn, did it feel good.

  2

  Marcus

  It wasn’t the shrill, frantic buzzing of Marcus’ alarm that woke him, but the sound bite of a rock song he associated with one man, and one man alone. Eyes still closed, face down amongst the pillows, Marcus groped for the phone on his bedside table. His thumb jabbed the answer button on the screen by muscle memory alone.

  “What’s so important that you have to call me before noon, Crawford?”

  “I’m getting married.”

  Marcus rolled over. He made an attempt to open his eyes, but the light streaming in through the crack in his curtains was too much to tolerate. “What?”

  “I’m getting married,” Crawford repeated. There was refined glee in Crawford’s voice that Marcus knew wasn’t fabricated. He was telling the truth. “Owen is wearing my ring.”

  “Shit.” Marcus laid a hand over his eyes to block out most of the light, then opened them again. “When?”

  “After the twins are born, maybe six months later. We’ll make the call whenever they’re letting us sleep through the night with some regularity. The last thing I want is to fall asleep at the altar.”

  “I can imagine.” Marcus parted his fingers, letting light stream through his shield of darkness. His eyes gradually adjusted to the light of day. “I guess you two won’t be honeymooning with newborns.”

  “I’ve promised him a honeymoon when the children are older,” Crawford said. His enthusiasm, although muted, was contagious. Marcus didn’t do mornings, but he couldn’t be upset when Crawford sounded like he did. “Probably when they’re about two. I don’t imagine Owen will want to part from them for long when they’re still young. He’s already started to nest.”

  Marcus snorted a laugh. His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. Mornings were the worst. “Nest?”

  “He’s getting ready for the babies,” Crawford said, as if Marcus should already know. “Cleaning the condo, reorganizing trivial things, and generally doing far more than the doctors would be happy to know he’s doing.”

  “Guess you can fire your housekeeper then, huh?”

  Crawford was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again, there was a sharp, steely quality to his voice that let Marcus know he was toeing the line. “If we didn’t have a housekeeper, I’d be more worried than I am about Owen’s condition. He doesn’t need to do more than he’s already doing. He only just agreed to go on paternity leave from Stonecrest. I will not have him work any more than he already is.”

  “Crawford,” Marcus said flatly. “Calm down. I’m kidding. I know you’ve been all Papa Bear lately, but take it down a notch or two. You know me.”

  “You have my apologies.”

  “You’re fine.” Marcus yawned and stretched. “Although next time you have huge, life-changing news, maybe organize yourself to make sure that news happens at a decent hour.”

  “It’s ten in the morning.”

  “When is the last time that I’ve been awake at ten in the morning on a Saturday?” Marcus rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “But I’ll forgive you. You’ve been away from the scene for a while. You’ve probably forgotten.”

  Ten in the morning meant time for coffee. Marcus climbed out of bed and padded, barefoot, to the kitchen. He kept his phone against his ear.

  “Are you going to keep derailing the conversation, or can I get on with what I wanted to ask you?”

  “There’s more news than your upcoming nuptials?” Marcus asked. He replaced the filter of his percolator while he ground some fresh coffee beans. “How are you going to top news like that?”

  “Is that a pun?”

  “Maybe.” Marcus’ lips twitched. “But pun or not, tell me. I’m dying to know.”

  “I’d like you to be my best man.”

  Marcus’ hand stopped on the way to the coffee grounds. He dropped it, his fingers latching onto the edge of the marble countertop.

  “Best man?” Marcus asked in disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Marcus.” Crawford’s tone left no room for argument. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t mean it. The words I speak, I speak with certainty. Will you be my best man?”

  Marcus rubbed at his eyes again, this time not to clear away the sleep, but to try to do away with some of the shock. He’d known Crawford for close to seven years—ever since Crawford had first stepped foot into Marcus’ favorite haunt, The Shepherd, a members-only kink club. He’d watched as Crawford discovered himself, growing into the strong, willful man he was today. To think they’d come so far was jarring.

  “I’d be honored.”

  “Then I look forward to seeing you there,” Crawford said. “We’ll be issuing the official invitations after the twins are born, when we have a better grasp on just how much trouble we’re in for.”

  Marcus crowed a laugh and shook his head. He released the edge of the counter to grab the coffee grinder and dumped the ground coffee into the percolator. “You never do anything half-assed, do you, Crawford? Your subs, your relationships, and now fatherhood.”

  “Doing it right is more important than doing it quickly.”

  “I guess.” Marcus selected a coffee mug from the cabinet. Coffee dripped into the empty pot, tantalizing him. “But
I don’t think you’ll be singing the same tune after the twins arrive.”

  “One day you’re going to understand.”

  “Nah. Not me.” Marcus dug through the fridge and came out with the container of fruit salad he’d prepared the night before. “I’ve been in the game longer than you have. I’ve seen more faces than you ever will. I’ve never met a man who’s made me want to change. If I can play for as long as I have without any emotional connection, I don’t have high hopes that I’ll wake up tomorrow to find the perfect man has crawled into bed beside me.”

  Marcus nudged the fridge closed with his hip. He brought the fruit salad to the counter, took off the cling wrap sealing the top, then poked a few pieces of melon with a fork to make sure they were still crisp.

  “It will happen,” Crawford promised. “How long did I wait? Like I said, doing it right is more important than doing it quickly. One day someone is going to change your life, and then I’ll be the one in your shoes, getting a call at ten on a Saturday while you gush about your undying love.”

  Marcus laughed again. “Owen really has done a number on you, hasn’t he?”

  “Give it time.”

  “I’ve given it years now. I’m not holding my breath.”

  There was enough coffee that Marcus could fill his mug, so he took the pot from the burner. The steady drip from the percolator hissed as it met the exposed element, but before much more could spill, Marcus replaced the pot. His mug was full.