It wasn’t like him to be this jittery around Dom, but he’d never had Dom fuck him in the ass, either. A small part of him wanted to do this again. The rest of him said it was a bad idea.
Jesse fumbled with the door, stepping outside. The air was fresher there, and he could think a bit more clearly.
“Sinclair,” Dom said, swearing.
Jesse strode down the driveway. It was a moment before Dom caught up with him, bare feet slapping against concrete. He grabbed Jesse’s arm, then released him just as quickly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to grab you.”
From the corner of his eye, Jesse realized that Dom had pulled on his pants, and nothing else. He hadn’t even buttoned up—he just left his fly zipped shut, his knot a telling bump.
What would that have felt like inside him?
“What?” Jesse snapped, hating that he was curious about Dom’s knot, of all things.
Dom hesitated. Then he lightly grasped Jesse’s elbow and leaned in, pressing his lips to Jesse’s forehead—a soft, warm touch. “Just wanted to say good night. That’s all.”
Jesse froze, his breath snagging in his throat. What was that about?
They’d done so many inappropriate-as-hell things tonight. But the kiss? Why? They were supposed to hate each other.
“I hate you,” Jesse said, but he wasn’t sure about that anymore.
Dom gave a crooked smile. “That’s fine. Still need a cab?”
Jesse turned away so Dom couldn’t see the flush that threatened to creep up his neck. “I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
He shook off Dom’s touch, striding down the sidewalk to a busier road. Whatever this thing was between him and Dom... it wouldn’t last.
But that didn’t explain the weight of Dom’s gaze on him, either, all the way until Jesse stepped out of his sight.
16
The Donut Mystery
It wasn’t until two days later, when Jesse was getting ready for his shift, hoping there’d be another chocolate donut on his locker, that the irony of donut struck him.
He froze, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror.
Donut, Dom had said the other night. Anything else, and it’ll mean ‘Fuck me, Dom.’
Dom had watched him eat donuts for a long while. He always swore when Jesse licked his fingers after.
But had he used donut as a safeword because he’d seen Jesse eat them, or... had he been the one leaving those treats?
His heart pounding, Jesse left for work ten minutes early.
The donuts were always on his locker by the time he arrived—granted, he’d been dawdling in the station’s parking lot, sniffing at that blackwood scent.
Today, he pulled his bike in and parked, and sniffed again. Dom’s scent was stronger—fresher—because he’d only just arrived. Jesse’s heart skipped. He put away his helmet, hurrying into the station. Harris raised his eyebrows. “You’re early today.”
“Morning,” Jesse said. At least Harris didn’t comment on how the latest bar night had gone.
He headed toward the locker room, keeping a ear out for Dom’s voice—there was nothing. But he found a very distinct trail of blackwood on his way.
Maybe this was all just a mistake. Maybe Jesse was wrong.
He paused at the locker room, held his breath, and pushed the door open.
There was someone standing in front of his locker. Someone with gray-streaked hair and broad shoulders, someone who made his stomach flip.
Jesse stepped in, suddenly realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say to Dom. How should he act around his deputy? They’d fucked. Dom had felt him come apart.
What did that make them?
Dom turned, his nostrils flared like he’d smelled Jesse. His hands were up, Jesse noticed. Like he’d been hanging—
There was a small bag on his locker. A donut. On that plastic hook that Jesse couldn’t bear to remove.
Dom cleared his throat, stepping away.
All the times Jesse had bitten into the donuts, hoping to spite Dom with his mystery-giver’s gifts... All the times he’d scowled at Dom, tucking the donut under his arm...
He wanted to travel back into the past, and smack himself over the head. You went and ate Dom’s donuts right in front of him, you idiot! Dom had secretly been laughing at Jesse, hadn’t he?
“It was you,” Jesse blurted, so furious with himself that he didn’t know what to do.
“Maybe.” Dom tucked his hands into his pockets. He almost looked sheepish.
Jesse barreled forward, hot anger pumping through his veins. Better to feel angry, than embarrassed. “Damn you,” he muttered, slamming his fist into Dom’s chest. Where it wouldn’t hurt so much. “You stupid fucker, you’ve been stringing me along—”
“I strung you along?” Dom raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“You—” Jesse bit down his words. He didn’t want to admit that he’d thought maybe someone else at the station liked him. He didn’t want to admit to eating the donuts in front of Dom, hoping it would make Dom jealous.
He’d thought all those things, and now he felt so stupid for thinking them. “Nothing,” he snapped. “Whatever.”
Jesse whirled around, thinking of leaving the locker room so he could scrape together his dignity.
Plastic crinkled. “If you don’t want it, I’ll throw it away,” Dom said.
Jesse froze, abandoning all thought of leaving. He could already taste the chocolate on his tongue, the sweetness of the donut. He could already feel the airy lightness of the treat between his teeth.
As much as he hated that Dom had bought it, he didn’t want it gone.
When he said nothing, Dom stepped toward the trashcan, heavy thuds of his boots on the tiled floor. Jesse turned, horrified.
Instead of dropping the bag into the bin, Dom met his eyes. “If you want it, you’ll have to take it back from me.”
Those words rang in his head. If Jesse went after that donut, it was as good as telling Dom he liked those gifts.
Dom smirked. “Not good enough? Should I toss it in the dumpster outside?”
It was one thing to rescue a donut from the trashcan. But Jesse had just shown up for work, and he couldn’t just step into a dumpster, not without climbing out smelling like trash. He tried to convince himself to walk away. To let Dom do whatever with that donut.
It was just a donut.
But Dom had been buying them for him for a long time.
Dom strode toward the exit—he really was heading for the dumpster. Jesse’s stomach clenched; he lunged, reaching for that little clear bag. Dom swept it high above their heads, out of Jesse’s reach.
He wasn’t so much taller. But Jesse had to step close if he wanted a chance at retrieving it.
Dom met his eyes, his gaze dark. “All you have to do is say ‘donut’, Sinclair,” Dom murmured, his voice raking down Jesse’s spine. “And I’ll stop.”
Heat whispered through Jesse’s veins. His body remembered that night, it remembered submitting to Dom. Letting Dom thrust inside him. And Dom was just casually talking about it here in the locker room, like it hadn’t changed everything between them.
“Fuck you,” Jesse hissed.
He tiptoed and snatched the donut out of Dom’s hand, trying not to feel the way their chests bumped, the way electricity sparked between them. Dom’s eyes gleamed, satisfied.
Jesse stalked over to his locker. He opened it and threw the donut in, and slammed it shut. “I’m gonna give it to someone who actually wants it,” he muttered. “Unlike bastards who throw them away.”
“Suit yourself,” Dom growled, glancing at the locker.
Jesse flipped him off and stalked out, letting the door slam behind him.
Later that day, between calls, Jesse sneaked back into the locker room.
He knew where everyone was. He’d made sure that they were all busy, that he’d finished his duties so no one would come looking for him. He’d made especially sure that Dom was in a meeting
with Gareth and Harris, that they wouldn’t wander off anytime soon.
He washed his hands, dried them off, and retrieved the donut from his locker. It was the same one he always received—a large donut with a glazed chocolate frosting, wrapped neatly in a bag with the Ben’s Buns logo.
It smelled sweet and chocolatey when he pulled it out, squishing between his fingers. Jesse didn’t know how donuts could be so light and airy—they were fluffy rings of heaven, and he needed to eat this one so he’d stop thinking about it all day.
Just in case Dom looked into the trashcan and found the packaging, Jesse balled it up, stuffing it into his pocket. He headed into the furthest shower stall and bit into the donut. The decadent flavor of fried dough burst across his tongue, accompanied by a hint of salt. Then, chocolate and sugar.
He stifled his groan, leaning against the wall. He imagined what it’d be like if Dom made him eat this off his cock. Jesse wouldn’t even complain about it.
Well, maybe a little. He wouldn’t want Dom to think he was easy.
Jesse took one bite, then another. The donut was gone before he realized it. Which sucked, because he could eat another three of the same.
He licked his fingers, then washed his hands. Then he made his way back into the garage where the others were. Jesse was about to see what Alec was doing, when Dom brushed past him. And stopped.
Dom turned, his stare heavy on the side of Jesse’s head. “Sin—Jesse,” he said. “A word.”
Jesse’s heart skipped. Dom had almost called him Sinclair. Jesse was getting to him, wasn’t he? He bit his smile down, following Dom into the kitchen. It wasn’t like Dom knew he’d just eaten the donut. Besides, it was gone now. Dom had no proof of it.
The moment they were alone, Dom rounded on him. His gaze raked down Jesse’s face, pausing on his lips.
And Jesse realized that maybe this wasn’t about work, after all.
Dom grasped Jesse’s chin, tipping his face up. “Did you know?” Dom murmured, so quietly that Jesse had to strain to hear him. “You have chocolate here.”
He brushed a callused fingertip along the side of Jesse’s mouth, a warm, light touch. Then he did the same on the other side, lifting it to show Jesse the smears of chocolate he’d found.
Crap.
“Didn’t think that through so well, did you?” Dom whispered, pressing down on Jesse’s chin to force his lips apart.
Dom leaned in, his nostrils flaring. For a second, Jesse thought Dom might kiss him. But Dom only sniffed at Jesse, his eyes gleaming. Dom had smelled the donut on him, then.
And Dom licked the chocolate off his fingertip, rolling it through his mouth like he was savoring that taste.
Fuck. Heat swelled through Jesse’s face. He wasn’t prepared for that. Not for Dom to smell him, not for Dom to taste the chocolate from his donut.
For the past few hours, he’d imagined Dom secretly judging him whenever he’d eaten Dom’s donuts. He’d thought maybe Dom had been playing a trick on him.
But this... Dom looked like he wanted to devour Jesse. That wasn’t the reaction of someone playing a trick.
Why the hell had Dom bought him donuts, keeping his identity a secret the whole time?
“There’s a bar night next week,” Dom murmured. “Will you be there?”
Jesse’s stomach flipped about sixty times before he found his voice. “No.”
“Yeah?” Dom glanced down. “Your ass still hurt?”
Jesse’s face scorched so hot, it felt like his head might explode. “No.” Maybe just a little. He’d definitely felt it yesterday.
“You’re not so good at lying, you know.” Dom rubbed his thumb over Jesse’s lower lip, where his bite had scabbed up. Thankfully, their team hadn’t said a word about the matching mark on Dom’s mouth. “It’ll heal by next week.”
And he didn’t mean Jesse’s lip. The invitation sent more heat thumping through Jesse’s veins.
“I’m not an omega,” Jesse blurted before he could stop himself. “So it’ll be nice if you could stop pretending I’m one.”
Then he wished he hadn’t said it—Dom didn’t need to know what Jesse was so torn up about.
A shadow flickered through Dom’s expression. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then why are you being so nice?” Jesse hissed. “Why the fuck are you so damn confusing?”
This time, Dom looked more guarded. “I’m just treating you the way I think you should be treated.”
“Like an omega?”
“No.” Dom’s gaze darkened. “Like someone I want in my bed.”
Holy fuck. Jesse’s ears rang. He hadn’t been expecting that. His stomach flipped. But why would Dom give him donuts in secret, then?
Before Jesse could ask, someone stepped into the kitchen.
He jerked away from Dom, his skin too tight. He wasn’t ready for anyone to discover this. When Jesse turned, Nate was watching them with narrowed eyes. “You went to the doctor, right?”
Dom’s stare burned into the side of Jesse’s head. “Doctor?”
Crap. Jesse wanted to groan. Nate didn’t have to say that in front of Dom. Except Nate just looked pointedly at him, as though he was saying, You didn’t tell Dom?
“I feel fine,” Jesse grumbled. “There’s no need to go.”
But Nate only appeared more suspicious than ever. Jesse’s arms prickled; he tried not to touch the stitches.
“You’re sick?” Dom asked, narrowing his eyes, too.
“No, I’m fine.” Jesse glared.
Dom glanced at Nate for answers, but Nate only nodded back at Jesse. “His story, not mine.”
Gods, Jesse wasn’t about to tell Dom anything else about the Facility. Bad enough that he’d gone and blurted all that crap last year. Bad enough that he’d already bottomed once for Dom.
Dom reached out for him; Jesse shrugged off his grasp. “I’m going to do some actual work around here,” Jesse muttered. “Instead of standing around gossiping.”
With that, he left the kitchen, determined to avoid the rest of Dom’s questions.
17
The Mysterious Morning Sickness
Over the next few weeks, Dom’s donuts continued to disappear off Sinclair’s locker. On the fifth week, though, it stayed there the whole day.
Dom stepped into the kitchen close to dinnertime, following the scent of beef stew and mashed potatoes. Gareth was cooking—Dom had come to recognize those particular scents over the decades. He could already taste the garlic and cheese in the potatoes, the tomato and rosemary in the stew.
“It’s ready, right?” Dom asked, glancing around at the assembled team.
“In a minute,” Gareth said, stirring the pots at the stove.
“But the alarm might go off in a minute,” Alec quipped.
York elbowed him. “Don’t jinx it!”
Dom knew he was fortunate that everyone on the team had at least one dish they were proficient at cooking. He’d heard stories from other firehouses—meals he was thankful he didn’t have to experience.
“There, it’s ready,” Gareth said. “Have at it.”
A cheer rose amongst the team. Everyone made to grab their plates—that was, everyone but Sinclair. Sinclair didn’t look eager about the food at all. That wasn’t like him.
When most of the guys had helped themselves, Dom piled some food onto his plate, taking a seat at the table. Sinclair was the last to join them—there wasn’t much on his plate at all. Dom knew he’d left much more in the pots than just a few spoonfuls of mashed potato.
“I didn’t poison the food, Jesse,” Gareth said dryly.
Sinclair shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t have lunch,” York said.
Dom had been late to lunch—he’d been on a call. So this was news.
Sinclair winced and dug halfheartedly into the potatoes. “I had some food earlier.”
No, he hadn’t. The donut was still on his locker. Was he sick?
The t
eam ate quickly, each of them ever aware that a call could interrupt their meal. Even then, Sinclair was the last to finish.
Dom kept an eye on him after that, but Sinclair seemed to attend his calls perfectly well.
Three days later, on their next shift, Dom overheard retching in the locker room. The toilet flushed. Sinclair stepped out, heading over to the sinks to rinse his mouth.
Uneasy, Dom went over to him. “If you’re not feeling well, you should’ve said something. Take the rest of the day off.”
Sinclair glowered. “I’m fine.”
“You ate that donut yet?”
The man looked away, but something about his demeanor told Dom he hadn’t.
“Lost your taste for the chocolate ones?” Dom asked. That was fine—he could get Sinclair something else.
Sinclair flipped him off. “I don’t even like those donuts.”
That was more his style. So maybe he’d just lost his appetite. Dom shrugged, turning away. “Sure. But tell me if you need to leave early.”
Not that he should care so much whether Sinclair was present. Or whether Sinclair liked his donuts.
There was no answer, but Dom knew Sinclair had heard it. That was good enough.
On their next shift, shadows had begun to appear under Sinclair’s eyes. He still wasn’t eating enough at mealtimes, either. It was all Dom could do not to yell at him across the table.
After dinner, Dom pulled him aside, trying not to growl. “Have you seen a doctor?”
Sinclair bristled. “I’m fine, Dom.”
“Yeah? Then tell me how eating three spoonfuls of peas is ‘fine’.”
“Why the hell are you watching what I eat?” Pink fanned across Sinclair’s cheeks. On any other day, it would’ve looked good on him. Right now, it just scraped the wrong way against Dom’s instincts.
“Everyone at the table was watching you eat,” Dom muttered. “You think no one noticed?”
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