Heath licked his lips and adjusted his cock.
The offer for breeding wasn’t on the table yet. But given the write-up about Nathan’s son—intelligent, ambitious, with the goal to be an art history professor—the breeding would be offered up soon. Heath knew how much it cost to pay the government fee for an omega to be named a professor. He’d paid it himself once upon a time, though he’d only paid the lower cost of an alpha certification. Omegas were charged much more.
That had been a long time ago, and the price had only gone up. After giving up his professorial title to take his inherited place in the peerage, Heath had retired to his house in the city to read books, entertain other peers, manage his familial estates, handle his useless brother and nephew, fuck Nathan, and drink. After Nathan’s death, he’d added more of the other five to make up for his loss.
Heath cleared his throat and glanced down at the highest bid still held by his friend Felix. The number was so small for such a beautiful man it made him see red. Heath felt Nathan himself was slighted by his son’s low bids, and that played a role, no doubt, in his sudden decision to type in a number of his own—a big number, the kind of number to give other bidders pause—and then hit enter.
Certainty surged through him. He could do this, handle the heat of Nathan’s son and, with any luck, walk out of it with a child that was at least partially made up of the man he’d adored against all reason. Oh, Nathan…
Brilliant, charming, sadistic Nathan. How he’d loved the demon and the man, both.
He wouldn’t make that same mistake with Adrien, though. He’d keep it clean. Unemotional. A transaction and nothing more. He’d promised himself after everything he’d endured that no omega would hold sway over him again. Not the way Nathan had. Losing him had hurt too much, wounded Heath too deeply.
Besides, no omega could ever hold a candle to Nathan, his beauty or his intellect, and definitely never his skill in the bedroom. There would be no risk to his heart.
Heath squeezed his cock and gazed again at the photo of the boy’s asshole. It was a lovely swirl nestled between two sweet cheeks. Colored a gentle pinkish-brown, a bit darker than Nathan’s had been, it was hairless and clearly untouched.
He stood, unbuckled his pants, and scrolled the page so he could see all four pictures of the boy at once. He tugged his thick cock free and groaned as he palmed it, squeezing as he massaged the length. Narrowing his eyes to slits, he stared at the screen and remembered Nathan in ecstasy. He jerked himself off fast and hard, hips pumping, as he gazed at his dead lover’s son and imagined him as Nathan—on his knees, ass up, begging to be filled with babies and Heath’s knot.
Grunting, he came, pulse after pulse of pleasure spurting out across the screen over the images of Adrien’s face, body, ass, and hole. Shaken by the sharpness of his lust, Heath collapsed in his desk chair and glared at the screen as his bid was downgraded and the total number ticked up.
Wiping the screen clean, he leaned forward, cock still hard and sticking out from his open pants. Typing in a new set of numbers, he leaned back in satisfaction. Let someone try to take this boy from him. Just let them.
Taking hold of his cock again, he refreshed the page, making sure his bid stayed the highest. He’d have Nathan’s grown son beneath him, and he’d breed the last remaining piece of the lover he’d lost, if it took ransoming his entire estate to do it.
ADRIEN GAPED AT the latest number associated with his auction. He couldn’t believe the astronomical amounts that were still ever-so-slowly creeping higher. He’d be able to fund the rest of his studies easily, and even have more than enough to pay for the fee to be named a professor. There’d been a big jump on the third day of the auction for no reason he could discern, but once he’d allowed Ron to add breeding to his listing, the bids had gone gangbusters. He’d never imagined that breeding would be so valuable.
He just wished the idea of it didn’t scare him so much.
Adrien knew very little about pregnancy outside of the elementary information he’d gleaned during his only human biology class at the beginning of his university career. It had been a class for omegas only.
Segregated human biology classes were the norm for all but the most liberal of universities—curriculum divided between alphas, omegas, and betas, with extra information for alphas or betas on the medical school track.
It was considered a well-worn truth that omegas were better off knowing
as little as possible about the experiences they would face, or else they might resist their heats. Alphas were to assume responsibility for guiding omegas through the trials and tribulations of their biology, and their classes were rumored to be more thorough. Most omegas learned about the joys and terrors of their biology from older omegas in their lives, but Adrien knew few of those, and none he was close enough with to ask questions regarding heat, pregnancy, and birth. It struck him as absurd that omegas were kept so in the dark and that the omega’s physical, emotional, and spiritual state during the various stages of heat, pregnancy, and birth were more thoroughly covered in the classes for alphas.
He’d had so many questions during that human biology course. But he was new on campus, and lonely. He hadn’t wanted to rock the boat or let anyone know how out of place he felt being at university after all the years of his father’s religious teachings, so he’d kept most of his questions to himself.
Besides, at the time, his first season had seemed forever and a day away.
He’d filled the time since that long ago class with deep studies into artistic techniques, fabric skills, and the science of materials, allowing himself to almost forget how little he knew about the ins and outs of human reproduction. But now the reality of his ignorance had all come down upon him at once.
What Adrien wouldn’t do now to sit in on just one of those alpha reproduction classes to better understand what he should expect to endure?
A knock came at his dorm room door. After quickly closing the auction tab, Adrien slid out of his chair and peered through the peephole to see who was waiting outside. He groaned when he recognized Lance’s dark skin and fuzzy black hair. Dammit, he supposed there was no avoiding it any longer.
He opened the door and forced a smile. “Hey, Lance. How can I help you?”
Lance lifted a brow and pushed his way past Adrien into his dorm room.
“Why have you been hiding in here for the last week? You passed your contribution to Professor Urgil’s new article off to me, and you didn’t even come sit in on the interview of the Hontu artist he brought in. You’ve been waiting to hear what that guy had to say all year!”
Adrien sat down on his mattress and motioned for Lance to take a seat in the chair by his desk. He’d completely forgotten about the interview with the Hontu artist. He’d been planning his questions for weeks: What does the blue
dye made from Hontutua berries mean to your tribe? Is there a symbolism in its use? And other curiosities he’d hoped to satisfy in person since the Hontu were notoriously superstitious about written communications. Adrien cursed softly under his breath. How had he let that get past him? Shame. That’s how.