Unnatural - Alessandra Hazard Page 0,32

the ramifications of what they’d just done. “Aren’t you going to be in trouble with your father for this?”

Any trace of mirth disappeared from Haydn’s face. He shrugged. “Well, it would hardly be the first time I’ve disappointed him.”

Royce frowned as they walked toward their helicopter. “What do you mean?”

The smile Haydn gave him was… a little off. A little fragile. “I’ve always had to live up to my brother’s memory. He died before I was even born. According to my father, he was practically perfect. A perfect general. A perfect son. A perfect alpha. For my father, I have never been those things, so this will be just a confirmation of what he’s always thought.”

Royce opened the helicopter’s door for Haydn. There were flashes of cameras—the paparazzi had finally caught up with them. He put a neutral smile on his face and followed Haydn into the helicopter.

As they took off, he studied the man beside him. Haydn looked a little pale, his gaze faraway. His hand was gripping his knee so hard his knuckles stood out white.

“You still want his approval,” Royce said.

Haydn’s lips did something weird, a cross between a smile and a grimace. “I try not to—I’m a grown man—but… he’s still my father, Royce.”

Royce nodded and laid his hand over Haydn’s.

“There’s no one here to see us,” Haydn said, shooting him a strange look, but he didn’t extract his hand, some color returning to his face.

“You’re my friend,” Royce said.

Haydn smiled a little. “Am I?” he said. “Is that what we are? Friends?”

Royce smiled back. “That seems like a trick question.”

Laughing softly, Haydn put his head on Royce’s shoulder, looking at their hands for a moment before entwining their fingers. “You are my friend,” he murmured. “The strangest friend I’ve ever had. But you know what? I wasn’t lying at the press conference. I’m so glad it’s you.”

Royce’s chest felt funny. He stared at the partition that separated them from their pilot before saying hoarsely, “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

Haydn’s scent sweetened again. In fact, he smelled so good that Royce found himself taking a lungful of his scent. It still wasn’t enough.

He wanted more.

He hesitated, unsettled by the force of that desire, but what the hell, they were past the point of tiptoeing around the issue. “I want to scent-mark you.”

A chuckle was Haydn’s only response as he moved back against the cushions and pulled Royce’s face down to his throat. Royce buried his nose in it with a sigh of contentment.

Haydn made a surprised noise. “You’re not scent-marking me,” he said faintly.

“Of course I am.”

“Well, yes,” Haydn said, still sounding stunned. “But you’re scenting me too.”

Royce went still.

He wanted to deny it, but Haydn was right: he really was scenting him. Smelling him. Inhaling his scent greedily instead of just marking Haydn with his own scent. There was a difference, and it wasn’t a subtle one.

“I thought I smelled gross to you,” Haydn said, a trace of amusement entering his voice.

“I must have gotten used to your stink.”

Haydn smacked him on the head playfully, and just as playfully, Royce bit him on the neck. But then it wasn’t enough. He had to nip and suck all over Haydn’s throat, probably leaving bruises, but he couldn’t seem to stop. There was something intoxicating about it, about the lack of space between them, their strong scents mixing and creating a strange little world in which only they existed. Haydn’s breathing was irregular now, his fingers threading through Royce’s hair, silently encouraging him.

“Stop giving me hickeys,” Haydn muttered, but he wasn’t exactly pushing him away.

“Not a hickey,” Royce said, giving him another one.

Haydn laughed. “Right.”

Royce shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on his half-hard cock, to no avail. It probably said something that he wasn’t even surprised anymore by his inappropriate arousal. After his rut, his body seemed to associate Haydn’s closeness with sex, pleasure, and his come on Haydn’s skin, no matter how inappropriate it was.

Royce sighed into his neck. “This is really fucking with my head, Haydn.”

There was a long silence, Haydn’s fingers raking over his scalp in a lazy, absentminded manner. It certainly wasn’t helping the situation in his pants.

“Same,” Haydn said. “This is not—this is not normal, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Royce said, catching the skin of his pale throat with his teeth and sucking. Haydn made a sharp sound, his scent becoming sweeter. Royce inhaled greedily, feeling like an addict inhaling his favorite drug. “This is fucked-up.”

“Uh huh.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Yeah.”

“Part of me still can’t