Unnatural - Alessandra Hazard Page 0,41

assessing and curious. “Can you imagine letting him fuck you? That’s pretty much the ultimate test.”

Haydn swallowed and didn’t answer.

By the time he left Devlin and returned to his room, Haydn was still thinking about his question—the images Devlin had put into his head.

Can you imagine letting him fuck you?

He imagined himself on his hands and knees, presenting his ass to Royce like an omega, and something in his lower stomach clenched with a mix of shame and mortification. But as mortifying as the thought was, it wasn’t exactly repulsive. Far from it.

He had no idea what being fucked felt like—he’d always been the one doing the fucking when he had sex with omegas and betas in the past—but the thought of submitting to Royce, letting the other alpha use him in such a way was…

Haydn licked his lips. It should have been disgusting. He was an alpha. Alphas didn’t want such things. Alphas wanted to fuck, not to be fucked.

He shouldn’t want it. Even if he wanted Royce—and at this point it was undeniable—he should fantasize about fucking his husband instead of getting fucked by him. And while the thought of Royce’s tan, muscular body under him was appealing, he kept fixating on what that body would look like over him, on top of him, inside of him. He imagined being stretched on Royce’s knot and Royce’s hot come pumping into him until he was so full of it his stomach was bloated. Something about that thought was so satisfyingly filthy it nearly made Haydn moan.

He glanced down at the tent in his pants and sighed.

He guessed that answered Devlin’s question.

Chapter Eighteen

Haydn spent the next few days alternating between quietly freaking out over the fact that he was besotted with his alpha husband and freaking out over the fact that he had no idea what to do about it. It didn’t help that Royce kept sending him mixed signals. He was still as handsy with Haydn as ever, but he acted as if what had happened in the closet wasn’t a big deal. Nothing had changed about their friendship, and it was driving Haydn crazy. Half of the time he wanted to literally jump onto Royce and tear his clothes off him, while Royce remained infuriatingly unflappable, infuriatingly good-humored, and infuriatingly handsy with him.

There was also the not-insignificant problem of his father. He couldn’t avoid him or Uncle Yurev forever.

He had no idea what to do.

To make things worse, the tensions between the two countries were growing again. While the press conference seemed to have fixed the Kadarians’ doubts about the feasibility of their marriage, it seemed to have also made the Pelugians uneasy that their future king had bared his neck to a Kadarian senator.

“This is ridiculous,” Haydn bit out in frustration.

Anika, Royce’s PR manager, shot him a sympathetic look. “It is,” she said. “The messed-up part is, it would have been totally fine if you were an omega or a beta, but because you’re an alpha, it offends your countrymen that you aren’t…” She trailed off, something like discomfort appearing in her beta scent.

Haydn scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “What? The top dog in my marriage?”

Anika winced, glancing at Royce hesitantly. He was still on the phone and seemed to be only paying them marginal attention.

Haydn tried not to stare at him too much. He was aware that he was only partly successful. His gaze seemed to gravitate back to Royce’s strong fingers tapping on the desk’s surface absentmindedly and to the unbuttoned top button of Royce’s white shirt. Haydn wanted to lick him. And kiss him all over. And suck his dick. And—

Stop that.

Friends. They were just friends. If Royce wanted more, he would have said something by now, right?

“Basically,” Anika said. “I know it’s double standards, but it is what it is.”

Running a hand over his eyes, Haydn sighed. “But what can we actually do to fix my image?”

She gave him a long, intent look. “The question is: do you want to fix it?”

Haydn’s first urge was to laugh and tell her that of course he did. But then he actually thought about it—and about his argument with Devlin. They might have made up, but Devlin hadn’t exactly said that he’d changed his opinion.

Make a choice. You can’t sit on two chairs at once.

He did have to make a choice, didn’t he? He couldn’t build his public image as a submissive enough husband for Royce, and then do a one-eighty and be all over-the-top