40. - The Taste Of Leftovers

He bent Sebastian forward over the shelf, one hand braced against his hip, the other roaming freely beneath his clothes.

Sebastian’s scent flooded the space, sweet and trembling, ripe with need.

Ezra’s mouth followed the line of his spine. He groaned at the sight—the bared back, the trembling legs, the soft Omega smell that clung to Sebastian’s skin like a secret.

Belts fumbled.

Zippers. Jeans shoved down to thighs.

Ezra exhaled, shaky, hand dragging down Sebastian’s back to grip the base of his spine. “Fuck, Omega…”

Sebastian moaned at the name. His fingers curled around the edge of the shelf, the wood grounding him while his mind spun.

Ezra entered him in one smooth, devastating push—groaning deep, jaw clenched, hands tight on Sebastian’s hips like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Sebastian gasped, the sound strangled against the shelf. His knees trembled, back arched instinctively to take more. His scent poured out in waves—needy, pliant, begging.

Ezra moved fast, rhythm brutal but sure, claiming without words. Every thrust dragged desperate little sounds from Sebastian’s throat. His fingers scrabbled at the shelf, at Ezra’s thigh, grounding himself in touch and scent and the unbearable closeness.

And still—amid the frenzy—Ezra kissed him.

Kissed between his shoulder blades.

Whispered “Good Omega” in that low, reverent tone.

Ran his hand down Sebastian’s back like he was praying.

Sebastian’s voice broke when Ezra bit down on the junction of neck and shoulder, marking gently. Not enough to break skin—but enough to linger. “Ez,” he gasped, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted.

They came in silence, shaking.

It wasn’t just sex. It was instinct. Chemical. Real.

After, Ezra stayed pressed to his back, breath slowing against Sebastian’s skin. His fingers found Sebastian’s and laced them briefly.

“You okay?” he murmured.

Sebastian nodded, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Better than.”

Ezra dressed him gently, palms warm against his hips.

Then he smirked and tapped Sebastian’s ass. “We better bake something award-winning after that, Daddy.”

Sebastian snorted, fixing his curls in the shiny reflection of a wine bottle. “Before your twins murder us both.”

They climbed the stairs slower than they came down, bodies aching, clothes rumpled, the air still thick with scent and something almost like love.

The door creaked as they stepped into the hallway, flushed and breathless. Sebastian’s curls were a little messier than before, and Ezra’s scent—sandalwood and spice, sharp from arousal and dominance still clung to the space between them.

His knuckles skimmed Sebastian’s back as if he couldn't help himself, fingers twitching like they missed the feel of skin.

Sebastian shivered, still faintly high from the cellar—his own lavender scent subtly intensified, betraying the Omega haze he hadn’t quite shaken off. Every nerve felt sensitized, his waist tingling where Ezra had gripped it.

They rounded the corner into the kitchen.

Clara was there.

She stood stiffly at the counter, arms folded over a store-bought cake tin. Her lips were arranged in something halfway between a smile and a frown.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, not polished. Curated mess, the kind meant to evoke softness. But her scent was faint and sharp—something flowery, synthetic, already wilting.

“I didn’t know where you two had gone,” she said. Her voice was low. Careful. Her eyes moved between them, catching the flush in Sebastian’s cheeks, the edge in Ezra’s jaw. “I waited.”

Sebastian froze, just a fraction. Ezra’s hand fell away instantly, his body tightening with practiced reflex—Alpha instincts flicking between defense and control.

Clara’s gaze lingered on Ezra. “I bought cake for the pups,” she added, tapping the tin with a soft clink. “I thought maybe we could all... sit down. Talk.”

Sebastian arched a brow. “Talk.”

Clara exhaled slowly, deliberately. Like she was setting a stage. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what I said. I didn’t mean to blow up like that, I just—” Her eyes dropped. “This isn’t how I imagined things would go.”

Ezra didn’t answer. His silence was weighty. Contained. His scent shifted subtly, sharp with suspicion.

Clara’s voice softened. “I owe you both an apology. You’ve done everything for those kids. For this house. I guess I felt like I didn’t belong anymore.”

She looked at Sebastian now, edging closer. “Especially with you. I know I hurt you.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, but his chin lifted slightly, lavender curling sharper in the air. “You called me a slut.”

Clara blinked, taken aback. “I said things I didn’t mean. I was emotional.”

Ezra cut in like steel through velvet. “You said exactly what you meant.”

Her eyes darted to him, faltering. “Ezra, I—”

“I’m not interested in a performance, Clara,” he said coolly. His arms folded across his broad chest, frame practically vibrating with possessive energy. “If you’ve got something real to say, say it. Otherwise, leave Seb alone.”

Sebastian’s breath caught—his name, shortened and low, from Ezra’s mouth. Not him. Seb. His Omega heart preened, even while his spine stayed stiff.

Clara bit her lip, nodding. “Right. Okay.” She turned back to the cake, opening the tin. “It’s vanilla sponge. The twins like vanilla, right?”

Sebastian stepped forward just enough to take the tin from her. His touch was firm, not unkind—but final. “I’m already baking with them. For the bake sale.”

Clara’s smile faltered, eyes scanning for some crack in the distance between them. “Right.”

Ezra said nothing, just brushed past her, scent rolling heavier now—unbothered, unbending. He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs like it was any other night, but Sebastian could feel him behind him. Closer than necessary. The weight of his presence thick in the room.

Clara lingered another moment. Then left.

She didn’t speak again.

Only her fading perfume and the faint sugary tang of vanilla remained—and neither scent made the room feel any sweeter.

The silence lasted barely five seconds.

Then the thunder of feet roared down the hall, followed by twin war cries.

Caleb and Camden burst in, chocolate-smeared and shirtless under matching dishtowel capes, their energy as wild as their scent—a tangled mix of young Alpha and lavender still clinging from Sebastian.

“Daddy!” Caleb called, launching into Sebastian’s legs. “We’re ready to bake! Where’s the sprinkles?!”

“We need chocolate chips too!” Camden yelled, brandishing a spoon like a sword.

Sebastian caught it before it turned into a flour massacre. “Whoa—tornadoes, hands first. Sink. Now. And didn’t you just go to bed like ten minutes ago?”

“No! We went like since before ten minutes!” Caleb cried. Sebastian glanced at the time.

They’d been in the cellar over thirty minutes.

He flicked Ezra a look.

Quick, indeed.

The boys tore off to the sink, knocking over a stool in the process.

Ezra snorted quietly, leaning back against the fridge, arms folded again. His gaze stayed locked on Sebastian—smoldering, half-lidded, unreadable. But there. There like a touch, like a pull.

Caleb returned dripping wet, Camden right behind him, sleeves rolled high. “I’m the Flour Master today!”

“No, I was Flour Master last time!” Caleb snapped. “You whisk.”

Sebastian crouched low. “Camden whisks. Caleb, sugar duty. Teamwork, okay?”

“Okay!” they chirped in unison.

Sebastian ruffled their hair—flour dusting his fingers. The scent of his Omega warmth curled around them like something sacred. Domestic. Claimed.

He turned, and everything in the kitchen seemed to tilt toward him.

“Ezra,” he said, soft, not looking. “Can you grab the cocoa powder?”

Ezra moved like a tide, brushing close. His arm slid past Sebastian’s—shoulder to waist—and lingered just a second too long. Fingers ghosted across his hip in a touch that was almost accidental.

Almost.

Sebastian’s breath caught, throat tightening. The scent of Ezra’s heat stirred again—low and wanting.

But just then:

“Daddy!”

Mia’s voice floated in from the hall.

She stepped into the kitchen with a hoodie tied around her waist. Beneath it, a denim skirt. Fitted. Short.

Ezra snapped upright like he’d been struck. “Where are you going dressed like that?”

Mia blinked. “Nowhere. I was doing laundry.”

Sebastian, completely unbothered, kissed her temple. “You look cute. Just wear tights if you go out.”

Ezra muttered something sharp and turned back to the eggs.

Mia smirked. “Relax, Dad. I’m not leaving the yard.”

“Don’t care,” Ezra grunted. “That skirt stays in-house.”

Sebastian bit back a grin, already moving. “She’s fine, Ez. Let her be cute.”

Mia leaned over the counter. “Seb, can you make those apple crumble pies tomorrow? Please?”

“Of course, baby,” Sebastian said immediately. “How many?”

“Six?”

“I’ll make eight. You know teenage boys.”

Mia beamed. “You’re the best.”

“Tell me that when I’m on my tenth apple.”

He was already pulling out the pie dish.

“Now scoot—help or stay out of the frosting zone.”

Mia scooped a spoonful of batter instead. “Quality control.”

“Flour criminal,” Sebastian shot back, flicking some at her. She squealed and dodged.

Caleb was pouring sprinkles with the focus of a scientist. Camden was whisking like a man possessed.

Ezra leaned back again, gaze never straying far. He watched it all—the bustle, the chaos. The way Sebastian moved from child to child like gravity, like his scent anchored them all.

The twins jostled, Mia snuck another bite, and Sebastian gently steadied Caleb’s hand just as he nearly tipped the sugar bowl.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, low and instinctive.

Ezra didn’t say a word. But his eyes stayed hot on Sebastian.

The store-bought cake sat forgotten on the counter.

No one touched it.