Chapter One

Was it possible for a hospital ward to smell like money?

Well, this one did.

It didn’t reek of antiseptics, nor was it painted the usual drab white.

Honestly, this looked more like a hotel penthouse, spritzed lightly with the kind of subtle-smelling cologne you couldn’t pick up at any store but was made by some old man in a forgotten part of France who only took clients by invitation.

And yes, that was the kind of place this hospital was, too. It was extremely private that a one-hour consultation with a doctor could take months to be approved.

This room, in particular, was the most expensive private ward on the top floor of Westcare Hospital.

And currently, it was housing none other than Asher West, the grandchild of the hospital’s founder.

But he felt stranded in it, like a goddamn show dog with a broken leg.

Asher lay on the bed with his bandaged leg hoisted above him, all because of that glorious wreck he made of his McLaren nights ago. He'd been drag racing when he got clipped by that bastard in the Porsche, causing him to end up with three fractured ribs, twelve stitches over his eyebrow, and a dislocated shoulder, which was promptly popped back in, good as new.

That pain had been an agonizing bitch, too. Asher couldn’t deny that. But the pain was manageable now, and he felt fine!

However, the doctors wouldn’t clear him for discharge, no matter how much he convinced them that he was fucking okay.

“It’s a miracle you’re alive,” they’d said, forcing him back on the bed. “We’ll need to keep you here for a week at least.” 

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he shifted his weight against the sheets. In all of this, one thing secretly ate at Asher, though.

Since the accident that hit all the major news headlines, neither his father nor his grandfather had come to visit him at the hospital.

But if he was honest, as he lay bleeding in and out of unconsciousness right after the accident, Asher knew they wouldn’t come in to see him. After all, he always lets them down.

His left hand flexed over the smooth silk bedspread as a lump formed in his throat. Well, fuck them. He refused to lie in a hospital bed, morosely thinking about his family, who didn’t give a shit about him.

But what else could one do while stuck in a place like this if not thinking and wallowing in self-pity?

God, he was bored out of his fucking mind.

No, worse than being bored.

Asher was starving and not for food.

He craved the gut-deep thrill that came with riding too fast down sharp corners, without knowing whether he’d make it out alive, or the kind that came with dragging someone into his bed, shoving their face into the mattress, and fucking them until they screamed.

Yeah, he definitely needed to fuck right now. 

A rap on the door shattered his thoughts, and Asher glanced at the wooden frame, not bothering with a response. He only tilted his head to the side as the door creaked open anyway.

And the man that stepped in had the corners of Asher’s lip twitching up in surprise. Liam Lennox. His blue eyes flicked over Asher’s body as he closed the door behind him, conveying that he’d already made up his mind about where this was going before he came here.

Asher’s smirk deepened. Liam had the kind of delicate beauty that made people stare for a minute too long, wondering if he was real or just some expensive doll left out on display, and that exactly was what drew the dainty Omega to Asher.

Well, that and his sweet peach scent, too.

Chasing Liam had been one of the easiest games Asher had ever scored, and he’d fully expected to be bored with the man once he became a notch on his bedpost. 

But this was five months since the first time he fucked Liam, and his dick still perked up to his scent.

Well, it didn’t hurt anybody to keep a plaything for a while longer, as long as Liam didn’t get any ideas that this was more than sex.

Besides, they weren’t going to pretend as if Liam wasn’t getting other benefits on the side, too. Afterall, an internship at the Westcare group was the most coveted job any freshly graduated medical student could wish for, and it fell right into Liam’s lap after sucking the ‘boss’ cock.

A win for both sides, to be honest.

“You’re supposed to knock and then wait,” Asher broke the stretching silence between them in a low, dry voice as he picked up the remote and muted the TV. “That’s how doors work…you know?”

Liam pressed his back to the door, biting his lower lip. “I did. But you just like edging me.”

The double entendre didn’t go past Asher, and his green eyes darkened with lust. “Don’t tell me you’re here to check my pulse?”

“Maybe,” Liam replied, his gaze lingering on the space between Asher’s thighs where the thin hospital blanket did a piss-poor job of hiding anything, especially his hardening cock. “I mean, your accident was horrible. You’re lucky you’re alive.”

Asher’s smirk slowly disappeared, and he arched a brow. “So I've been told.”

Liam shook his head. “You should’ve known racing while the road was wet was suicide, Alpha.” He was now standing next to Asher’s bed. “They say you flew right off the cliff and straight through the barrier. You could have died.”

His words pissed Asher the fuck off. He fucking hated it.

Who the fuck did the omega think he was to tell him something he already knew, acting like his fucking husband?

He could feel his desire slowly getting replaced by irritation, and his voice went cold. “Are you here to scold me?” he asked. “Because if you are, I can call a nurse to escort you out.”

Liam blinked, and he quickly replaced the warm look in his eyes with the lust that Asher clearly preferred. “No, Alpha.”

“Then shut up and put your mouth to better use,” Asher murmured as his cock stirred back to life and he dragged his tongue over the inside of his cheek. 

Liam’s pupils dilated with lust, and he dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. 

“How many minutes have you got left on your break?” Asher asked, spreading his legs wider, the blanket sliding down his thighs.

Liam’s hands were already there, pulling the flimsy gown up, fingers tracing the edge of the bandages on his thick, muscular thighs seductively. “Ten minutes, but I only need two,” he whispered and curled his fingers around the thick length.

Asher’s head tipped back with a low chuckle. “Good boy.”

Then Liam’s mouth was on him. Hot, wet, and fucking perfect.

His lips wrapped around the head of Asher’s cock, and Asher groaned, his hand tangling in the blond strands with zero patience. He held Liam there, fucking up into his mouth despite the ache that lanced through his side. Pain and pleasure blurred fast when you didn’t give a fuck about either.

“Deeper,” Asher snapped, fingers tightening until Liam’s eyes watered. “You’ve got a throat. Use it.”

Greedy, slurping sounds filled the space as he swallowed him down, bobbing his head up and down with practiced rhythm. Spit slicked Asher’s cock and dripped down Liam’s chin as he worked. The sight was absofuckinglutely obscene.

“Look at you,” Asher muttered in a thick, gravelly voice. “Sucking cock on your break like the greedy little slut you are.”

The omega moaned around him and Asher’s hips jerked forward, shoving his cock in deeper until Liam’s nose brushed his pelvic bone.

FUCK!

The sex itself was half the thrill. What made Asher hard as nails was the danger itself. This wasn’t just any hospital. This was his grandfather’s hospital. Doctors and nurses could walk in at any second. Hell, even a crazy overzealous paparazzi could sneak in, taking pictures that’d break the media for weeks. That was what made his blood run fucking hot. 

If he wasn’t injured, he would have flipped Liam over onto the bed, made him scream into the pillow while he fucked his sopping greedy hole. 

Fuck he was almost there. Warmth coiled at the base of his spine. He wanted to come down Liam’s throat, watch him struggle to swallow it all down, greedily slurping his cum as he always did, but right as he felt himself tip toward the edge–

The door flew open.

Asher’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as he saw his fucking half-brother, Zane West standing in the doorway. He was clad in a short white coat, dark blue gloves on his hands that matched his dark blue eyes, which were colder than the ice-points.

Well, fuck.