Page 144 of Filthy Royal

His gaze shifted to Scarlett, bracing for her upset, her hurt.

Except Scarlett didn’t look devastated.

Instead, her stare was locked on him, her expression inscrutable, as if she was studying him to see how he’d take it.

Heavy breathing and the sound of flesh against flesh blasted from the monitor. Mouths clinging, the rustle of clothing.

A grunt.

Groans.

Soft moans.

Damien stood frozen, unsure of what to do. A strange sensation for a guy like him.

Mr. Perfect Golden Boy was not so perfect after all. Damien should have been gloating. Vindicated.

Instead, all he wanted was to snap the bastard’s neck and tell Scarlett she deserved so much better. The fucker was supposed to be out hunting for her. Not getting his dick wet.

The slap of flesh against flesh amplified. The cadence ferocious. Desperate.

“You know who that is with him, don’t you?” Damien watched Scarlett carefully.

Her gaze flicked away. “Yes. I do.”

The lack of pain in her voice surprised him.

Stormhart wasn’t the first Alpha to rut someone besides his prime omega. Damien’s brothers were proving the exception, but most Brotherhood Alphas had one omega for breeding heirs and a stable of additional omegas for rutting for fun.

Except, whatever was going down in that alley didn’t sound like only fun. It sounded serious. Threaded with deep emotion. Maybe even… love?

The thought raked across Damien’s windpipe like cut crystal. Fuck him, he could still remember when he’d sounded that way with Scarlett. When they’d rushed together like two parts of the same whole, as if nothing else mattered but sealing themselves back together again.

“So you don’t care that he’s rutting someone else?”

“Damien, let it go.” She tugged at his hold. “What’s going on there is private. It’s not right to listen. I want to turn it off. Please.”

The desperation coating her words made his decision an easy one.

He searched for a kill switch. Only there was no obvious volume control. No clear on/off button.

The sounds increased.

The discomfort in Scarlett’s eyes grew as well.

That he didn’t like at all.

He slammed his fist into the monitor.

Problem solved; discomfort erased from her stare.

Lines snaked across the desk as it cracked in several places. Smoke poured from beneath his knuckles. The feeds flickered, then faded to static as the sounds disappeared.

Silence filled the private suite.

For all of three heartbeats.

“You hurt yourself!” Scarlett recovered before he did, grabbing his fist and cradling it to her. “You’re bleeding.” Cute eyebrows drawing into a worried scowl, she examined the cuts on his knuckle.

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