Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 77: Taste

Chapter 76

Jack

It’s so nice—so damnnice—to introduce Ciel and Lanny as my family. It feels... more real. Like the weight of soone else’s acknowledgnt has settled around us, quietly centing everything I already knew.

After lunch, Charlie and his brother finally leave. I don’t say it out loud, but the air feels lighter the second the door closes behind them.

Nolan is crouched near the couch, unwrapping the ridiculously huge gift box Mr. Greer brought. Out cos a tiny bicycle—bright blue, with a little basket on the front and a bell that rings too loud.

I laugh. Lanny can barely stand up, but the thought of him riding this one day makes sothing warm settle in my chest.

"Oh my goodness, it’s so tiny," Ciel coos, leaning closer to touch the handle.

"I know," Nolan says, grinning. "I didn’t even think they made them in this size."

The light catches on the curve of Ciel’s cheek as he laughs—soft and dostic—and Nolan’s expression mirrors the sa warmth. It’s a picture. My picture. I grab my cara from the shelf and snap a shot before either of them can stop .

"Are you serious?" Nolan deadpans, looking right at .

I grin, snapping another photo just to annoy him.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t push. I know him well enough by now—when Nolan doesn’t argue, it’s because he likes it more than he wants to admit.

Seriously, he’s so cute sotis.

***

Nolan

I watch the clothes tumble in the washing machine, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the laundry room. The rhythmic swish of water is calming in a way I didn’t expect.

Honestly, during lunch, I really thought Ciel was going to jump across the table and drag that oga by the hair. The way he was looking at Charlie? It was lethal. If looks could kill, we’d be minus one unwelco guest.

I’m glad he didn’t. So glad. I spent the entire al on pins and needles, waiting for sothing to blow up, ready to step in.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pissed. The way that oga was looking at Jack—

with that kind of open, shaless want and desire made my blood simr.

"I think you might be a cat instead of a dog."

The voice pulls out of my head. I look up.

Jack is leaning against the doorway in nothing but his joggers, shirt tossed over his shoulder. He’s slightly sweaty, hair ssy from his run, the low V of his abs drawing my gaze down to where I shouldn’t be looking. Especially after learning about the piercing down there.

"With the way you’re staring at the clothes in the washer," he adds.

I snap out of the gutter fast enough to catch his amused grin.

"Fuck you," I mutter, trying for annoyed and failing because my face feels hot.

He chuckles, that low warm sound that vibrates through the air, and walks in to sit on the floor next to .

"So the clothes go round and round. Very interesting," Jack says in that deliberately bored tone that he uses when he’s trying to piss off.

He gets off on teasing , doesn’t he?

"Go away," I snap, not even looking at him.

"No, no, I’m trying to get into the hot new hobby—watching the washing machine," he says, settling himself like he owns the damn floor.

"Jack," I warn.

"Is it just the washing machine? Or does it apply to dryers too?"

God give strength.

He doesn’t stop there. "Dishwashers?" he asks, eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter.

My eye twitches. I can feel it twitch.

Then, with a gasp so overdramatic it belongs in a soap opera, he adds, "The microwave!"

"You fucking idiot!" I say, shoving him hard, but he only bursts into full, warm laughter. The kind that fills the room and settles under my skin in ways I can’t explain.

This is why I think he gets off on teasing .

He’s lucky he’s cute.

"You know," he says suddenly, casual as ever, "just before I ca down here, I kissed Ciel."

I turn my head sharply to him. What the fuck does that have to do with ?

"Congratulations," I respond dryly.

"I bet you wish that was you, huh?" he says, eyes glinting like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

My eye twitches again.

Calm down, Nolan. It’s not good to murder the breadwinner.

"He tasted amazing," Jack continues, voice low, lazy. "He was eating chocolate ice cream, made him taste even more intoxicating than usual."

Why am I listening to this? I try to stand, but he grabs my wrist and tugs back down, close—too close.

"I bet if you try really hard, you can taste him on ," he says.

I think for a mont there my heart stopped working.

What did he just say?

"What?" I ask, dumbfounded, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

"You heard ," he says, tugging closer still. His grip is steady, warm against my skin.

I try to pull away, but he’s stronger—ridiculously, unfairly strong. The scent of his sweat and soap and sothing distinctly Jack fills the air between us, crowding out any rational thought I might’ve had.

***

Jack

"Don’t pretend you don’t want to," I murmur, tugging him closer. His breath catches, and now our faces are only inches apart. Close enough that I can see every flicker in his eyes — hesitation, heat, want.

"I’m being nice, little doggy," I whisper, letting the nickna drag just enough to make his jaw clench.

"I an...the longer you delay, the more Ciel’s taste fades."

His pupils dilate at that. Nolan looks at , then at my mouth, then back at again. Overthinking, as always.

Now that I have the freedom to, I lean forward.

The first brush of my lips against his is soft, teasing. But the mont he responds, it’s like soone’s ripped the dam wide open.

His hand holds the back of my neck, dragging closer, his breath hitching against my mouth.

Nolan kisses like he’s been starving for it. Like he’s been holding this back and the world’s finally stopped spinning just enough to let him have this one mont.

I smile into the kiss.

I knew it.

The kiss deepens fast, ssy and hungry, like he’s trying to devour a taste that’s running out of ti. Nolan’s mouth moves against mine with a kind of urgency I’ve never felt from him before — rough, unrestrained, desperate. Like he really believes he can find Ciel’s ghost on my tongue and he’s terrified of losing it.

Even though, I wasn’t lying and Ciel was eating ice cream before I kissed him, it was genuinely an excuse to kiss Nolan.

I slide one hand to the back of his neck, threading my fingers through the short hair there, forcing him to tilt his head back. He gasps against my lips , just a sharp little sound that goes straight to my gut — and I take advantage of it, pressing in deeper, letting my tongue slide against his.

God. He’s not even kissing back anymore. He’s chasing sothing.

And if it isn’t the fucking hottest thing. Ever.

It’s intoxicating.

I push him backward until his shoulders hit the wall beside the laundry machine with a soft thud. He doesn’t even flinch. His hands are already sliding up my chest, over my shoulders, locking around the back of my neck like he’s terrified I’ll move away.

I don’t.

Instead, I press closer, my thigh sliding between his legs, my hand cupping the side of his jaw, forcing him to look at , even though his eyes are half-lidded and dazed.

"Breathe," I whisper against his lips, but I don’t really give him the chance. I kiss him again, slower for a split second, just enough to make him shiver and then I devour him all over again.

He ets with equal hunger, mouth swollen, breath ragged, and the sound he makes when I bite down lightly on his lower lip will probably live rent-free in my head forever.

Yeah. He’s not pretending anymore.

He wants this. He wants .

I pull away just enough to breathe, my forehead still resting against his. A single strand of spit hangs between us — thin, glistening, and obscene.

My thumb traces the corner of his mouth, catching on the heat there, and I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips.

"So..." my voice cos out low, a rasp I barely recognize as mine, "did you taste him?"

His throat bobs as he swallows. His breath ghosts hot against my jaw.

"Not sure," he mutters hoarsely, eyes flicking down to my mouth again like he’s already addicted. Then, quieter, rougher, "Let check again."

"Gladly."

I don’t wait — I crash my mouth back onto his.

The second ti is worse. Or better. Definitely worse for my self-control.

Ah fuck it.

Who cares.