The Omega Knight's Secret Baby Daddy is A PRINCE?!-Chapter 28: A Night to Forget. Pt. 5

Ezra’s mind went blank.

Rut.

The word echoed in his head, heavy with meanings he’d only ever heard whispered late at night among his knights.

Alphas and Betas speaking carefully, half-joking but never lightly, as if even saying it aloud invited trouble.

An alpha’s rut wasn’t just desire.

It was a relentless, days-long drive. The need to mate, to claim, to dominate, to breed.

An instinct so strong it drowned out logic and restraint.

Much like an omega’s heat, a rut came in cycles. Every two or three months. Or worse, it could be triggered by a compatible omega at the peak of heat.

Ezra swallowed.

’No,’ he thought faintly. ’That can’t be right.’

They should be done.

Ezra should be on his way back to his home.

Unlike an omega’s heat, which was often painful and humiliating, an alpha’s rut wasn’t something endured quietly.

It was all-consuming.

And dangerous.

Not so much to the alpha themselves, but to everyone around them.

Especially if they had no mate to ground them.

Ezra’s chest tightened as the realization settled in.

’If he’s in rut...’ he thought, dread creeping coldly through him. ’...and I’m also still in heat...’

The timing made his stomach twist.

Two instincts colliding at their worst possible moment.

’Oh no–’

Then, the prince’s hips nudged forward, the broad head of his cock catching on Ezra’s rim, and a wave of pure, unthinking want drowned the shock and fear.

His hole clenched as if begging for that fullness again.

The prince chuckled, a dark, possessive sound.

He began to move.

Not with the frantic, punishing pace from before, but with a slow, deliberate, deep rhythm that emphasized every inch of his penetration.

He was savoring it. Claiming every part of Ezra with a terrifying, thrilling patience.

"I know what you’re thinking, Captain." the prince continued, punctuating each word with a rolling thrust that made Ezra see stars, "I’m sure you’ve realized it...right? That we have all night."

The declaration wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

It was a fact.

And as the prince’s new, rut-heavy pheromones washed over him again, Ezra felt his own heat roar back to life in answer.

’Everything’s hard again...everything’s wet again...’

His earlier satiation burned away, replaced by a hunger that felt bottomless.

’Is this really what omegas go through every time?’

The deep, aching emptiness was back, and only the prince’s cock, pistoning into him with that devastating, controlled rhythm, could fill it.

"Your... Your Highness," Ezra panted, his face buried in the pillow.

He didn’t know why he was calling for him.

It just...felt right.

"Just ’Alpha’ will do tonight," the prince growled.

He shifted his grip, his hands curling around Ezra’s hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples at the base of his spine.

He pulled Ezra back onto his cock with a force that stole Ezra’s breath. "Now say it."

"I-I..."

Ezra didn’t want to.

It felt so...intimate for some reason.

He has heard of men talking about how they loved it when their mates called them ’Alpha.’

That it gave them some sort of pride.

But this prince was not his alpha.

He does not have an alpha.

And he never should have one.

However...

SMACK!

Ezra’s eyes widen, a gasp escapes his lips.

The prince had smacked his ass, it was one clean smack, and he felt he should be mad.

He should be offended, and confused.

But instead, the last shreds of his knightly identity, the discipline he’d worn like a second skin, it all dissolved under the dual onslaught of his own biology and the alpha’s overwhelming claim.

He was no longer Captain Ezra Belloren. He was just Ezra. An omega.

This alpha’s omega.

At least, for this night.

"A-Alpha," he whimpered, the word foreign and right on his tongue. "Please... more."

The prince rewarded him with a sharper, deeper thrust that hit that perfect, maddening spot inside.

"Agh! Ah...ah...oh god." Ezra cried out, his back arching.

"Say it again."

"Alpha...Alpha...."

"Good."

The prince set a new pace, faster now, driven by the rut’s building urgency.

His movements lost some of their control, becoming more animalistic, more demanding.

The slaps of their bodies were louder, wetter, filthy, perfect music.

Ezra could feel everything with excruciating clarity.

The stretch of his rim, hugged tight around the prince’s girth. The drag of that thick vein along his sensitive inner walls. The way his own slick eased the passage, creating a hot, messy slide.

The prince’s balls slapped against his perineum with each forward drive.

And the heat... the heat from the alpha’s body, from his rut, seemed to seep into Ezra’s very bones.

He was babbling, a stream of "Yes" and "Alpha" and "More, please," his words dissolving into incoherent moans.

And in between each continuous pump, Ezra decided to reach a hand between his own legs, wrapping his fist around his aching, leaking cock.

The touch was electric, the friction almost too much. He was hurtling toward another peak, his muscles coiling tight.

"No," the prince commanded, his voice a whip-crack in the haze. He slapped Ezra’s hand away. "You come when I fill you. Not before."

The denial was a sweet agony. Ezra sobbed, but he obeyed, fisting his hands in the sheets instead.

The prince’s rhythm became brutal, a jackhammer piston that pounded into Ezra’s very core. The pheromones in the room were so thick Ezra could taste them—metallic and sweet.

He felt owned.

Used.

Perfectly used.

How could he love this feeling?

The logical part of his brain scolded him, but the rest? It told him to enjoy this.

"Your scent is addicting."

The alpha prince’s voice was a low, possessive growl against the nape of Ezra’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer by the hips.

The sharp, decadent scent of his alpha pheromones—drowned Ezra’s senses. The prince’s words were a shock, despite the fact that he’s already heard far more vulgar things.

Ezra felt it all, every micro-sensation, with excruciating clarity.

The slick slide of the prince’s length buried inside him, stretching him to a point just shy of pain, then tipping gloriously into pleasure.

The hard, unyielding plane of the prince’s stomach pressed against his sweat-slicked back.

The heavy, rhythmic thud of the bedframe hitting the stone wall with each powerful thrust.

"I never knew you could smell this good, Ezra."

The prince’s voice was softer now, but the lust was still there, a thick undercurrent that made Ezra’s skin prickle. He couldn’t answer. Words were impossible.

His world had narrowed to the brutal, exquisite friction deep within him, the coil of heat tightening low in his own belly with every inward stroke.

’Where is my mind right now?’

It was gone. Lost. Shattered into a million pieces of pure physical sensation.

His vision was hazed, his teeth biting into his own swollen lower lip to stifle a scream. The creaking of the royal bed was a loud, lewd metronome to their coupling.

Creak-thud. Creak-thud.

It hadn’t been this loud, this desperate, when they’d begun.

And then, a change.

The prince’s pace began to slow. The punishing, frantic rhythm became a deep, almost torturous roll of his hips.

He was grinding into him, seeking a different angle, a deeper connection.

The loss of that driving pace made Ezra want to whine.

To beg. Faster. Harder. Alpha, please.

But some primal, submissive part of him held his tongue, forcing him to match his prince’s new tempo.

If the prince was rough, he could be wild. If the prince was loud, he could be louder.

But this... this deliberate, sensual slow burn was unraveling him in a new way.

"Why are you so quiet? I want to hear you."

Ezra’s fingers clawed at the silk sheets, twisting them into knots. He tried to crane his neck, to see the expression on the face of the man ruining him.

"I-I..." What could he say?

That he was drowning? That every nerve ending was on fire? That the slow drag of the prince’s cock over that perfect, secret place inside him was making him see stars?

The mood shifted, a tense, breathless pause.

And then the prince stopped.

Completely.

’No–’

Before the cold dread of abandonment could even form, strong hands were on him. In one fluid, powerful motion, Ezra was flipped onto his back.

The world spun—from the dark intimacy of the pillows to the breathtaking sight of the alpha prince above him, golden eyes blazing with intent.

Those eyes, the symbol of supreme power, now held him.

Only him.

The prince hooked Ezra’s legs over his broad shoulders, bending him nearly in half, opening him up completely. Ezra was exposed, vulnerable, utterly conquered.

And he loved it. A soft, broken moan escaped his lips.

Then, a touch that shattered him all over again.

The prince placed a large, surprisingly gentle hand on Ezra’s flushed cheek, his thumb stroking the tear track he hadn’t even realized was there.

The contrast—the brutal ownership of their position with this tender caress—sent a fresh, shocking wave of need through Ezra’s core.

The prince leaned down, his lips a breath away from Ezra’s. His voice was raw and commanding.

"Have my baby."

Ezra froze.

’What?’

"I will knot you," the prince rasped, his own breathing ragged. "Lock inside you and pump you with my seed."