His Baby Daddy [ Taekook ]

Chapter 7

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A chorus of crickets was the first thing Taehyung noticed when the limousine turned off the main road and onto Yoongi’s long, lantern‑lit driveway.  Moonlight sifted through the late‑summer trees, laying pale tiger‑stripes across the hood.  Inside the vehicle it smelled of wolf, leather, and something sweeter—Jungkook’s slick had dried on their clothes, leaving faint, sugary traces that mingled with Taehyung’s own musky arousal.  Even in sleep the omega whimpered, lashes trembling, one small fist clutching the front of Taehyung’s silk shirt like a lifeline.

Taehyung smoothed damp bangs from Jungkook’s forehead.  He’s burning up.  The mating heat was still riding his little omega hard, but at least the fever had ebbed from the dangerous spike it had reached in the club.  Only a few hours had passed, yet Taehyung already felt as if the universe had flipped: every heartbeat now ticked in time with Jungkook’s, every breath tuned to the soft rise and fall of that fragile chest.  The thought of leaving him—even to fetch water—made Taehyung’s own pulse sprint in protest.

The car rolled to a gentle stop before the Min residence, a modern two‑story house that crouched behind high cedar hedges like a sleek predator guarding its den.  LED path lights lined the flagstones, guiding the eye to a pair of matte‑black doors engraved with curling vines.  As the engine died a knuckle rapped on the rear window.

“Mr Kim, we’re here,” Yoongi’s low voice floated in.

Taehyung cracked the door and stepped onto the gravel drive, adjusting Jungkook so the omega’s head rested in the hollow of his shoulder.  Yoongi, clad in joggers and an oversized hoodie, squinted at them—then his nostrils flared, beta‑sharp.

“Why d’you reek of cum and slick?” he demanded, lifting an eyebrow high enough to vanish under silver‑streaked fringe.  “And why is Koo unconscious?”

Taehyung’s own brows knitted.  “He’s asleep, not unconscious,” he corrected, voice velvet but edged with warning.  “And I did nothing he didn’t want.”

Even half‑lucid from heat Jungkook had insisted, whispered please against Taehyung’s throat.  The memory made Taehyung’s canines tingle.

Yoongi looked unconvinced, but another presence barreled up behind him before the beta could reply.

“You guys didn’t do the naughty in there, did you?” Jimin sang, mischief sparkling in almond eyes.  His outfit looked similar to what jungkook was wearing earlier, pastel‑pink hair flopping as he tip‑toed to sniff the air.  Instantly his grin crashed into a scowl.  “Oh my goddess, you did.”

Taehyung ignored the question and strode toward the house.  He’d met Jimin all of five minutes ago; that hardly earned the right to interrogate his sex life.  But Jimin darted ahead, planting both fists on narrow hips to block the stone steps.