Page 5 of That Defining Moment

Lysander felt a rush of triumph over Hamish laying a claim on him. He followed Hamish down the narrow hallway. The alpha pushed open the door to the master bedroom and stood aside to let Lysander through, then he turned back to where Cassian was trailing behind them.

“Sander needs a rest after his flight,” Hamish said gently. “We’ll talk later, Cass.”

Then he shut the door in Cassian’s face.

Chapter Three

Lysander Huxley in this moment was the sexiest thing Hamish had ever seen, and he’d once spent two months embedded with a fetish community in Berlin for a Channel 4 documentary.

He was riding Hamish with total commitment, his palms flat on Hamish’s chest, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that made Hamish’s vision narrow until all he could see was his omega’s face. Every downward stroke drew Hamish’s cock deeper into slick, clutching heat, and every upward pull was followed by a wet rush of the omega’s arousal, soaking Hamish’s thighs and the sheets beneath them. The sweetness of Lysander’s scent had thickened the air in the bedroom until Hamish could taste it on his tongue: honey and sun-warmed skin, completely addictive.

Lysander moaned loudly enough to carry through the cottage’s thin walls and probably into the neighbours’ adjoining home.

“Lysander.” Hamish’s hands tightened on his hips. “Lysander, shh. Cass’ll hear us.”

Lysander’s eyes found his. They glinted with either mischief or malice, Hamish couldn’t tell, what with most of his blood flow having been re-routed from his brain to his cock. Then Lysander threw his head back and let out a cry so pornographically theatrical that it would probably have earned him tens of thousands in tips, back in his OnlyFans days.

His arse clenched hard around Hamish’s cock at the same time, which was just unfair.

“Right…” In one careful motion he rolled them both over, tipping Lysander off his lap and onto the mattress, repositioning his omega face-down with his cheek pressed into the pillow. Lysander went pliant and easy under Hamish’s hands. He turned his head, and Hamish kissed him deeply before he pushed the head of his cock back inside him.

Lysander’s moan this time was muffled by the pillow, which was an improvement.

“Lysander, listen to me.” Hamish braced himself on one forearm, his mouth against the back of Lysander’s neck, and pushed in slowly until he was fully seated again in his maddening warmth. His omega shuddered beneath him. “You need to be quiet. Please. For me.”

“Now?” Lysander asked, incredulously. “You want to talk, now? While you’re literally fucking me?”

“Best time for it, really.” Hamish placed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”

He felt Lysander’s laugh vibrate through his body, and rocked into him with a shallow thrust that made his fingers twist in the sheets.

“Cassian is fragile, Sander.” Another thrust, grinding deep. “The Family of Light was his entire world. Everything is new to him.” He pressed his hips forward and held there, buried to the root, while Lysander squirmed.

“And why is he your problem now, Hamish?” Lysander pushed back to meet him in a way that made Hamish’s breath catch. Even mid-argument, the man moved like he was choreographing content.

Hamish pulled back slowly. “Because he’s got nobody else. I’m asking you to be kind to him, Sander. Please. He hasn’t done anything wrong by being here.”

“He’s creepy.”

Hamish stilled his hips. Lysander made a noise of protest and tried to push back against him, but Hamish held him in place with one hand flat on his lower back.

“That thing you said to him about his cult and the sex parties — that’s not on, Lysander, and I think you know that.” He kept his voice even, which took a lot of effort, given the circumstances. “To him, the Family of Light isn’t a cult. It was his community, and his whole childhood. I’m working on getting him into therapy. He needs to start seeing someone who can help untangle things for him, and start the deprogramming process. But comments like that are going to make him more defensive and less open to seeking help.” He kissed the knob of Lysander’s spine. “So please. Be kind to him.”

Lysander turned his head on the pillow, so Hamish could see his expression. “So you want me to what, mentor him? I’m not exactly a role model, Hamish. My most recent achievement is a video of myself fingering my arse in a five-star hotel.”

“That was outstanding work and you should be proud of it.” Hamish bit the back of his neck, right at the nape where Lysander’s scent was thickest, and Lysander melted against him. “I’m not asking you to be a role model. Just be real with him. That’s all.”

“God, Hamish.” Lysander’s voice had gone rough. “Why are you so fucking nice? It’s so annoying.”

Hamish pulled nearly all the way out, adjusted his grip on Lysander’s hips, and drove back in hard enough to make the headboard knock against the wall. Lysander’s body jolted forward on the sheets.

“Is that nice?”

Lysander laughed, and Hamish did it again, harder this time, a punishing snap of his hips that sent Lysander’s head into the wooden slats of the headboard with a crack that was obviously far too loud.

“Shit — sorry, sorry —” Hamish’s hand was already there, cradling the top of Lysander’s head, his fingers exploring the spot where his skull had met wood. “Are you alright?”

“Keep going.”