Page 62 of That Defining Moment

“Mm.”

“You can let go now.”

“I missed you, Sander.” Cassian’s face was pressed into Lysander’s collarbone. “I missed you so much. The cottage was so quiet without you, and Hamish let me watch whatever I wanted, which sounds nice but actually made me sad because there was nobody to fight me for the remote.” His grip intensified. “And the kitchen smelled wrong because you weren’t cooking in it, and I couldn’t sleep properly because I kept thinking about your daddy.”

“That’s lovely, Cass. Really.” Lysander patted his back while his gaze tracked sideways to Hamish, who raised both palms in a clear ‘your turn to deal with him’ signal. “But I need you to detach from my body now.”

Cassian did not detach from his body. His fingers hooked into the hem of Lysander’s jumper and twisted into it, anchoring himself like a barnacle that had identified its ideal rock and had fully committed.

Over Cassian’s head, Lysander caught Diwa’s eye.

Diwa was leaning on the kitchen doorframe with Tala cradled in one arm. He straightened, crossed the hallway and stopped beside the cluster of bodies.

“Cassian.” Diwa’s voice was warm and low, hitting that commanding alpha register. “This is Tala.”

Cassian’s head came up from Lysander’s collarbone as though jerked by a string. His eyes went to the bundle in Diwa’s arms, and every other person in the room ceased to exist for him.

“Oh,” Cassian whispered. He released Lysander’s jumper, and Lysander could have wept with gratitude. “Oh, she’s tiny.”

“She’s three weeks old.” Diwa angled Tala so that Cassian could see her face, and Cassian’s whole body listed towards the baby. “Do you want to hold her?”

Cassian’s arms were already out before he’d finished the sentence. Diwa transferred Tala over to him, and the moment Cassian’s arms closed around her, every sharp edge of his face softened.

“Hello,” Cassian murmured, his voice barely raised above a breath. “Hello, Tala. I’m Cassian.” His thumb found her fist. “You’re the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen hundreds of lambs being born, so that’s not a small compliment.”

Lysander grabbed Hamish’s hand and pulled.

Hamish came willingly, scooping up his carry-on as Lysander towed him towards the stairs. Behind them, Diwa was already guiding Cassian towards the kitchen, going on about Tala’s grip strength as Cassian held his palm flat against the baby’s, her tiny fingers splayed like a starfish on the broader span of his hand.

The bedroom door closed behind them, and the sound of Cassian’s rapturous cooing cut to a murmur through the floorboards.

Lysander shoved Hamish against the door and kissed him.

His teeth caught Hamish’s lower lip. The alpha’s glasses went sideways on his face, and Lysander didn’t care, because Hamish’s grip was already on the backs of his thighs, hauling him up until his legs locked around Hamish’s waist. The carry-on bag was somewhere on the floor behind them. Hamish’s blazer was bunched between Lysander’s fists.

“Off,” Lysander said, yanking at the corduroy. “Get this off, so you can get me off.”

Hamish shrugged the blazer down his arms while Lysander’s fingers went for the buttons of his shirt, popping two and giving up on the third because his fingers were shaking and the buttonhole was too tight, so he pulled the whole thing over Hamish’s head instead, taking the glasses with it. Hamish blinked at him, bare-chested and half-blind, his hair sticking up where the collar had dragged through it.

“Hi,” Hamish said.

“Shut up.” Lysander dropped to his knees on the carpet and went for Hamish’s belt. The leather was stiff and his fingers slipped twice before the prong cleared the hole. He wrenched Hamish’s trousers open, shoved them down past his hips, and pressed his face into the cotton of Hamish’s boxers, breathing him in deeply.

Hamish’s cock was already hard, bulging out under the fabric, and Lysander mouthed along the length of it through the cotton while Hamish’s fingers settled in his hair and his head tipped back.

“I take back everything I’ve ever said,” Hamish managed, “about eating the rich and there being no such thing as an ethical billionaire.”

Lysander hooked his thumbs into Hamish’s waistband and dragged his boxers down. “Diwa’s converted you, has he?”

“Diwa is a billionaire who is absolutely a-okay with me.” Hamish sucked in a breath as Lysander’s hand closed around his cock. “Any alpha who throws himself between us and Cass so we can go off and have a root is a friend for life.”

Lysander stood, kicked his own joggers off with enough force that they hit the wardrobe, and pulled his jumper over his head in one movement. His slick was already running, a warm streak sliding down the inside of his thigh, his body so far ahead of his brain that the two had given up communicating.

Hamish looked at him. His gaze moved from Lysander’s face to his chest to the wet shine on his inner thigh, and his pupils blew so wide that the brown of his irises nearly disappeared.

“Wall,” Lysander said. “Now.”

Hamish didn’t need to be told twice. He caught Lysander by the hips, spun him, and pressed him face-first into the wall beside the door. The wallpaper was cool under Lysander’s cheek and palms, a jarring contrast to the heat of Hamish’s chest on his back. He arched, pushing his arse out, and felt Hamish’s cock slide through the slick between his thighs.