Page 63 of That Defining Moment

“Fuck me,” Lysander said. “I’m not interested in foreplay, Hamish. I haven’t seen you in weeks and I’m soaking wet, so just get inside and show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Hamish’s fingers pressed into Lysander’s hole, two of them sinking in without resistance. Lysander was so wet that he felt sure the slick sound of Hamish’s fingers working inside him would escape through the shut doorway. But he didn’t have time to be self-conscious about it because Hamish withdrew his hand, gripped his cock, and pushed into him.

Lysander’s forehead dropped onto the wall, and he bit down on his own forearm to keep the sound of his cry in. Hamish seated himself to the hilt, his hips coming up flush against Lysander’s arse, his breath ragged and hot on Lysander’s neck.

“Fuck, Sander.” Hamish’s voice had dropped into a register that went straight through Lysander’s nervous system. His hand braced on the wall by Lysander’s head, while the other held Lysander’s hip into position. “I could live the rest of my life with my cock up your arse, and be a happy man.”

“We really need to work on your dirty talk.” Lysander pushed back onto him. “Now move.”

“I want to knot you so full that you’re still leaking me out tomorrow during breakfast with your family.”

“My father is in his bedroom recovering from organ failure, there’s a newborn in this house, and you’re telling me you want me dripping your come into Diwa’s dining chairs?”

Hamish’s hips stopped moving, and his mouth brushed the curve of Lysander’s ear.

“I love you, Sander.”

Lysander closed his eyes. This man was fucking insane. He’d gone from narrating a breakfast-table come fantasy to a love declaration without so much as a breath between them, and the worst part was that Lysander knew he’d met his match the second those words left the alpha’s mouth.

“I love you too,” Lysander said. “Now are you going to fuck me, or have you gone soft?”

He could feel that Hamish hadn’t gone soft. Hamish pulled nearly all the way out and drove back in hard enough that Lysander’s hips slammed into the wall. From there the rhythm was brutal, exactly what Lysander needed. His world reduced to the relentless snap of Hamish’s hips, the wet slap of skin on skin, and the grip on his hip pulling him back to meet every thrust. Lysander braced both palms on the wall, his back arched so deep that he could feel the stretch in his spine, and let Hamish fuck into him.

The angle shifted when Hamish widened his stance, and the head of his cock dragged across the spot inside Lysander that made his vision blur. Lysander’s nails scraped the wallpaper. His thighs were slick from hip to knee, the mess of it running down his legs.

“Harder,” Lysander said, though the word came out broken in the middle because Hamish had already anticipated the demand. His hand left Lysander’s hip and wrapped around his throat, fingers pressing in just enough to narrow the airflow, and Lysander’s whole body went liquid at the claiming hold. He rested his head onto Hamish’s shoulder and let the pressure hold him there: pinned, breathless, given over completely to the one alpha he trusted enough to handle him like this.

The grip on his throat had narrowed all sensation to a single blazing point at the base of his groin, and when it broke, it tore through him so hard that his legs buckled. Hamish’s grip loosened on his throat and the air rushed back in. The flood of oxygen doubled the wave of his orgasm, dragging a ragged shout out of Lysander as his come spurted out of him and onto the wall.

They stayed there, pinned together, both of them breathing like they’d sprinted up five flights of stairs. Hamish’s forehead rested between Lysander’s shoulder blades. His knot pulsed inside Lysander in slow, rhythmic throbs, each one pushing another hot rush of come deeper into him.

“We need to move,” Lysander said, after a long moment. “My ankle’s about to give out.”

Hamish wrapped both arms around his waist and walked them sideways to the bed, still locked together. They collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of damp limbs, Hamish spooned behind him with his knot still buried deep, and Lysander breathed out, emptied of the tension he’d been carrying since he left Hamish and Cassian in Melbourne.

Hamish pressed his mouth to the nape of Lysander’s neck. “I missed you.”

“I know.” Lysander pulled Hamish’s arm tighter across his chest and laced their fingers together, pressing the alpha’s knuckles to his sternum. “I know you did.”

They lay tangled together while Hamish’s knot softened inside him. Hamish’s thumb traced the ridge of Lysander’s collarbone in slow, idle passes. Lysander let himself sink into the animal press of bare skin, the pleasant ache of being thoroughly fucked settling into his muscles.

“How’s the podcast going?” Hamish asked.

Lysander’s shoulders went tight. The question had been tossed out casually and delivered in a disarming tone that invited an answer.

They’d been talking freely about Lysander’s plans for the podcast for weeks, but Meredith’s question had blown a hole in them that Lysander wasn’t ready to show Hamish yet.

He’d spoken to Hamish about his OnlyFans past before coming to Melbourne, of course, and had no doubt that he’d done his own digging after Lysander’s reassurances. But he’d only ever allowed Hamish insight into the toll that it had taken on him when Lysander had sent him the practice recordings.

Hamish hadn’t pressed for details beyond what Lysander had offered, hadn’t asked follow-up questions about Dane or the videos or the years between, and the restraint had felt like a gift so enormous that Lysander hadn’t known how to acknowledge it without breaking something.

The line between before-Hamish and with-Hamish was one Lysander had drawn deliberately, and Hamish had respected it. He’d been allowed to keep Dane in a sealed compartment, referenced only in the abstract, and he wanted to keep things that way.

“It’s going,” Lysander said. He kept his tone flat, a door closing on the subject. He waited for the probing follow-up question that was Hamish’s specialty, but today it didn’t come.

Hamish’s arm tightened around Lysander’s chest, and his mouth pressed a kiss to his head. Then there was just his alpha’s breath on him, moving through Lysander’s hair in soft rhythmic passes as the silence hung over them both and pulled Hamish into sleep.

Chapter Thirty