Chapter Three
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.”
“Sander, I just cracked your head against —”
“Hamish.” Lysander reached back, grabbed Hamish’s wrist, and pulled his hand off his head and down to his throat instead. “Keep. Going.”
Hamish kept going.
He fucked Lysander, his hand still loosely circling his throat and the other braced on the mattress beside Lysander’s ribs, in deep grinding strokes that had Lysander twisting beneath him and his moans coming out in short, bitten-off bursts.
The wet sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room.
Lysander was soaked, so much so that his slick made Hamish’s hips slide against the backs of his legs.
He could feel himself getting close, the pressure building at the base of his spine, his knot beginning to swell and catch against Lysander’s hole. Lysander must have felt it too, because he clenched around Hamish deliberately and pushed back hard, taking him deeper.
“Fuck, Sander —”
Lysander came first, shaking apart under Hamish as he turned his face into the pillow and his body drew tight as a wire. Hamish felt him pulse around his cock and that was it, his hips stuttering forward as his knot locked them together.
He collapsed onto Lysander’s back, his mouth against the damp curve of Lysander’s shoulder. Lysander’s hand found his where it rested on the mattress, and their sticky fingers interlaced.
After a while, Hamish kissed the spot on top of Lysander’s head where he’d hit the headboard.
“I really am sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Lysander replied lazily. “It was nice.”
Hamish rested his forehead against the back of Lysander’s neck and stayed there, knotted inside him, listening to their breathing slow. “Lysander?”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m glad you came to Melbourne.” Hamish tightened his arms around Lysander’s waist and took in a deep lungful of his omega. “I know this sounds mad, because we were really only together for two weeks. But you’ve sent me so many wanking videos since then that I’m kind of obsessed with you.”
Lysander hummed, and shifted against Hamish to test the knot still locked inside him. Hamish’s breath caught at the sensation that was just on the edge of uncomfortable. “I won’t punch him,” Lysander said grandly.
“What?”
“Every time he calls you alpha, I want to punch him in his fucking perfect face.” Lysander’s fingers traced idle patterns on the back of Hamish’s hand. “But I won’t. That’s all I can promise you right now, Hamish.”
Hamish started kneading the tight muscles along the top of Lysander’s shoulders, working his thumbs into the knots beneath his shoulder blades, and Lysander made a noise of approval.
“What’ll it take for you to never use the word ‘cult’ around Cass?”
“Ten backrubs.”
“Five,” Hamish countered.
“Fifteen.”
“Okay then, twenty,” Hamish said.
Lysander chuckled. “You fucking soft touch.”
Hamish let his full weight drop, driving Lysander flat into the mattress, and Lysander’s protest came out as a muffled oof that turned, almost immediately, into a groan of contentment. He was asleep within minutes.