20. Idris
Idris
Sloane has Calliope trapped against the wardrobe when I wake, and for a few seconds, I stay still and watch them.
She’s dressed from the waist down and still fighting with the buttons of her blouse, her hair pinned badly enough that half of it’s already escaped.
Sloane has both arms around her middle and his face buried against the side of her neck, making low, pleased sounds every time she tries to pry him off.
After several days of Theo rearranging the house around his first fragile needs, Sloane clearly enjoys having our Beta under his hands again.
“Sloane,” she says, breathless and laughing as she braces one hand on his forearm. “I have to be on campus in ten minutes.”
“Then you should stop fighting me,” he mutters against her skin, his hands tightening at her waist when she manages half a step forward. His mouth follows the line of her throat with enough intent that her next breath catches. “You’re wasting time.”
“You are wasting time.” Calliope looks toward the bed, flushed and exasperated, like she expects me to save her from him and already knows I’m in no hurry. “Idris.”
I push myself up against the pillows and take in the way she’s trying to glare at me while Sloane’s mouth ruins her concentration.
His scent is thick in the room, smoked cedar and brown sugar warmed by sleep and satisfaction, while her pear and vanilla tea brightens every time she laughs.
“Come here, princess. Kiss me before you make yourself late complaining about him.”
Her eyes narrow, but the corner of her mouth gives her away.
She slips out of Sloane’s hold only when he lets her, then crosses the room with her blouse still unbuttoned at the top and her cheeks warm from his mouth.
When she climbs onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress beside my hip, I reach for her before she can make the kiss quick and practical.
Her mouth is warm from laughter. She kisses me like she’s in a hurry and resents the clock for existing, one hand braced beside my shoulder while the other curls briefly against my chest. I hold her jaw and slow her for a few seconds, letting her feel the room around her, Sloane behind her, my hand steady at her face.
She softens into it quickly, the way she always does when she lets herself stop moving.
Then Sloane catches her by the hips from behind.
Calliope makes a startled sound into my mouth as Sloane drags her back an inch and presses his body along the line of hers.
Her hand tightens in the sheet, and her scent lifts sweetly enough that Sloane makes a rough sound behind her.
The sound hits my blood too, but her meeting is close enough that I know exactly how late she’ll be if I let this continue.
I break the kiss before Sloane can follow his hunger anywhere useful.
His mouth is already at the back of her neck, his hands sliding with familiar want over her hips, and Calliope’s breath has gone uneven in a way she’ll blame on us later.
I reach past her, sink my fingers into Sloane’s hair, and pull him off to the side.
He goes with a low, irritated growl, his eyes dark when they meet mine over her shoulder. I keep my grip until his hands stop moving on Calliope’s hips, then let my thumb press once against his scalp. He breathes through his nose and settles by force of will.
“Go to your meeting, Callie,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm enough to make all three of us listen. “Before he talks himself into making you miss it.”
Calliope presses her lips together, like she’s trying to hide how close we came to convincing her. “Thank you,” she says, then looks down at the state of her blouse and exhales. “I need to leave this room immediately.”
Sloane’s mouth curves against my grip. “We’ll behave when you get back.”
“No, you won’t.” She climbs off the bed, buttoning her blouse with hands that are almost steady by the time she reaches the mirror. Her mouth is a little swollen, her face is still pink, and her eyes are bright enough that I almost tell her to skip the meeting myself.
The sound comes from down the hall before I can.
It’s soft at first, a thin, aching whine that cuts through the bedroom and pulls every Alpha instinct in the room taut. Sloane goes still beneath my hand. Calliope’s fingers freeze on the last button of her blouse, and all the warmth in her face changes shape.
Garrett’s voice follows, low and rough enough that my spine tightens.
Then Theo moans.
Calliope goes crimson so fast it would be funny on any other morning. Sloane’s eyes lift to mine, dark and hungry, his whole body answering the Omega down the hall while I keep my fingers locked in his hair.
“That timing is cruel,” Sloane says, voice rough around the words. He looks toward the hall again, and the sound that leaves Theo on the other side of the wall makes his hands flex at his sides.
Calliope grabs her blazer from the chair and clutches it to her chest like fabric can hide the color in her face. “Why does all the good stuff happen without me?”
I let Sloane go and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “We’ll save some for you, princess.”
Her laugh comes out flustered and too bright, but it’s real. She points at both of us on her way to the door, still pink and still smiling, and says, “I’m holding you to that,” before she hurries into the hall toward the stairs.
Sloane watches her go for one second, then turns toward Theo’s room like the sound has hooked under his ribs. I stand and catch the back of his neck before he can move too quickly. He breathes hard through his nose, his scent already thickening, and then he makes himself nod.
“Careful,” I say, because the warning is for both of us now.
“I know.” His jaw works once, and his eyes track toward the hallway again when Theo makes another soft sound. “I know, Idris.”
Theo’s door is half-open when we reach it.
The air changes at the threshold, warm and heavy with cardamom, peach blossom, mint, leather, and the first sharp edge of a spike.
The curtains are still drawn. The bed is torn apart from whatever sleep Theo managed before his body started reaching for relief, blankets kicked down and pillows shoved aside.
Garrett is on the bed with him, shirt open at the throat, one hand planted beside Theo’s shoulder and the other firm at his hip.
Theo is flushed and shaking, his dark hair damp at his temples.
He’s clinging to Garrett like the world has narrowed to the Alpha over him.
Garrett’s hips move in careful, measured thrusts, deep and controlled, the muscles in his back and arms tight with the effort of holding himself back.
Theo’s legs are wrapped around him, heels pressed into Garrett’s back, every small sound he makes broken and needy.
The wet slide of skin against skin fills the quiet room as Garrett takes him through the spike with a focus I’ve almost never seen from him—no polish, no distance, just the stunned intensity of a man being chosen exactly where he’s most careful.
Theo’s face is turned into Garrett’s neck. His fingers clutch at Garrett’s open shirt, then release enough to press one hand flat to the mattress when Garrett speaks.
“Color,” Garrett says, his voice scraped low.
Theo’s eyes flutter. “Green,” he says.
I’m not sure how long we stand there before Garrett thrusts one last time, Theo crying out around the Alpha’s knot.
Sloane makes a sound beside me and catches it before it can turn into a purr.
Theo’s gaze shifts toward us. His breathing catches, and for a second I think the additional attention might push him too far.
Then his hand lifts toward me, shaky and certain.
“Idris,” he says.
I step into the room slowly. “I’m here.”
Theo’s eyes move to Sloane next. His mouth opens, closes, then tries again with a determination that makes my chest tighten. “Sloane too.”
Sloane’s hands flex at his sides. “Right here, sweetheart.”
Garrett lowers his forehead briefly to Theo’s shoulder and breathes through something hard. His hips are still rocking forward as he remains deep inside Theo. When Garrett lifts his head, his eyes are sharper. “Still green?”
Theo nods, then swallows. “So good. You’re... staying, right?”
Garrett’s expression changes again, something fierce and almost pained moving through him.
“I’m staying.” His lids close, the silence of the room comfortable until Theo lets out another soft moan.
I look over to see Garrett pressing a kiss to Theo’s forehead just as our pack Alphas’ phone starts ringing on the nightstand.
Theo flinches, and Sloane takes one involuntary step forward before I stop him with a hand at his chest. Garrett looks at the phone with open fury, ignores it, and turns back to Theo.
“It can wait,” he says.
The ringing stops, and Theo’s grip eases a fraction.
Then it starts again.
Garrett’s scent cuts colder, mint sharpening as he reaches for the phone and checks the screen. His mouth tightens, and the hand at Theo’s hip flexes once before he forces it still. “Damn it.”
Theo’s hand catches his wrist. “Stay.”
“I know.” Garrett bends close, brushing his mouth to Theo’s temple with a tenderness that makes Sloane go very quiet. He's still buried inside Theo, the connection unbroken, and the effort of not moving shows in every line of his body. “It’s the Hayward case. I have to take this.”
Theo shakes his head once, panic flashing through the heat.
Garrett cups his face. “Look at me. Idris is here. Sloane is here. They’ve got you.”
Theo’s eyes move to me. I hold his gaze and let my voice settle low. “Yes. We’ve got you.”
Garrett looks at me over Theo’s head. The call keeps ringing in his hand, and he looks like he wants to crush the phone instead of answer it. When he speaks, the words are rough and possessive.
“Take care of him.”
“I will.”