Sleep vanishes from his face. "Fuck yes. Give me forty-five minutes."
The kitchen becomes controlled chaos. Dmitri arranges fruit like he's creating art. I handle eggs and bacon. Aidan attacks dough with the same focus he brings to blocking shots.
Zayn appears twenty minutes later, fully dressed and shower-fresh while the rest of us look like we just rolled out of bed. Which we did.
"Smells good." He heads straight for coffee.
"We're making Lexie breakfast in bed," I explain, flipping bacon.
His smirk says everything. "Captain's orders?"
"She earned it," Dmitri says without looking up from his strawberry spiral.
Zayn's expression shifts. "Yeah. She did."
We work in sync, no words needed. Years of living together, fighting together, winning together. Now we can add fucking the same woman to the list.
"Someone should check on them," Aidan says, watching his rolls rise through the oven door.
"I'll go." I wipe my hands. "Ten more minutes?"
"Yeah, perfect timing."
I take the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door's still cracked. I push it open quietly, not wanting to jar them awake.
And stop dead.
Darren's on top of Lexie, the omega's muscles flexing as he drives into her. Her legs wrap around his waist, nails dragging down his back as she moans.
They freeze when the door creaks.
"Oh." Lexie's face goes from flushed to mortified. "Sorry!"
Darren looks over his shoulder, grinning. "Thought we had time."
"Don't apologize." I lean against the doorframe, enjoying the view. "Sleep well?"
"Very," Lexie manages, still breathless. She shifts and gasps, since Darren's still inside her.
"I'll let you finish." My cock's already responding to the sight of them together, our omega and beta joined so intimately, but this is their moment. "Breakfast will be ready in ten."
I close the door on Darren's curse and Lexie's embarrassed laugh. The mattress starts creaking again immediately.
Just another thing we'll learn to figure out. Sharing space, sharing time, sharing her.
Downstairs, we load everything onto the massive breakfast tray once it's ready. Everything except the cinnamon rolls, that is. Aidan cradles them protectively on a separate tray like newborns. By the time we file back upstairs, the room's shifted.
Lexie sits cross-legged on the bed in my T-shirt. It hangs off one shoulder, showing skin I want desperately to taste. Her hair's pulled up into a sexy, messy bun on top of her head, her face glowing with that just-fucked satisfaction.
Darren emerges from the bathroom, still catching his breath. The others know exactly what happened. The room smells of pumpkin-spiced sex. But nobody comments. Even Zayn keeps his mouth shut. The last thing we want to do is scare her off.
We arrange ourselves around her, which feels so natural. Darren is beside her, their shoulders touching. Dmitri claims the armchair. Zayn leans against the headboard. Aidan protects his cinnamon rolls at the foot of the bed.
"You're spoiling me," Lexie says, her eyes widening as we lay the spread out before her.
"That's the plan." I set the tray where everyone can reach.
She demolishes Aidan's cinnamon rolls with enthusiasm that makes him preen. As we eat, she asks about our routines, our habits. Who wakes up first (me), who hogs the shower (Zayn), who controls the remote (ongoing war).
