"You're staring, Niah." Amos doesn't open his eyes.
"I'm working."
"Your typing stopped for four seconds. That's staring."
"Your shirt is riding up. That's distracting."
"Take a break." I close my own laptop and lean back in my chair. "Both of you. We've been at this for nine hours."
Mattaniah saves his work and closes his laptop. He stays on the floor beside the nest, his back against the chair, the throw blanket pooled around his waist. The light from the window behind him catches his curls and turns them copper at the edges. His face has lost the pinched quality it carried for the first week, the constant tension of an Omega bracing for impact.
Amos rolls off the couch and crosses the room. He drops to the floor beside Mattaniah and pulls the Omega against his side, his arm draping across his shoulders. Mattaniah leans into the contact without hesitation, his head finding the hollow of Amos' shoulder.
"Come here, Dom." Amos says it without looking at me, his fingers already working through Mattaniah's curls.
I shouldn't. The office door isn't locked and the cleaning crew starts their rounds at seven. But Mattaniah is looking at me from across the room with an expression that bypasses every rational argument against crossing the floor, my body already moving before I can think better of it.
I sit on the floor beside them. The nest is at my back, the stolen fabrics pressing against my shoulders, and Mattaniah shifts until he's between us, his back against my chest, his legs stretched across Amos' lap. The arrangement happens without discussion.
"I found something in the files today." Mattaniah's voice is quiet, his head tipped back against my shoulder. "A recurring payment to a company called Meridian Holdings. Two hundred thousand dollars every quarter for the past three years."
"Meridian doesn't exist." Amos' hand rests on Mattaniah's knee. "I checked. The incorporation documents are fabricated."
"Your father is stealing from his own company." Mattaniah says it with a flatness that tells me he's not surprised by the corruption, only by the scale. "Eight hundred thousand a year into a shell company he controls."
"We knew that." My hand finds his hip. "What we needed was proof. You found it."
He turns his head enough that his mouth is close to my jaw. "What happens when you have enough?"
"We take it to the board. Father loses his position. The company stays intact." I keep my voice level because the plan sounds clean when I summarize it and the execution will be anything but. "Amos has the presentation nearly built."
"And me?" His voice drops. "What happens to me when your father goes down? My mother is tied to him. If he falls, she falls, and I'm the son of the woman who’s dating the CEO under false pretenses."
"You're the forensic analyst who helped uncover the fraud." Amos squeezes his knee. "That's how the board will see it."
None of us fills the silence. Mattaniah's hand finds mine on his hip and threads our fingers together. His thumb traces a pattern against my knuckle.
"I'm going to lock the door," Amos says, and he does.
When he comes back he doesn't sit across from us. He kneels in front of Mattaniah, between his spread knees, and takes the Omega's face in both hands. The kiss starts slow and stays slow, Amos' mouth moving against Mattaniah's with a patience that makes the Omega soften against my chest in increments. His fingers tighten on mine and a small sound escapes into Amos' mouth that I feel vibrate through his back into my ribs.
My free hand slides up under Mattaniah's shirt, my palm flat against his stomach, feeling the muscles tighten and releaseunder my touch. His skin is warm and the slick panties are already damp when my fingers brush the waistband, his body responding to the proximity of both of us before anyone has taken anything off.
Amos pulls back from the kiss and looks at me over Mattaniah's shoulder. "Go slow tonight."
"I know."
"I mean it, Dom."
Mattaniah turns in my arms until he's facing me, his knees on either side of my thighs, straddling my lap on the office floor with the nest at my back. His hands find my chest and his fingers work the buttons of my shirt, one at a time, his focus dropping to the fabric as it opens. Amos settles behind him and presses his mouth against the back of the Omega's neck while his hands slide up under Mattaniah's shirt and pull it over his head.
Mattaniah pushes my shirt off my shoulders and his eyes travel across my chest. His gaze catches on the left side and stops.
The bond mark sits over my nipple, a crescent of raised scar tissue that matches the one on Amos' ribs. The skin around it is healed and smooth, the edges softened by six years, but the shape of Amos' teeth is unmistakable. Mattaniah's hand hovers an inch from it, his fingers trembling.
"Can I?" he whispers.
"Yes."
