Page 85 of Mated To The King's Gamma
“Because you're mine!”
Dustin growls and Liam smiles. “So you better make me yours, too, Dustin.” Dustin stares at him for a second, then tackles him.
They hit the grass in a mess of limbs, mouths crashing together, the kiss desperate and sloppy and full of every repressed emotion brewing between them.
“Okay, that’s our cue,” Azalea whispers, grabbing my hand.
“Definitely,” I agree, eyes wide as Liam’s shirt flies off to the side.
We turn and bolt back inside, laughing breathlessly while closing the balcony doors behind us.
“What’s so funny?” Kyson asks, walking in with Gannon. Azalea chuckles and falls onto a chaise when Kyson moves to look out at the balcony. He jumps back and Gannon wanders over and chuckles unfazed by what he sees.
“We have bedrooms for a reason!” Kyson growls as Trey wanders into the room, stopping when Kyson looks at him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, just the man I need,” Kyson tells him. Trey looks at Azalea curiously when Kyson speaks. “Go downstairs and tell Liam and Dustin to stop fornicating in the damn garden!”
“What?” Trey asks, stomping to the balcony. I giggle when Trey lurches back.
41
THREE MONTHS LATER
Dustin sighs like this suit store is the pinnacle of hell.
He stands in front of the full-length mirror, arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between brooding and constipated. He's dressed in a white suit jacket with subtle silver embroidery that shimmers when he moves—but based on his look, you'd think we forced him into a glittering thong.
“I hate it, I prefer the black one,” Dustin whines at Azalea.
“You are not wearing black,” Azalea says, for what must be the fifth time. She stands beside me with her arms folded, her empress energy dialed to highly annoyed and about to fry his ass.
“Why not?” Dustin says, deadpanning.
“Because you’re not going to a funeral. You’re going to your wedding,” she says, enunciating each word like she’s speaking to a challenging child.
Dustin glares at his reflection. “Black is classic. Clean. Tactical.”
“You wear black every day,” Azalea points out. “It makes you look like you’re still on shift.”
“I don’t wear a suit jacket to work,” he mutters.
Azalea rolls her eyes, stepping away from us toward a display. “Gods, you are impossible.”
She snatches a white suit off the rack, one that practically glows under the boutique lights, and holds it up. “Try this.”
“I’m not wearing something that looks like it belongs to a virgin prince at a winter ball,” Dustin grumbles.
Tandi snorts from her seat on a plush velvet bench. “Honestly? Just go nude. At least you’ll match Liam, who’s still threatening to wear that cursed apron.”
I cringe. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”
“He says it’s ‘sentimental,’” Tandi replies. “Which is terrifying.”
Dustin freezes, turning slowly. “He wouldn’t.”
“He can't wear it. I stole it and hid it in your trunk.” Azalea chimes in. “Well, technically, I ordered Gannon to steal it for me.” She giggles.
