Chapter 18 Beth
Beth
Arthur's crotch is at my eye level and nobody is addressing it.
"Great," I say. "We're really nailing our pack dynamic here."
"Focus," Knox says.
"I am focused," I say. "It's just that Arthur's zipper is three inches from my face."
"You're welcome," Arthur says.
It's half past midnight. Nobody wanted the night to end after the party, so Knox suggested we play "the human knot" (yes, it does sound dirty). Reach across, grab two hands that aren't next to you, untangle without letting go. We are four moves in and more tangled than when we started.
Mason shifts behind me to free his arm from Knox's. The movement presses his hips flush against mine. I feel him. All of him.
"Knox," Mason says. His voice sounds like he gargled gravel. "Step through."
Knox ducks under Arthur's arm. The motion drags his chest along my body, his jaw grazing my temple. His elbow catches my breast and he freezes.
"S — sorry, accidental."
"P—Part of the game," I say, like my pulse didn't just spike hard enough to register on seismograph equipment.
"Now, I need to twist through there." He nods toward the gap between me and Arthur.
The twist puts his face in the crook of my neck, his chest pressing into mine, and behind me Mason's thumb traces the inside of my wrist. Once. Slow. My pulse flickers.
"Okay," Knox says, pulling back just enough to assess the knot. "Arthur, duck under Beth's arm. Mason, rotate left. Beth, you step over— "
"If you say step over Mason's arm I will need you to understand that my center of gravity is currently located somewhere near my ankles."
"Step over Mason's arm," he still says.
I try. I really do. I get my right leg over, but the left catches on Mason's forearm and my balance goes sideways. I grab for Knox, who grabs for Arthur, who grabs for nothing because his hands are occupied, and all four of us crash to the floor in a graceless tangle of limbs.
Mason's back hits the rug. I land on top of him. Knox lands half on me, half on Arthur, and Arthur ends up pinned under Knox's leg with my elbow in his ribs.
Nobody moves.
My face is in Mason's neck. Knox is draped across my back, his weight warm and solid and everywhere. Arthur's hand is still gripping mine, trapped between my hip and Mason's side. I can feel heartbeats, and all of them are going too fast for a party game.
"I think," I say into Mason's collarbone, "that this game is rigged."
Arthur groans beneath the pile. "Is anyone going to acknowledge that I'm being crushed, or— "
"Shh," Knox says. He hasn't moved. His breath is warm against the back of my neck, his hips flush against mine.
"You're literally on top of me," Arthur says.
Mason's hand slides to the small of my back.
"Maybe someone should move then," I whisper as a low current goes through me.
Nobody does.
Instead, Knox's lips brush the nape of my neck, his mouth resting against the top knob of my spine. I instinctively press my lips to Mason's throat in response, and a low growl vibrates against my mouth.
Arthur's hand untangles from mine and slides to my hip, his thumb tracing the strip of bare skin where my shirt has ridden up.
"Beth, I think—" Knox's voice is quiet. "If you don't want this to become something, you need to say so now."
I turn my head. Knox is right there, his pupils blown wide.
I don't say anything and his mouth meets mine. Something in the room detonates.
His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head, his tongue stroking against mine with a focus that turns my knees to liquid. I make a sound against his lips and he swallows it, and I grip his shirt to stay tethered to the planet.
Mason's forehead drops against my shoulder. His lips press to the bare curve where my neck meets my collarbone, and the dual sensation shorts out something behind my eyes.
I break away from Knox, gasping. Then scramble backward off the pile.
"I'm sorry. I don't—that was—"
Mason sits up. Reaches for me. Pulls me into his lap with both hands on my waist, and I'm straddling him before my brain catches up.
He cups my face, thumbs against my cheekbones, and looks at me with the quiet, burning focus of a man who's been holding his breath for months and just decided to stop.
His hand is on my jaw, the other at the small of my back pulling me flush, and I feel the hard planes of his chest, his erection...
"Don't even think about leaving me out of this." Arthur's voice. Nothing light in it.
He pulls me off Mason's lap and into his arms. His hand buries itself in my hair, tilting my head back, and he licks into my mouth with a groan I feel in my chest, my throat, lower. His other hand grips my waist.
I pull back from Arthur and sit there, breathing, looking at the three of them looking at me. Mason's jaw is tight. Knox's chest is heaving. Arthur's pupils are so blown his eyes look black.
Nobody speaks for a beat, then Mason scoops me up.
***
I reach back and unzip my dress. The zipper catches. I shimmy. It pools at my feet near Mason's bed, and I'm standing in front of three alphas in a strapless bra and underwear. The room goes silent.
Arthur's throat works. "Fuck, Beth."
I unhook my bra. Let it fall. My nipples harden from the weight of their stares.
Mason moves first. Crosses the distance and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands find my hips and he presses his mouth to my stomach. His hot, tongue traces a line down from my navel. He drags his lips lower, breath fanning against the lace, and hooks his fingers into the waistband.
He looks up at me. Waiting.
"Yes," I breathe. "God, yes."
He peels them down. I step out.
His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, grip my ass, and push his face between my legs.
The first stroke tears a scream from me.
He eats me out relentlessly and my thighs shake within seconds. I grab his hair. My hips roll as he groans into me.
Knox appears positions himself behind me. Bare-chested, his hands sliding around my waist, up my ribs, cupping my breasts, rolling my nipples hard enough to make me gasp. His mouth behind my ear.
"Lean back," he says. "I've got you."
His chest is solid behind me as he licks my neck. Mason's tongue is relentless below me. My legs are shaking and these two are the only reason I'm able to stay on my feet.
Arthur steps in from my side. Tilts my chin up. Kisses me slow and deep at the exact moment Mason sucks my clit into his mouth, and I whimper directly into Arthur's kiss.
The three of them. All at once.
"Let's move this to bed," Knox says.
Mason stands. Grabs my waist. Puts me on the bed like I weigh nothing.
I land on my back in the center of his immaculately made bed and watch three alphas undress.
Mason strips, shirt over his head, jeans shoved off. Arthur peels everything off like the building's on fire, grinning when he kicks his jeans into the corner.
Knox unbuttons his shirt. One button at a time. Folds it over the desk chair and removes his pants slowly. He knows exactly what the wait is doing to me.
I reach for them.
Mason comes back between my thighs. His mouth is on me again before I've finished breathing in.
Knox settles beside me, threads his fingers through my hair, and kisses me slow and thorough while his free hand trails featherlight circles around my nipple.
Arthur takes my other side, mouth closing around my breast, tongue circling, teeth grazing.
Mason adds a finger. I jolt. A second. My hips buck so hard Knox has to press his hand flat against my stomach.
Arthur's hand slides down to join Mason's. His fingers find where Mason's tongue meets my clit and press, circling, adding a new layer of tight pressure, and my vision whites at the edges.
"Arthur—I can't—it's—fuck—"
"Come for us, Beth." His mouth at my ear.
That's all the permission my body needed and I shatter.
The orgasm bows my spine off the mattress. I grab whatever I can reach and dig in, my body clenching around Mason's fingers in waves. The sound I make is guttural. I couldn't stop it if I tried.
And then something shifts.
It starts at the base of my skull. A warmth.... a smell.
Cedar.
Old-growth cedar, dense and warm, layered with woodsmoke and rain-soaked bark. It floods my sinuses, my chest, my bloodstream.
Mason. That's Mason.
A jolt of recognition so sharp I arch into him. He lets out a low groan, his breath hot against my sensitive skin, but the sensation blurs as the atmosphere in the room suddenly splinters.
A new current rushes in, washing over the heavy spice of the cedar like a sudden winter draft.
Eucalyptus.
It’s sharp and clean, a bracing chill threaded with the resinous depth of amberwood and the forest-thick bite of fir. It cuts flawlessly through the smoke, sending a fresh, entirely different kind of shiver down my limbs. My hands tighten into fists on the sheets.
Knox's scent.
But the third wave is the one that ends me.
Rosemary.
Sun-warmed rosemary, the oaky, sophisticated burn of bourbon, and the depth of cigar leaf.
Arthur. His scent wraps around the other two like it was designed to fit them, the three of them layering into a perfect, intoxicating chord.
Cedar and eucalyptus and rosemary. My omega instincts—dormant, buried, and ignored for years—slam awake with a territorial roar.
A second orgasm detonates.
I can't breathe. My body locks in a single blinding contraction that radiates outward, and I come so hard my nails score red lines down Arthur and Knox's forearm.
Silence.
I lie in the wreckage and try to remember what language is. My thighs are trembling and my heart is hammering so hard I feel it in my teeth.
And I can still smell them.
Like that one night at the clearing. That one impossible night I wrote off as a fluke.
Except this is not a fluke, and I'm able to smell their scents (which feel even stronger) even more precisely, down to each individual note.
But that's impossible... unless—