29. Damon
Charm of Courage:
Knot three strings; tie around wrist. Wear in storms of the heart.
Thistle follows me into the kitchen. His small body brushes against my ankles as I open the cabinets, searching for something a cat might eat.
I find a can of tuna in the back and crack it open, dropping it into a shallow dish.
The cat dives in immediately, his purrs vibrating through the tile floor.
I crouch next to him and watch him eat. Watch my own hands as they rest on my knees. They’re shaking. Not from the cold, not from the storm. From her.
I want her. I need her. The distinction between those two statements has dissolved somewhere between her doorstep and this kitchen floor.
My cock is leaking in my boxers, a mess I can’t do anything about, and every breath I take is coated in her scent.
Honey and cinnamon and slick and sex. It’s seeped into the walls, the furniture, my fucking skin.
Thistle finishes eating and sits back, licking his whiskers. He looks up at me with those yellow-green eyes, and I swear the cat is judging me.
“Yeah, buddy,” I mutter. “I know.”
The last time I was in this exact position, I had spent all night inside Caroline. The memories flood my mind, making my cock even harder.
I stand. My legs feel unsteady. I wash my hands at the sink and dry them on a dish towel. Through the doorway, I can hear them. Low voices. Movement. The wet sound of lips on skin.
I don’t give myself time to think. If I think, I’ll talk myself out of this. I’ll remember that I’m the sheriff, that I’m supposed to be protecting this town, that the Council envoy currently balls-deep in the woman I want is here to dismantle everything we’ve built.
I walk back into the living room and stop.
They’ve pulled the sofa cushions onto the floor, creating a makeshift bed in front of the fireplace.
And Caroline is gloriously naked. Every inch of her is on display—the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts.
Her skin is flushed pink from the heat, from the sex, and in the low light of the room, she looks like something out of a painting.
Griffin is on his knees in front of her.
His head is tipped back, one hand fisted in his own shirt, holding it up and out of the way.
His pants and boxers are shoved down his thighs, and Caroline’s mouth is wrapped around his cock.
Her head bobs in a smooth motion, her lips stretched around him, her hand gripping the base.
Holy fuck. This woman is trying to kill me.
She pulls off, and a string of saliva slides from her lips, trailing down her chin and neck. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, and her eyes find mine.
“Is Thistle okay?”
The question is so normal, so grounded, that it nearly breaks me. Here she is, naked and flushed and kneeling between two men, and she’s asking about her cat.
“Perfect,” I tell her. “He ate. He’s fine.”
She smiles. Then she turns back to Griffin, presses a kiss to the tip of his cock, and swallows him again.
My hands are on my belt before I even realize I’m moving. I shove my pants down, step out of them, and wrap my hand around my cock. I stroke myself once, twice, the friction almost painful against my oversensitive skin. Pre-come beads at the tip and slides over my knuckles.
I stand there, just inside the doorway, watching her work.
Watching the way her cheeks hollow when she sucks, the way Griffin’s abs tense with every stroke, the way her ass sways in the air.
Silas is behind her on the cushions, his hands on her hips, guiding her back and forth.
She’s rocking against his lap, grinding down on him, and the sight of it—the three of them moving together, connected—makes my balls tighten.
“Come closer, Damon.”
This is a command from an Omega to her Alpha, and my body obeys before my brain catches up.
I cross the room in five strides. She reaches for me without taking her mouth off Griffin, her hand finding my cock and pulling me toward her. Her fingers wrap around the shaft, and I hiss through my teeth. Her grip is slick—maybe from Silas, maybe herself—and the glide of her palm is obscene.
“That’s it,” Griffin groans. “Just like that.”
I slide my hand into her hair. It’s soft between my fingers, still slightly damp from the rain.
I don’t push or pull. I just hold her, feeling the movement of her head through my palm as she works us both.
She switches between us—three strokes on Griffin, three on me, back and forth, her tongue doing something wicked to the underside of my cock before she returns to Griffin and takes him deep enough that he curses.
Silas is watching from behind her. His hands are on her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above her ass, and he’s rocking her back and forth. The knot has gone down enough that he’s freed from her, but he’s not done. Not even close.
“Your mouth feels so good,” Griffin says. The words come out broken, barely held together. His free hand finds her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. “So fucking good, baby.”
She hums around him, and he shudders.
I look down at her—at this woman who has occupied every quiet moment of my thoughts for the past few months—and I feel something crack open in my chest. Not lust, though there’s plenty of that. Something deeper. Something that has no place in a scene like this but refuses to leave anyway.
She pulls off Griffin and turns her face toward me, her lips swollen and wet, and takes me into her mouth.
The heat of her mouth is enough to make my knees buckle. She takes me deep, her throat fluttering around the head of my cock, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from coming right there.
Griffin shifts beside me. His cock is wet from her mouth, and his eyes are locked on where she’s taking me in. There’s a tension in his jaw, a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago. I recognize it. I’ve seen it in my own reflection enough times.
Possessiveness. The Alpha instinct screaming that she’s his, not mine.
“She’s good at that,” Griffin says. The words come out clipped.
“Yeah.” I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I look at him, I’ll see the challenge in his eyes, and I’ll have to respond to it. “She is.”
Caroline pulls off me with a slick pop, gasping for air. A strand of saliva connects her lips to my cock before breaking. She turns to Griffin and takes him back into her mouth, and the sight of it—her lips stretched around him, her cheeks hollowing—makes something primal surge in my chest.
Mine, my Alpha snarls. She’s mine.
No. Not mine. Ours.
The distinction matters. It has to matter, or this whole thing falls apart.
Silas’s hands tighten on Caroline’s hips. He pulls her back against his lap, grinding her down on his cock, and she moans around Griffin. The vibration makes him curse, his hand flying to her hair alongside mine. Our fingers brush. We both pull back like we’ve been burned.
“Easy,” Silas says. Not to her. To us. “You’re both crowding her.”
“She can take it,” I snap.
“Doesn’t mean she should have to.” Silas’s eyes meet mine over her shoulder. Dark. Calculating. “There’s three of us and one of her. If we don’t figure out how to share, we’re going to hurt her.”
Griffin makes a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan.
“I don’t share,” he says.
“You do tonight.” Silas’s tone leaves no room for argument. “She’s in heat. She needs all of us. Not one of us trying to claim her while the other two watch.”
“She’s not yours to—”
“She’s not anyone’s.” Silas cuts Griffin off, his hands stilling on Caroline’s hips. “That’s the point. She’s hers. And right now, her body is telling her she needs more than one Alpha can give. So we can either work together, or we can fight over her and leave her unsatisfied. Your choice.”
Silence. Caroline’s breathing fills the gap, ragged and desperate. Her hips rock against Silas, seeking friction, seeking more.
Griffin’s jaw works. His eyes move from Silas to me to Caroline, and I can see the war raging behind them. The Alpha who wants to fight, to claim, to win. And the man who loves her enough to put her needs above his pride.
“Fine,” he finally says. “Fine. But I go next. Inside her.”
My own Alpha bristles at that. I want to argue, want to stake my claim, but Silas is right. We’re going to hurt her if we don’t get this under control.
“Agreed,” I say. The words taste like ash.
Caroline pulls off Griffin and looks up at all three of us. Her eyes are glazed, fever-bright, but there’s awareness there too. Understanding.
“Stop fighting,” she whispers. “Please. I need you. All of you. Don’t make me choose.”
No one argues with that.
Griffin moves first. He strips off his shirt, kicks free of his pants and boxers, and pulls Caroline into his lap. She goes willingly, her legs wrapping around his waist, her arms looping around his neck. He kisses her, and she melts into him.
I watch. My cock aches, neglected, but I don’t reach for it. I wait.
Silas moves behind her. His shirt comes off, revealing a lean torso crisscrossed with scars I don’t recognize. Rune burns, maybe. Battle marks. He presses against her back, his mouth finding the curve of her neck, and she shivers between them.
“On your knees, sweetheart,” Griffin murmurs against her lips.
She shifts, repositioning herself on her hands and knees between us. Griffin moves behind her, his hands gripping her hips, his cock lined up with her entrance. Silas settles in front of her, his back against the couch, his cock level with her mouth.
They don’t even have to coordinate. They just… move.
Griffin pushes inside her, and she gasps, her head dropping forward. Silas takes the opportunity to slide into her mouth, and the sound she makes—muffled, overwhelmed, perfect—goes straight to my cock.