Chapter 33 #3
"That's it, chère," Remy breathed at my ear, his accent so thick it was almost another language, pinching my nipple at the same moment Silas rubbed harder in a coordinated assault that made my vision white out at the edges. "Let us hear you. Let us hear how good we make you feel."
The sound that came out of me was pure omega—a keening, desperate thing that filled the cab of the truck, that made the windows fog even more.
My scent had gone heady and thick, apple cider sharpened into musk and honey and want.
The smell of an omega being thoroughly, devastatingly pleasured.
Harper made a sound like he was dying, like he was being tortured in the sweetest possible way. The speedometer crept higher still.
"She's so responsive," Silas said, almost to himself, wonder coloring the rough edges of his voice.
His scarred fingers moved in slow circles that made my hips roll helplessly, chasing the friction, chasing the release that was building like a wave.
His pale eyes were blown black, his breathing as ragged as mine. "So gorgeous like this."
"You should see her face," Remy agreed, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath hot and damp. "She's close. I can feel it. Can feel her trembling."
"Don't you dare make her come without me," Harper growled from the front seat, the command of the Head Alpha ringing through every syllable. "I mean it."
Silas's touch stilled, and I actually whined—a high, frustrated sound that made both of them laugh, low and dark and pleased with themselves.
"You heard the Head Alpha," Silas murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple, tender despite the teasing, his thumb stroking gentle circles on my thigh now instead of that maddening pressure. "We have to wait."
"I hate you," I panted, my whole body strung tight as a wire, so close to the edge I could taste it. "I hate all of you."
"No you don't." Remy's smile was wicked at my neck, his teeth scraping gently over my fluttering pulse. I didn't have time to make a comment back as Silas's touch started moving again, lighter now, teasing, keeping me hovering at the edge without letting me fall.
"How much longer?" I gasped, my fingers digging into the leather seat, barely able to form the words through the haze of need.
Harper checked the road, checked the mirror, checked the road again, his knuckles white on the wheel. "Five minutes. Maybe four if I—" The truck accelerated again, pressing me back into the seat. "Four."
Those four minutes were the longest of my life.
Remy and Silas took turns kissing me, their mouths trading off while their hands never stopped moving—touching, teasing, worshipping.
They kept me hovering right at the edge, desperate and aching, my whole body strung tight as a bow.
Every time I got close, they'd ease off, laughing softly at my frustrated sounds, promising it would be worth it.
Harper's commentary from the front seat didn't help—a running litany of "fuck" and "Jesus" and "you two are going to be the death of me" that only made everything hotter, knowing he was watching, knowing he was suffering, knowing he wanted me just as desperately.
When the truck finally—finally—turned onto the dirt road that led to the cabin, I could have wept with relief.
"Thank God," Harper muttered, throwing the truck into park before the engine had fully stopped. He was out of the driver's seat and yanking open the back door in seconds, reaching for me with broad, capable hands that shook with need.
"Inside," he growled, pulling me out of the backseat and into his arms, lifting me like I weighed nothing. "Now."
I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me toward the cabin, Remy and Silas following close behind. I could feel how hard he was, the thick length of him pressing at my center with every step, and I rolled my hips deliberately, grinding down, making him stumble and curse.
"Witch," he accused, but he was smiling, his gray eyes bright with want and a softness underneath that looked a lot like adoration.
The cabin door banged open. Harper carried me through the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom, depositing me on the nest of blankets and pillows we'd built together.
I bounced once on the soft surface, surrounded by our mingled scents—pine and honey and ozone layered over the clean cotton and the faint sweetness of apple cider that was all me.
I looked up at the three Alphas who stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at me like I was something precious.
Something sacred. Something theirs. My heart hammered against my ribs.
My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, every nerve ending alive and aching.
The anticipation was almost unbearable—the need to be touched, to be claimed, to feel them everywhere.
"Now," Harper said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through my chest even from feet away.
He was already pulling his flannel over his head, revealing the broad, muscled chest beneath—the dark hair scattered across his pecs, the ridged abs that tensed with every breath, the trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
His skin was tanned from working outside, a scar cutting across his ribs that I wanted to trace with my tongue. "Where were we?"
Remy followed suit, stripping off his shirt in one fluid motion, baring the lean muscles of his torso—swimmer's build, all coiled grace and hidden strength. His skin was golden in the afternoon light, a sprinkling of freckles across his shoulders that I'd never noticed before.
Silas was slower, more deliberate, his scarred fingers working the buttons of his shirt one by one.
When the fabric parted, I caught my breath.
His chest was a roadmap of silver scars—some surgical, some not—over hard, defined muscle.
He saw me looking and went still, uncertainty flickering in his pale eyes.
"Don't," I breathed, reaching for him. "Don't hide. You're beautiful."
The uncertainty melted into wonder, and something in my chest cracked open at the sight. Then they were on me, and coherent thought became impossible.
Harper kissed me first, making up for lost time, his big body covering mine, pressing me into the nest. His beard scraped deliciously against my chin as his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, demanding.
He tasted like coffee and the moonshine he made—dark and rich, smooth with a burn underneath that spread warmth through my whole body.
I melted into him with a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper, my fingers digging into his bare shoulders, feeling the muscles flex and bunch beneath his sun-warm skin.
His weight was perfect—grounding, reassuring, making me feel small and protected in the best possible way.
I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, almost as fast as mine.
Remy's clever fingers found the hem of my shirt, sliding beneath to touch bare skin, and I gasped into Harper's mouth. His palms were warm, slightly rough with calluses from years of guitar playing, and they traced up my ribs like he was counting each one, memorizing the architecture of my body.
"Lift up, chère," he murmured, and I arched my back so he could pull the shirt over my head. The cool air hit my overheated skin, making me shiver—or maybe that was the way all three of them were looking at me.
My ruined bra followed, and then Remy's mouth was following his hands down my body, kissing every inch of skin he revealed.
He traced my collarbone with his tongue, tasting the salt of my sweat.
He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the swell of my breasts, his breath hot and damp, making my nipples tighten in anticipation.
When he finally—finally—pulled one peak into the wet heat of his mouth, I cried out, my back bowing off the bed.
The sensation was electric, shooting straight from my nipple to my core, making me clench around nothing.
His tongue circled, flicked, teased, while his fingers rolled and pinched the other, and I was already trembling, already falling apart, and they'd barely started.
"Responsive," Harper rumbled approvingly against my throat, where he'd migrated to suck marks into my skin. His teeth scraped my pulse point, and I felt it pound against his lips. "So fucking responsive, sweetheart. Love watching you come undone."
"More," I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for, just knowing I needed it. "Please, more—"
Silas had moved to my jeans, his scarred fingers working the button with careful concentration. He tugged them down my hips with a reverence that made my heart clench, like he was unwrapping something infinitely precious, afraid of breaking it.
When the denim cleared my thighs, he pressed a kiss to my hipbone, right above the line of my underwear. Just a brush of lips, gentle as a prayer. I felt tears prick at my eyes—the tenderness of it after so much teasing, so much desperate want. This wasn't just sex. This was worship.
"Beautiful," Silas murmured into my skin, his breath ghosting over the sensitive hollow of my hip. His scarred fingers hooked in the waistband of my underwear, and he looked up at me, pale eyes burning, asking permission even now. "So fucking beautiful. Can I...?"
"Yes," I breathed. "God, yes, please—" He dragged the cotton down my legs slowly, his gaze tracking every inch of skin revealed, and I should have felt self-conscious—naked and spread out before three fully-clothed Alphas—but I just felt wanted. Cherished. Seen.
They took me apart piece by piece, layer by layer, until I was naked and trembling in the center of the nest. My skin was flushed pink from my cheeks to my chest, oversensitized, every nerve ending singing.
The afternoon light painted gold stripes across my body, and I could feel their gazes like physical touches.