Chapter 66 He Wants Mine
HE WANTS MINE
On Your Knees - Ex Habit
Kookaburra
Poor Nightshade. He’s been in control for so long that he’s spiralling without a plan. Well, we have a plan. A shitty one. But the only one possible right now.
He just doesn’t like it.
Even as he kisses me with total desperation, I can still feel the gears in his head grinding, trying to come up with an alternate solution.
He’s used to taking point, being in charge, not being questioned.
The others look to him for leadership and direction, and he’s floundering here without a backup plan.
That’s why I let him kiss me like he owns me.
Because he needs it.
Because if I don’t give him something solid to hold onto, he’s going to tear himself apart trying to solve a problem that doesn’t have a clean answer yet.
His mouth is everywhere – claiming, demanding, pouring all that restless energy into me like if he can just anchor me here, I won’t slip out of his reach again.
His hands frame my face, thumbs rough against my jaw, breath uneven against my lips.
He kisses like he’s trying to convince himself I’m still real.
I let him.
I let myself soften into it, let my body take the lead while my mind stays carefully detached, watching the shape of the moment instead of drowning in it.
His desperation hums against my skin, loud and unhidden.
He’s not trying to dominate me – he’s trying to hold onto me. There’s a difference, and he knows it.
Bones doesn’t rush us.
That’s the first thing that steadies me.
He stays close, presence heavy and deliberate, a quiet counterbalance to Nightshade’s intensity. When his hand comes to my back, it’s slow, grounding, fingers spread wide like he’s reminding me where my body ends and the world begins. No urgency. No hunger. Just certainty.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, not as instruction but as permission.
I do.
Nightshade feels it – the shift, the way my weight settles instead of pulling away – and something in him eases, just a fraction.
His kiss slows, deepens, becomes less frantic and more intentional.
Possession reshaped into something steadier, something that doesn’t feel like it’s about fear anymore.
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the tension still coiled there, the way his heart is still racing even as his breathing starts to match mine. He shudders slightly under my touch, like he’s been holding himself together by force alone and is finally letting himself feel.
“Look at me,” I say softly.
He does. Immediately. There’s too much in his eyes – relief, frustration, hunger, something dangerously close to awe. He’s never been good at not knowing what comes next. I can see him fighting the instinct to regain control, to turn this into something ordered and decisive.
I don’t let him.
I turn my head slightly, just enough that Bones is fully in my line of sight. His gaze is steady, assessing – not detached, but anchored. He sees exactly what I’m doing and why.
“This isn’t you losing me,” I say quietly, for both of them. “This is me staying.”
Bones nods once, slow and deliberate. “Then stay,” he says. “Here.”
His hand presses more firmly against my back, heat and weight and reality. The contact sends a quiet tremor through me. I’m not floating. I’m not slipping sideways. I’m here, in my body, in this room, choosing this moment instead of letting it swallow me whole.
Nightshade exhales shakily and pulls me closer, his forehead dropping to mine. “Don’t disappear,” he murmurs. Not an order. A confession.
“I won’t,” I say. “Not tonight.”
That’s all I can promise for now. But that’s enough.
The move toward the bed is lazy but electric – no words, just heat. Nightshade’s hands on my hips guide me, firm but careful; Bones’ palm presses into my lower back, fingers splayed like an anchor. Their weight settles over me, not trapping but holding, their bodies a shield against every fear.
I don’t need to run.
I’m choosing this.
Nightshade’s thigh slams against mine, his cock straining through fabric, hot and insistent.
Bones’ hand creeps under my shirt, fingers skimming my ribs before slipping beneath my bra, thumb circling my nipple until it puffs, aching for more friction.
My pulse hammers; desperation blooms in me – need that I own.
I pull back, breath ragged but eyes clear. “We’ll wait,” I pant. “For Valentine.”
Nightshade’s back stiffens, but he nods once, controlled. Bones meets my gaze, brows raised. “Your call?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” I sound sure.
A low exhale from Nightshade. “Then we wait.”
Because I chose to stay.
The tension in the room exhales. Nightshade’s grip shifts – no less tight, but surer. The panic drains from his dark eyes, replaced by something harder, steadier: claim without fear. Bones senses it too, muscles coiling. He watches me, waiting for consent to tip into flesh.
I give it.
Nightshade growls, mouth crashing on mine.
His lips part mine, tongue plunging deep, and I melt, desperate for the friction, the heat.
He cages me with his arms, his hardened chest pressing down, cock hard against my thigh.
Bones slips a hand low, fingers teasing the wet seam of my panties; I arch, mouth full of Nightshade’s taste.
“Yes,” I gasp into Nightshade’s kiss, and that’s my green light.
Nightshade’s hands rip my shirt up over my head, thumbs hooking under my bra strap.
He tears it loose in one brutal motion. My breasts spill free, nipples hard and begging.
He hisses at the sight and devours one areola with bruising heat, teeth grazing sensitive skin until I cry out.
Bones wastes no time, sinking to his knees beside the bed.
His mouth engulfs my other breast, tongue sliding over my nipple, sucking and flicking until my hips press down, desperate for friction everywhere.
Nightshade yanks my panties aside. His cock, thick and slick, hovers at my entrance.
Bones slides a finger inside me, slow, deliberate, stretching me wide.
I grip the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as Nightshade pushes in – slow at first, testing, then driving deeper with a groan that rattles my bones.
I’m full, every nerve ending alive, pushing back against him, desperate for the friction of his rough skin.
Bones’ mouth leaves my breast and crawls upward, lips brushing my jaw, teeth nipping as he kisses me. His hand works me, caressing my clit in time with Nightshade’s thrusts. I rock my hips against Nightshade, a wordless plea pulling from deep within, a raw hunger.
Nightshade sets a brutal pace, hips slamming into me. “God, you’re mine,” he rasps between thrusts. “So fucking wet for me. Perfect.”
I can’t speak – only moan, my body twitching around his cock. Bones slides another finger into me, then two, stretching me thrillingly wide, and I feel it – crackling, building, everything pointed toward that edge. Nightshade leans over, eyes dark with need, mouth at my ear. “Come for us, love.”
His words push me off the edge. I implode around him, the first release rippling through every muscle.
But they're not finished—not even close.
Bones takes his turn next, flipping me over while I'm still trembling. I scream his name, begging for mercy that never comes.
Hours blur.
Nightshade claims me again, relentless until I'm sobbing, ruined. They take turns breaking me apart, rebuilding me just to shatter me again.
Dawn finds us still tangled, sweat-slick and breathless. I've lost count of how many times they've made me come undone. I’m not empty. I’m full of their heat, their claim, my own fierce choice.
When morning light filters in, we're a boneless heap—my voice hoarse, my body marked, owned. I stay—choosing this beautiful destruction over the emptiness of before. Their hands roam gently now – tracing, memorising every inch.
Bones’ fingers lace with mine, thumb stroking my palm. “Chosen,” he whispers.
Nightshade presses a reverent kiss to my collarbone. “Mine,” he murmurs.
Not a demand.
An agreement.
I nod against the pillow.
Not because he won.
Because I decided.
And for now, that’s enough.