Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Zia
As Euan slid the door shut, sealing us inside the nest, the air pressure in the room dropped. Or maybe it spiked. I couldn't tell anymore. My internal sensors were swamped by a tidal wave of input, blackberries, scorched sugar, heavy molasses, toasted sesame.
They crowded the small space of the back lounge, too big, too loud, too real.
Alfie was on his knees at the edge of the nest, staring at me like I was a deity he’d been excommunicated from and just allowed back to worship.
Kit was stripping off his flannel shirt, revealing the ink that mapped his arms, his movements jerky with restraint.
Euan stood with his back to the door, his chest heaving, looking at me with eyes that were usually calm calculations but were now blown-wide ripples of panic and want.
"Zia," Alfie choked out. "We’re here. We’re in."
"I know," I rasped. My skin felt too tight, scorching hot against the soft fabric of the t-shirt I’d stolen. "I need... I don't know the protocol for this part."
"There is no protocol," Kit rumbled. He dropped to his knees beside Alfie, moving on instinct now. "There’s just the need. Tell us the need, Z."
"Pain," I confessed, clutching my stomach as another cramp twisted through me, turning my vision into static bursts of red and jagged black. "It hurts. It’s too much signal. I need dampening."
"Dampening," Euan repeated. He moved then, shedding his jacket, stepping into the nest. He didn't hesitate this time. "Weight and friction. We apply counter-pressure to the nervous system."
"Please," I whimpered.
Alfie moved first. He crawled over the chaotic pile of clothes, his hoodies, Kit’s shirts, Euan’s forgotten scarves, and stopped right between my spread knees. He didn't touch me yet. He hovered, his hands shaking where they hovered over my thighs.
"Permission to engage?" he whispered, his voice wrecked.
"Yes," I cried out, grabbing his wrists and slamming his hands onto my skin. "Yes. Don't ask anymore. Just do."
The contact was like a lightning strike grounding out. Alfie’s palms were hot, rough, desperate. He groaned, a sound torn from the bottom of his lungs, and buried his face in the tender flesh of my inner thigh.
"Fox," he murmured against my skin, inhaling deeply. "God, you taste like a storm."
"Kit," I gasped, looking up. "Weight. Now."
Kit moved behind me. He didn't just sit; he wrapped himself around my back, a solid wall of muscle and heat. He pulled me tight against his chest, his arms coming around to lock over my stomach, his heavy hands pressing down hard on the center of the cramp.
"Got you," Kit growled into my ear, the vibration traveling straight down my spine. "I’ve got the structure. Lean back. Let go."
I slammed my head back against his shoulder, sobbing with relief as his weight anchored me. The floating, dizzy sickness vanished, replaced by the overwhelming reality of espresso and dark earth.
Euan was there, kneeling in front of me, his eyes tracking every twitch of my face.
"Heart rate is critical," he muttered, though his voice was thick with his Scots accent, the edges rough. "You’re red-lining, Zia."
"Then fix the levels," I snapped, reaching out blindly.
Euan caught my hand. He kissed my knuckles, precise and fervent, then moved his hands to my waist, sliding under the hem of the t-shirt. His fingers were cool, contrasting with the fever heat of my skin. He mapped my ribs, his touch surgical but starving.
"Alfie," I gasped as the heat spiked again, demanding an outlet. "The ache. It’s... it’s waiting."
Alfie looked up, his mouth slick, his eyes wild gold. "Closer?"
"Harder," I begged.
He didn't need to hear it twice. He hooked my knees over his shoulders, spreading me wide open to the dim indigo light of the lounge. He looked at me, really looked at me, at the slick heat, the need, the absolute surrender of the producer who usually barricaded herself behind mixing desks.
"Copy that," he growled.
He lowered his head and tasted me.
I screamed.
It wasn't a pretty sound. It was raw audio, uncompressed and clipping.
The sensation was a blinding flash of synesthetic color, white-hot gold and neon pink shattering behind my eyes.
Alfie wasn't gentle. He was starving. His tongue was relentless, chasing the pulse, humming against the most sensitive bundle of nerves I possessed.
"Breathe," Kit commanded in my ear, his hand splay wide on my belly, pressing down as I bucked against him. "Four in. Six out. Stay with us, love."
"Can't," I sobbed, my fingers digging into Kit’s forearms. "It’s too high. The frequency is too high."
"We’ll ground it," Euan said. He moved closer, crowding in next to Alfie. He watched Alfie work with dark, dilated fascination, then looked up at me. "Permission to enter?"
"Euan," I pleaded. "Please."
He didn't use a toy. He used his fingers, slicking them with my own heat. He slid inside me, stretching the ache, filling the empty space that had been throbbing for hours.
The combination was devastating. Alfie’s mouth devouring me from the outside, Euan’s fingers claiming me from the inside, and Kit’s massive frame holding me together so I didn't fly apart.
"Mine," Alfie mumbled against me, the vibration sending shocks through my clit. "Tastes like mine."
"Ours," Kit corrected, biting the junction of my neck and shoulder, not breaking skin, just mouthing, pretend claiming the scent gland. "She’s ours."
"Zia," Euan commanded, his voice cutting through the haze. "Look at me."
I forced my eyes open. Euan was close, so close. His slate-grey scent was everywhere.
"You are determining the pace," he said, twisting his fingers inside me, hitting a spot that made my toes curl. "Input equals output. Tell me what you need."
"More," I choked out. "I need... full spectrum."
Alfie pulled back, gasping for air, his chin slick with me. He looked wrecked. Beautiful.
"She’s ready," Alfie panted. "She’s slick enough to drown in. Kit?"
"I'm holding the line," Kit said, his voice tight with strain. "You take the lead, Alf. I've got her anchor."
Alfie scrambled up, shedding his leather stage pants with frantic, clumsy hands.
He was hard, painfully so, leaking his own clear want.
He positioned himself between my legs, forcing Euan to shift to the side, though Euan didn't leave, he kept one hand on my hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the bone.
Alfie braced his hands on the mattress on either side of my head, looming over me, caging me in. His pink coat lay discarded in the corner like a dead muppet. He was just skin and muscle and terrifying Alpha intensity.
"Fox," he whispered, staring down at me. "I’m going to ruin you for quiet. You know that, yeah?"
"I don't want quiet," I said, reaching up to tangle my hands in his chaotic hair. "Make some noise."
He thrust into me.
It was a collision. A violent, perfect sync of biological signals. He filled me completely, stretching me open, claiming the space inside me that I had guarded with contracts and deadbolts for years.
I arched off the mattress, a cry tearing from my throat.
"Alfie," I sobbed. The colors exploded, deep, velvety indigo and molten copper, swirling together.
"I've got you," he groaned, withdrawing and slamming back in. The rhythm was erratic, driven by pure instinct. "I'm here. I'm deep. Copy that?"
"Copy," I gasped.
Kit’s hands were the only reason I wasn’t being pulverized against the bunk wall.
He had anchored himself behind me, his palms harsh and warm on my hips, guiding Alfie’s erratic, piston-like thrusts with the steady precision of a drummer keeping time.
He was absorbing the impact, his body a shock absorber between my spine and reality.
"That’s it, good lass," Kit growled, his voice a rough vibration against the shell of my ear, smelling of espresso and sweet tobacco. "Proper lovely. Take him. Take all of it."
I tried to answer, to tell him the input was hitting the red, but Euan leaned in from the side.
He captured my mouth in a kiss that was less about passion and more about containment.
He tasted of control. Cool, toasted tea and the snap of sesame brittle.
He swallowed my screams, his tongue sweeping my mouth with methodical intent, muffling the noise as Alfie picked up the pace.
Alfie was snapping his hips now, a frantic, animalistic motion that shook the entire frame of the bus. It was a chaotic frequency, a wall of sound that vibrated in my teeth.
It was too much. It was everything.
I was completely surrounded, my sensory inputs overwhelmed. Behind me, Kit was solid earth and dark molasses, an immovable object. Inside me, Alfie was burnt sugar and fire, a kinetic force. In my mouth, Euan was clean air and structural integrity.
The pack. They were rewriting my operating system code by code.
"I'm close," Alfie panted, the words tearing out of his chest. He collapsed his weight onto his forearms, his forehead dropping to rest heavily against mine, sweat slicking our skin together. "Fox, fuck, I’m close. Can I... Z, can I knot? Please. I need to tie you down."
The question cut through the haze like a feedback spike.
The knot. The biological lock. The ultimate claim of stay without the bite.
My brain flashed to the table across the narrow aisle. The Exit Card was there. Face down. The laminate plastic that promised I could walk away, that I could eject before the session got too heavy.
Then I opened my eyes. I looked at Alfie. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris, swimming with tears of sheer effort and terrifying adoration. He was waiting. He was shaking with the need to claim, but he was waiting for the signal.
"Tie me down," I whispered against his bruised lips. "Don't let me run."