Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Daniel
The silence that followed her command wasn't the empty, terrifying vacuum of the auditorium. It was the charged, heavy silence of an intake of breath before a prayer.
Tessa stood before us, naked and glorious.
The firelight licked up her legs, casting long, dancing shadows against her pale skin, illuminating the flush that started at her chest and rose to her hairline.
She was shaking, but not with withdrawal.
She was vibrating with the sheer, nuclear force of the heat spike.
"Fill the void," she had said.
It was an order. A plea. And it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
"Down," I rumbled.
I didn't think about the word before I said it. It bypassed my brain and resonated straight from my chest, deep and low, the kind of sub-bass frequency that you feel in your teeth.
Tessa didn't hesitate. Her knees, already weak from the chemical overload, buckled.
I caught her.
I didn't catch her like a falling object; I caught her like a falling star.
My hands, massive and broad, swept out and wrapped around her waist, taking her weight before she could hit the hardwood.
The heat of her skin burned through the flannel of my shirt, searing the imprint of her ribs against my forearms.
"The rug," I told the others, my voice thick. "We need the rug. Soft pile."
It was a dynamic term. Soft Pile. It meant safety, a crush of bodies, and a tangle of limbs. It was an instinctual formation for a pack that needed to ground a frantic Omega, but we had never been a pack before. We were just three broken men and the woman we had failed.
But tonight, the broken pieces were magnetizing.
I lowered her onto the thick wool rug in front of the hearth. The fire was roaring now, throwing out enough heat to make the air shimmer, smelling of cedar and sap.
Tessa landed on her back, her hair fanning out like a dark halo. She looked up at us, three giants looming in the firelight, and for the first time, she didn't flinch. Her nostrils flared, taking in the cocktail of our scents.
"Crowd me," she whispered, her hands reaching up, grasping at the air, grasping at us. "Don't leave any space."
Anders moved first, driven by that same desperate efficiency he applied to everything.
He stripped off his ruined dress shirt, popping buttons that skittered across the floor like hail.
His chest was pale and broad, dusted with golden hair, muscles jumping with tension.
He moved behind her head, sitting against the base of the sofa, and slid his hands under her shoulders, lifting her upper body so she was cradled between his legs, resting back against his chest.
"I have her anchor," Anders breathed, his voice tight, his nose burying itself in her hair. He wrapped his arms around her upper chest, locking her to him, becoming the structural integrity she needed.
Simon dropped to his knees on her left. He didn't take his eyes off her face. He looked like a man starving to death at a banquet, terrified that the food might vanish if he blinked.
I settled between her legs.
I was the mountain. I was the heavy, immovable object. I spread my knees wide, creating a cradle for her hips. I leaned forward, my hands finding purchase on her thighs, my thumbs brushing the incredibly soft, sensitive skin of her inner legs.
"We're here," I said, pitching my voice into that soothing, rhythmic cadence. "We're all here. No gaps. No exits. Just us."
"It's so loud," Tessa gasped, her head rolling back against Anders’ shoulder. "My head... it's screaming."
"Then we'll get louder," I promised.
I leaned down. The scent of her, blackberries, sea salt, and pure, concentrated heat, was violent this close. It made my mouth water. It made the Alpha in my hindbrain roar to bite, to claim, to mark. I shoved that beast down. She needed service, not conquest.
I pressed my mouth to the inside of her knee.
"You are safe," I murmured against her skin, letting the vibration travel up her leg.
I kissed my way up. The vast expanse of her thigh was a landscape I had dreamed of for years. Now, she was here. Real. Tactile.
"Simon," I said, not looking up from my worship. "Use your hands."
Simon made a broken noise, half-sob, half-growl. I saw his hand move in my peripheral vision, those long, ink-stained, artist fingers. He didn't hesitate this time. He didn't apologize.
He reached down and touched her wetness.
Tessa arched off the rug, a cry tearing from her throat. "Oh! God, yes."
"Good sound," I praised instantly, moving my face closer to her center. "That is a perfect sound, Tessa. Let it out. Don't hold it in."
"It's too much," she whimpered, her hands clawing at Anders’ forearms where they crossed her chest. "Everyone is watching."
"Look at me," I commanded.
I crawled up her body, hovering over her, blocking out the room, blocking out the shadows. I filled her field of vision completely. My shoulders, my face, my eyes.
"Who is watching?" I demanded softly.
She blinked, her grey eyes hazy and unfocused, then sharpening on my face.
"You," she whispered. "Daniel."
"Just me," I agreed. "And Simon. And Anders. The choir is gone, Tessa. The audience went home. It's just the pack."
I lowered my mouth to hers.
I didn't ask. I took.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a seal. I covered her mouth completely, swallowing her gasp, pressing her head back against Anders’ shoulder.
I gave her my tongue, thick and heavy, sweeping into her mouth with a rhythm that mimicked what she needed below.
I tasted her shock, desire, and the metallic tang of adrenaline.
Simon took the cue.
While I occupied her mouth, silencing the ghosts with pressure and taste, Simon slid two fingers inside her.
I felt the jolt run through her body. She clamped down on my tongue, her teeth grazing me, a desperate, reflexive bite. I didn't pull away. I growled into her mouth, a low, approving rumble that vibrated through her skull.
Mmm-hmm.
I broke the kiss, just an inch, just enough to speak against her wet, swollen lips.
"That's it," I praised, my voice a rough velvet purr. "Take him. You're so tight, sweetheart. So hungry. Squeeze him."
"Simon," she panted, her hips snapping up, chasing the artist's hand. "Deeper. Please, draw it out."
"I’m trying," Simon rasped, his voice sounding wet. He was working his fingers with a frantic, dexterous rhythm, staring at the junction of her thighs like it was the holy grail. "You're drowning me, Tess. You're so wet."
"Good girl," I murmured, kissing her jaw, her ear, the sensitive cord of her neck. "You're doing so good. Listen to that slick sound. That’s the sound of you being real. That’s the sound of you surviving."
"It feels... heavy," she cried out, her head thrashing against Anders. "I feel full."
"You are full," Anders spoke from behind her. His voice was the counterpoint to mine, sharper, cooler, smelling of bourbon. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing the scent gland there, a threat and a promise. "We have you bracketed. You are the center of the structure."
"Daniel," she begged, her hands leaving Anders’ arms to reach for me. She grabbed my face, her palms sweating, desperate. "My mouth. I need... I need noise. I need weight."
She wanted to be grounded. She wanted to be overwhelmed so that she couldn't think about the past.
"Open," I ordered.
She dropped her jaw.
I kissed her again, harder this time. I let my weight settle on her, careful not to crush her but heavy enough to pin her to the rug, heavy enough to make her feel the reality of my mass.
I ground my hips against her thigh, letting her feel the hard ridge of my own arousal through my jeans, letting her know that her heat was affecting me, that she was powerful enough to break me too.
Simon picked up the pace. I could hear the wet, heavy slap of skin against skin. The scent of burnt sugar spiked, he was close to the edge, getting high on her pleasure.
"Ah! Ah! Simon!" She broke the kiss, screaming his name. It was a jagged, raw sound.
"Tell him," I encouraged, moving my mouth to her throat, licking the pulse that hammered there like a trapped bird. "Tell him how good his hands are. Just like the sketchbook, Tessa. Just like the drawing. You're the masterpiece now."
"It's beautiful," Simon choked out, his free hand gripping her hip, bruising the skin with his grip. "You're beautiful. I’m sketching this in my head. Every line. Every shiver."
"I'm burning," she wailed, tears leaking from her eyes. "It’s not stopping. The ache isn't stopping!"
"We aren't stopping either," I vowed. "We're going to layer it. We're going to pile it on until there's no room for the ache."
I sat back on my heels, needing to see her face. My hands moved to her breasts, cupping them through the thin silk of the open robe. They were heavy, swollen, the nipples hard and dark.
"Look at you," I rumbled, letting my gaze travel over her like a physical touch. "So red. So responsive. You aren't broken, Tessa. Broken things don't burn this bright."
"Daniel," she hissed, her hips bucking off the floor, grinding against Simon’s hand, seeking more friction. "Your voice. Use the... the vibration."
"On your throat?" I asked.
"Yes. Everywhere. Make me hum."
I leaned down. I pressed my mouth against the hollow of her throat, right over her voice box.
"Okay," I whispered. "Sing with me."
I started the hum. Low. Chest-deep. A continuous drone of pure Alpha resonance.
It vibrated against her trachea. She gasped, the sound distorted by the pressure.
"Good," I praised against her skin, keeping the vibration going. "You taste like salt. You taste like work. I love how messy you are."
I moved my mouth lower, to the swell of her breast. I took her nipple into my mouth and hummed against it, a sharp buzz of sensation that made her scream.
"Anders!" she cried out, reaching back blindly.
Anders caught her hands. He laced his fingers through hers, gripping tight, anchoring her to the earth while I played her body like an instrument and Simon drove her toward the edge.
"I've got you," Anders growled against her ear. "I'm not letting go. Not this time. No protocols. Just this."
"I'm close," Simon warned, his voice straining. "Daniel, she's clamping down. She's going to spike."
"Guide her," I commanded, moving back to her mouth, hovering inches away. "Tessa. Listen to me."
Her eyes flew open. They were wild, panic warring with ecstasy.
"They laughed," she whispered, the old ghost surfacing at the moment of crisis. "They're going to laugh."
"No," I said firmly. "Listen to the room. What do you hear?"
I waited.
"Breathing?" she rasped.
"Rough breathing," I corrected. "Desperate breathing. You hear three men who are ready to tear the world apart just to hear you come. You hear hunger, Tessa. Not laughter. Hunger."
I grabbed her face, forcing her to look at me.
"Feed us," I groaned. "Give it to us."
That broke the dam.
The realization that her pleasure wasn't a spectacle, but a sustenance, shattered the last of her resistance.
She screamed.
It was a long, open-throated wail of release. Her body bowed upward, lifting off the rug, sustained only by Anders’ grip on her arms and the tension of her own muscles. Simon swore, a filthy stream of praise as he worked her through the spasms, his hand moving in a blur.
"Yes!" I shouted, praising her volume. "Loud! Be loud! Let them hear you in the next town! Let the ocean hear you!"
I kissed her while she screamed, swallowing the sound, mixing it with my own growls. I drank her release. I felt the tremors run through her body and pass into mine, shaking me to my core.
She came for what felt like forever, wave after wave of heat rolling off her, scorching us. The scent in the room turned thick and resinous, honey, berries, bourbon, chocolate, spice. A sensory bomb that obliterated the smell of the sterile house.
Slowly, she collapsed.
She fell back against Anders, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Her legs fell open, trembling, exhausted. Simon slowed his hand, but didn't leave her, gently stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, grounding her.
I rested my forehead against hers. We were breathing the same air.
"Did you hear it?" I whispered, my voice wrecked.
"What?" she breathed, her eyes closed, a faint smile ghosting her lips.
"The silence," I said. "No laughter. Just the fire."
She let out a shuddering sigh, lifting her hand to trace the line of my jaw. Her fingers were damp, shaking, and warm.
"You talked so much," she murmured sleepily. "You really do have a lot of words stored up."
"Millions," I promised, turning my face to kiss her palm. "And I'm going to use every single one of them until you believe me."
"Believe what?"
"That you're the main character," I said. "And the main character doesn't fade to black. She burns."
Anders shifted behind her, adjusting his grip so she could settle more comfortably against him. He looked over her head at me. His blue eyes were blown wide, dark with the same intoxication I felt.
"Pack," Anders whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a classification.
I nodded. I looked at Simon, who was leaning his cheek against Tessa's knee, looking utterly destroyed and completely at peace.
"Pack," I agreed.
Tessa made a small sound, snuggling deeper into the pile of our bodies. She didn't pull away. She didn't hide. She just breathed us in.
"Don't stop," she whispered to the darkness behind her eyelids. "Don't stop touching me."
"Never," I rumbled, settling my weight next to her, draping my heavy arm over her waist, locking her in.