Chapter 40 Vespera #2
He's gentler than Dorian—sweet kisses trailing down my neck, hands worshipping instead of demanding. We've done this enough times that he knows what I need from him. Not the intensity of claiming, but the softness that comes after.
"Oakley." His name comes out pleading. "Don't tease."
"Not teasing." He kisses my collarbone. "Appreciating. You're so fucking beautiful like this."
His mouth finds my nipple and I arch into it, pleasure sparking through me. He takes his time, lavishing attention on my breasts until I'm writhing and begging.
"Please. Please, Oakley. Need you."
"I know." He finally, finally positions himself. "I've got you."
Where Dorian was intense and demanding, Oakley is reverent. He slides in slowly, groaning at how wet I am, how easy I take him despite the stretch.
"Perfect," he breathes. "You're so perfect."
His rhythm is slower but deeper, each thrust deliberate. He's watching my face, reading my reactions, adjusting his angle until I'm gasping.
"There?" He hits that spot again. "That good?"
"Yes. Right there. Don't stop."
He doesn't. Keeps that perfect angle and pace until I'm climbing toward another orgasm. This one builds slower, sweeter, less violent than the first but consuming.
"That's it." He's encouraging, gentle. "Let go for me, beautiful. I've got you."
I come crying his name, clenching around him in waves. He follows immediately, his knot swelling as he buries himself deep and fills me.
"Love you," he murmurs into my hair as we lock together. "God, I love you so much."
"Love you too." I'm boneless, satisfied, the heat manageable again. "Thank you."
"Always." He kisses my temple. "Anything you need. Always."
The hours blend together—the familiar rhythm of heat and relief we've learned over two previous cycles.
Corvus takes his turn with that clinical precision that somehow feels intimate.
Dorian claims me again when the heat spikes harder.
Back to Oakley when I need gentleness. Round and round through the evening and into night.
Between waves they take care of me without being asked. Water bottles appearing when my throat gets dry. Fruit and protein bars during the calmer stretches. Cool cloths for my fever. They've learned what I need before I have to say it.
The nest becomes our world. Soft fabrics and tangled limbs and scents all mixed together until I can't tell where one ends and another begins. This is what the lake house should have been—all of us learning each other without the shadow of what happened before.
"You're doing so well," Corvus says during one of the calmer periods on day two. He's propped against the headboard, my head in his lap while he cards fingers through my hair. "Better than the lake house."
"Better nest. Better mindset." I'm exhausted but content, sprawled across Oakley while Dorian dozes beside us. "And you're not all pretending I want to be here."
"Fair criticism." His fingers trace patterns on my scalp. "We were rather insufferable about the whole captivity situation."
"Rather?"
"Extremely."
"Thank you." I let my eyes drift closed. "For being honest now. It helps."
"You have pack now." The word is deliberate, meaningful. "Not Dorian's pack that you were forced into. Ours. Something we're building."
The warmth that blooms in my chest at those words is different from the heat. This is choice. This is real.
"Yeah," I murmur. "We are."
By the third evening, I wake up clearheaded and absolutely starving. The fever is gone, the desperate edge dulled to nothing. My heat has broken.
"Hey." Dorian is sitting in the chair by the bed, watching me. "How do you feel?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck." I stretch carefully, wincing at the ache in my muscles. "But good. Clear."
"You should eat." He's already moving, grabbing the food Oakley insisted on having ready. "Real food, not heat snacks."
I accept the plate gratefully—pasta with actual vegetables, bread that's still warm. It tastes like heaven.
"So." I take a bite, watching him. "Now what?"
"Now we figure it out." He sits on the edge of the bed. "The heat's over. Biology isn't controlling us anymore. So now you decide—do I get that chance to prove I meant everything I said?"
I study his face—the uncertainty there, the hope, the fear. He really doesn't know what I'll say.
"You hurt me," I say quietly. "Three days of silence hurt me more than everything in Book 1."
"I know."
"And I'm still angry about it."
"I know."
"But—" I set down the fork. "But I love you. And I want to trust you. So yeah. You get your chance."
The relief on his face is almost painful to witness. "Thank you."
"Don't make me regret it."
"I won't." He takes my hand. "I swear to you, Vespera. Never again."
Oakley and Corvus appear in the doorway, drawn by the sound of voices. They're both smiling—Oakley openly emotional, Corvus with that subtle curve of lips that means he's pleased.
"Welcome back," Oakley says. "We missed you."
"I was here the whole time."
"You know what I mean."
I do. The Vespera lost to heat is different from the one sitting here now. Choosing to stay instead of being compelled by biology.
"So." I look at all three of them. "What did I miss while I was out of commission?"
"De Scarzis emailed," Corvus says. "He's excusing you from rehearsals this week but expects you back Monday. Also wants to schedule a one-on-one to discuss your 'health concerns.'"
"Ben texted," Oakley adds. "Checking in. I told him you had the flu."
"And your father called," Dorian finishes. "I didn't answer. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself."
The normalcy of it—of them managing my life while I was incapacitated, not with control but with care—makes my throat tight.
"Thank you," I manage. "For all of it."
"That's what pack does," Oakley says simply.
Pack. There's that word again. But this time it doesn't feel suffocating or forced.
This time it feels like home.