Chapter 44 Vespera
forty-four
Vespera
I woke to voices.
Not talking. Not exactly. Low sounds that pulled me from sleep like a hook in my chest—groans, harsh breathing, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together.
For a stretch, I lay there confused. Then my brain caught up and heat flooded through me.
Oh.
Oh.
The pack house walls weren't exactly soundproof. I'd heard them before—individually, late at night when they thought I was asleep. Dorian's controlled breathing. Oakley's breathy gasps. Corvus's low curses.
But this was different. This was multiple voices. Together.
My body responded before my brain could catch up—pulse jumping, skin flushing hot, that low ache starting between my legs that I'd forced myself to ignore last night.
I should go back to sleep. Should give them privacy. Should focus on today, on the showcase, on the most important performance of my life that was happening in—I checked my phone—eight hours.
Instead, I got out of bed.
The sounds were coming from Dorian's room. His door wasn't quite closed, left cracked open in that way pack mates did when they wanted privacy but not isolation. An invitation, if anyone needed them.
Or if anyone wanted to watch.
I moved down the hallway on bare feet, my sleep shirt hitting mid-thigh, pulse racing with every step. This was stupid. Reckless. I should be centering myself, preparing mentally, not—
A sharp gasp cut through my thoughts. Oakley's voice, rough with pleasure: "Fuck, just like that—"
My hand was on the doorframe before I made a conscious decision to move. Through the crack, I could see them.
All three of them. On Dorian's massive bed.
Corvus on his back, head thrown back against the pillows, one hand fisted in Oakley's hair.
Oakley on his knees between Corvus's legs, shoulders flexing as he worked him with his mouth.
And Dorian behind Oakley, one hand gripping Oakley's hip, the other braced on the bed as he moved in that deliberate, devastating rhythm I remembered from heat.
The morning light streaming through the windows painted them in gold—three Alphas who could have had anyone, who'd chosen each other long before they'd chosen me, now tangled together in a configuration I'd only imagined.
My breath caught. One of them must have heard it because Dorian looked up, met my eyes through the crack in the door.
He didn't stop. Held my gaze while continuing to fuck Oakley with that devastating precision, and something in his ice-blue eyes said stay.
I should leave. Should—
"Vespera." Dorian's voice, rough and commanding even breathless with pleasure. "Either come in or go back to bed. Don't just stand there."
Fuck it.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Room for one more?"
All three of them looked at me then. Corvus's dark eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the color.
Oakley pulled off Corvus with an obscene sound, lips wet, and the whimper he made when Dorian changed his angle went straight to my core.
And Dorian—Dorian's ice-blue eyes tracked over my sleep shirt, my bare legs, my face.
"That depends," he said, not breaking rhythm. "Can you handle what you see?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Watching or participating?" Corvus managed, voice strained.
"I," My breath caught as Dorian thrust particularly hard and Oakley moaned against Corvus's hip. "I don't know. I've never..."
"Never watched?" Corvus asked, hand gentle in Oakley's hair even as his hips shifted. "Or never joined?"
"Both."
"Then watch first." Dorian's eyes never left mine. "See what you want. Then decide."
I moved to the armchair near the bed on shaking legs. My skin felt too tight, too hot. Every nerve ending alive and screaming.
The angle gave me a perfect view of everything.
Oakley on his knees, back arched in that perfect curve that made him look like art.
His shoulders flexing as he worked Corvus with his mouth, taking him deep enough to make Corvus curse.
Dorian behind him, one hand gripping Oakley's hip hard enough to bruise, the other braced on his shoulder for leverage.
The way they moved together—fluid, practiced, devastating.
And the sounds. God, the sounds.
Oakley's muffled moans around Corvus. Corvus's harsh breathing, the barely-contained curses when Oakley did something particularly good. Dorian's low, commanding voice praising Oakley—"that's it, take it"—mixed with the obscene slap of skin on skin.
My thighs clenched. My hands gripped the armrests hard enough to hurt.
I'd thought I understood pack dynamics. Thought I'd accepted that they took care of each other. But seeing it—watching them like this, raw and unguarded and so fucking beautiful together—
This wasn't about biology. This wasn't the bond forcing want into my body.
This was me. My desire. My choice to sit here and watch and feel myself get wet.
The realization hit like a freight train: I wanted them.
Not because fate decided we were compatible.
Not because Omega instincts demanded it.
But because watching Dorian's control start to fracture made something in my chest tighten.
Because Oakley's desperate sounds of pleasure made me ache.
Because Corvus fighting to keep his eyes open, to watch me watch them, felt like an invitation I was dying to accept.
I wanted them. All of them. In every configuration. Any way they'd let me have them.
"Fuck," I whispered, pressing my thighs together for friction that wasn't enough.
Dorian's rhythm stuttered. "What was that?"
"I said fuck." Louder this time. "You're all—fuck."
Corvus laughed, breathless and wrecked. "Is that your review of our performance?"
"I can't—" I shifted in the chair, desperate for pressure, for anything. "You look—god, you're so fucking—"
My hand slid down my stomach without conscious decision. I didn't realize I'd done it until Dorian's eyes tracked the movement, darkening further.
"Touch yourself," he commanded. "Let us watch."
"I can't—the showcase—I need to focus—"
"You're so focused you're about to come from watching." His voice was rough velvet. "Touch yourself, Vespera. Show us what we do to you."
My hand slipped under my sleep shirt, between my legs, and the first touch made me gasp. I was soaked. Slick and desperate and throbbing.
"That's it," Corvus groaned. His hips jerked as Oakley took him deeper. "Fuck, that's—watching you touch yourself while we—"
I circled my clit and bit back a moan. Couldn't tear my eyes away from them. From Oakley taking everything Dorian gave him and still working Corvus with single-minded determination. From the sweat gleaming on their skin. From the way their bodies fit together like they were made for this.
Made for each other.
Made for me.
"I want—" The words caught in my throat. "I want to be part of this. Part of you. Not because of the bond. Not because biology says I should. I want this. I want you."
Silence. Breathing. The wet sounds of Oakley's mouth on Corvus and the slap of Dorian's hips.
Then Corvus, voice wrecked: "Then get over here. Join your pack."
I was moving before I could second-guess it, crossing to the bed on unsteady legs. Dorian slowed his rhythm, careful, and Oakley pulled off Corvus with a gasp that made my core clench.
Three sets of eyes on me. Wanting me. Choosing me.
Not because they had to. Because they wanted to.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted. My voice was shaking. Everything was shaking. "I've never—with more than one—"
"We'll figure it out." Corvus sat up and reached for me, pulling me onto the bed. "We'll go slow. We'll—"
I kissed him. Hard. Desperate. Channeling every ounce of want I'd been holding back while I watched. He made a surprised sound, then kissed me back with equal intensity, his hands sliding up my sides.
When I pulled back, we were both panting.
"Okay," he said, pupils blown wide. "Maybe not that slow."
Corvus pulled me onto the bed, fitting my back against his chest. His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my shirt higher, as Oakley moved to kneel in front of me—still flushed and panting from what Dorian had been doing to him.
And Dorian watched from beside us, one hand lazily stroking himself, eyes dark with want.
"Can we touch you?" Oakley asked, hands hovering over my knees. His hazel eyes were still dark, lips still wet from sucking Corvus.
"Please."
He spread my legs gently, exposing me, and his sharp inhale was audible. "Fuck. You're soaked."
"I've been watching you three fuck for ten minutes. What did you expect?"
"This." He leaned in and put his mouth on me through my underwear, hot and wet, and I nearly came off the bed.
Corvus's arms tightened around me, holding me steady. "Easy. Let him take care of you."
"I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His lips brushed my ear. "You're strong enough for this. Strong enough for all of us."
Oakley hooked his fingers in my underwear and pulled them aside. Then his tongue was on me properly, no barriers, and I gasped at the first direct contact.
"That's it," Dorian murmured, moving closer to watch. "Let him make you feel good."
Corvus's hands slid up to cup my breasts through the thin shirt, thumbs brushing over nipples that were already hard.
Every sensation layered—Oakley's mouth, Corvus's hands, Dorian's eyes watching me come apart, the knowledge that minutes ago Dorian had been inside Oakley making this a continuation of their pleasure.
Pack. This was what pack really meant. Not bonds and biology, but this—choosing to bring each other pleasure, to be vulnerable together, to build something bigger than any individual want.
"I'm going to—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Oakley did something with his tongue that scattered my thoughts completely.
"Then come," Dorian commanded. "Let us see you fall apart."