30. Saramaria
Saramaria
When we pull up to the main house, the yard is empty. Usually, at this time of day, Miller and his crew would be sawing lumber or shouting across the yard. Now, there’s nothing. Just the mud, the rain, and the silent outline of the barn.
“Where is everyone?” I ask. My voice sounds thin to my own ears. My skin feels too tight, hot and itchy, like it doesn’t fit my bones anymore.
Knox helps me out of the truck. His hands are warm, too warm, but they feel good against my chilled skin.
“I called Miller,” Knox says, his chest vibrating against my back as he steadies me. “I told him to suspend everything. No workers, no deliveries, no noise.”
“Why?” I ask. “We have so much to do. The roof. The fence.”
Rhett walks around the front of the truck, scanning the perimeter like a soldier securing a perimeter. “The inspection doesn’t matter right now. The fines don’t matter. We need to secure the house. We need to lock this down.”
“Because I’m going into heat,” I say. It’s not a question. It’s happening now.
“Yes,” Rhett says. “Because you’re going into heat. And we aren’t letting anyone near you.”
He opens the front door and waves us inside.
The house is cool, but it feels stifling. The air is thick with the scent of the three of them—whiskey and ginger, rosemary and mint, cinnamon and espresso. It should be overwhelming. It should make me want to run.
But as I walk through the living room, the scents wrap around me like a heavy blanket. My heart rate slows. The panic in my chest eases.
Boone is inside. He has the curtains drawn, the lights dimmed to a soft glow. He has turned down the bed, piled the pillows high.
“Is the gate locked?” Boone asks Rhett.
“Double locked,” Rhett says. “The chain is up. No one gets in or out without us knowing.”
“Good,” Boone says. He turns to me. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I don’t argue. I’m exhausted. My bones ache. My head swims. I let them guide me to my bedroom. The room smells like me, like vanilla and honey, but the men’s scents are already seeping into the walls, claiming the space.
They help me onto the mattress. I crawl into the middle of the big bed, burying my face in the pillows.
The mattress dips as they sit down on the edge. One on the left, one on the right. Knox stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with hungry eyes.
“How do you want to handle this?” he asks. His voice is low, raspy. “Do you want us to leave? We can sleep in the living room. We can bring you water. Keep you company from a distance.”
I roll onto my back. I look at them. My body is on fire. Every nerve ending is screaming for touch. I can smell them—rich, masculine Alpha pheromones that make my mouth water and my core clench.
I try to think like a lawyer. I try to formulate a plan. I try to organize my needs and set boundaries.
But the fever in my brain burns away the logic. The words that come out of my mouth are raw and honest.
“I’m horny,” I say.
The silence that follows is absolute.
Knox lets out a breath that sounds like a groan. “Yeah. We know. We can smell it.”
“It hurts,” I say, shifting restlessly. “I feel empty. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”
Knox walks to the side of the bed. He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of my hips. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“We can help with that, baby,” he says.
I look at him. I look at Rhett and Boone.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“We’re sure,” Boone says. He moves to the other side of the bed. “We aren’t going anywhere. We’re going to take care of you.”
I reach up and grab the front of Knox’s shirt. I pull him down.
The kiss is messy. Teeth clash. Tongues tangle. It’s not gentle. It’s a desperate attempt to quench the fire burning in my blood.
I feel the bed shift as Rhett and Boone move. Hands begin to strip away my clothes. Boots hit the floor. Jeans are peeled down. I don’t care. I just want their skin on mine.
Knox’s mouth moves down my neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin where my pulse hammers. I gasp, arching my back.
“Please,” I beg. I don’t even know what I’m begging for. Just more. More friction. More fullness.
Rhett’s hand slides between my thighs. His fingers are coated in my slickness.
“She’s ready,” Rhett says, his voice thick with lust.
“I need you,” I whimper. “All of you.”
They don’t hesitate.
Knox pulls off his shirt, revealing tan skin and muscles that have thrilled a thousand audiences. He moves between my legs, spreading them wide.
He doesn’t wait. He positions himself and thrusts inside.
I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. It burns, but it’s a good burn. It’s the fire finally meeting the fuel.
Boone moves behind me. He molds his chest to my back, wrapping an arm around my waist to hold me steady. He kisses my neck, his breath hot against my ear.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “Taking all of him.”
Rhett moves to the head of the bed. He kneels beside me. I reach for him, pulling him down to kiss me. He tastes like coffee and want.
Knox begins to move. He sets a pace that is fast and hard, driving into me with a force that rocks the bed. The friction is intense, pushing me higher and higher toward the peak.
“I can’t... I need...” I gasp.
“I know,” Knox says. “I’ve got you.”
I feel a pressure building at my core. A tightness that borders on pain but feels like ecstasy.
“Let go,” Boone commands in my ear.
The dam breaks.
My orgasm crashes over me. I scream, my inner muscles clamping down on Knox. He roars, his hips snapping against me as he finds his own release. A thick knot forms at our joining, tying us together.
The sensation of being locked together is overwhelming. It grounds me. It anchors the fever, satisfying the deep, primal need to be claimed.
I look up at Rhett. He’s watching us, his eyes dark with desire.
“I need you too,” I say.
He doesn’t make me wait. As Knox stays locked inside me, filling me completely, Rhett undoes his pants. He moves to the side of the bed.
I turn my head, taking him into my mouth. He tastes like cinnamon and salt. I suck him deep, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock.
The room becomes a haze of fever and sweat and skin. Days seem to pass in hours.
We move as one unit. When Knox’s knot releases, Rhett takes his place. He stares into my eyes as he enters me, possessing me completely.
“You are ours,” he says.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yours.”
Then it’s Boone’s turn.
He handles me like I’m made of glass. He’s gentle, almost reverent. He worships my body with his hands and his mouth before he enters me.
He kisses me as he moves, swallowing my moans. When the knot forms, it feels like coming home. It feels right. Like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
We fall into a rhythm. We rut. We sleep. We wake up and do it again.
The fever becomes a thick fog. I lose track of time. I don’t know if it’s morning or night. I don’t know if it’s been one day or three.
My only reality is the touch of their hands. The sound of their voices. The scent of them filling the room.
Boone’s scent, especially, is my lifeline. Whenever the panic rises, whenever I feel like I’m drowning in the heat, I bury my face in his neck. The rosemary and mint cut through the haze, calming me, anchoring me to the earth.
I am completely claimed. I’m knotted. I’m safe.
But eventually, the fever breaks.
I wake up one morning to silence. The birds are singing outside the window. The rain has stopped.
I’m lying in the middle of the bed, tangled in sheets that feel heavy and stiff.
I try to move, but pain shoots through my lower abdomen. My body feels battered. My cunt is swollen and sore, tender to the touch.
I groan.
Boone is sleeping beside me. He opens his eyes instantly.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice raspy.
“Sore,” I admit.
He reaches out, his hand resting on my stomach. “It’s over.”
“I think so,” I say. “The fever is gone.”
Knox stirs on the other side of me. He stretches, wincing. “Thank god. I’m starving.”
Rhett is already sitting up. He looks tired, but his eyes are clear.
We lie there for a long time. Just breathing. Just being.
We did it. We survived.
But I know that nothing will ever be the same.
I look at Boone. I look at Knox. I look at Rhett.
I was theirs for days while I was in heat. Completely. Irrevocably.
And I have a feeling that I still am.