Chapter 49
Graham
She nods.
Barely. Just once.
But it’s all I need.
A lifetime of discipline, of restraint, of control—none of it prepares me for the way that simple motion shatters something inside me.
She’s ours. Mine. She doesn’t know what she just agreed to. Not really. But she will.
My hand is still on her knee, her skin warm beneath my palm. Her eyes are locked on mine, wide and sure, not a flicker of doubt in them, and fuck—it undoes me in a way I didn’t know I could be undone.
“I need to do something,” I murmur.
I force myself to stand, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my phone. I don’t look away from her as I scroll to the contact. Her contact. Mitchell Delong. My thumb hovers over the call button for half a second before I hit it.
Carson whistles low. “Oh, we’re doing this now, huh?”
“Hot,” Hunter mutters. “This is hot.”
The phone rings once. Twice. Then a clipped, gruff voice answers.
“Delong.”
My voice doesn’t waver. “Mr. Delong, I quit.”
The silence on the other end is instant and heavy.
I glance down at Willow, who hasn’t looked away once.
I let that power settle into my spine, right where it belongs. “We all do,” I add. “Carson. Hunter. Me.”
“Graham, what the hell are you—”
“She’s not in danger anymore,” I cut in. “And even if she was? It wouldn’t matter. We aren’t her bodyguards.”
A breath sucks in from across the line.
I drop my voice, low and final. “We’re hers. We don’t need money to protect her.”
Carson gives a low ooooh and leans over to Willow with a teasing grin. “You realize you’ve got him whipped, right? This is some omega-level sorcery. What kind of bath bombs are you using?”
Hunter snorts.
I ignore them.
Because Mitchell Delong is still silent.
Then, “...You better mean that.”
“I’ve never meant anything more.”
I hang up. The apartment goes quiet for one breath. Two.
Then Willow says softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”
My eyes drag over her, slow, lingering. She looks wrecked and radiant, glowing with uncertainty and need. Mine. All fucking mine.
“Yes, I did,” I say, taking a step closer, then another. “Because the things I plan on doing to you…”
I reach her, sliding my hand beneath her jaw, tilting her face up to mine with a firm grip.
“…are not workplace appropriate.”
Her breath hitches, her pulse fluttering just beneath my fingers. Her perfume spikes—peaches and heat and something deeper, something that’s all for me.
“What if I said I want to find out what those things are?” she whispers.
I press my thumb against her bottom lip, watching her mouth part beneath my touch.
“Then I’m going to bend you over that table,” I murmur, “and make sure your body forgets every other man you’ve ever been with.”
Her breath stutters.
Carson groans beside me. “Okay, seriously, I quit again.”
Willow’s lips curve, her tongue brushing the pad of my thumb, and I feel it down to my spine. My cock is already thick behind my zipper, demanding release.
But I wait.
Because when I take her, it won’t be rushed.
And it won’t be soft.
I lean in, my voice low and rough in her ear. “Stand up, omega. Now.”
She stands.
Not quickly, not nervously—but with a kind of slow, deliberate confidence that makes something in me snap.
She’s already submitting, and she doesn’t even know it.
I step in close. Her chest rises and falls, her lips parted, her eyes never leaving mine. I tilt her chin up, just a little, and drag my gaze over every inch of her.
“I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m going to do,” I murmur, my voice sharp steel wrapped in velvet. “And if at any point it’s too much, you tell me. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for keep going. But you stop me. If you can’t handle it, you use your voice, Willow. Understood?”
She nods, breathless.
I narrow my gaze. “That’s not good enough.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I understand.”
“Good girl.”
Her knees nearly buckle.
I trail my fingers down her arm, slow and possessive. “I’m going to bind your wrists. Spread you out for all of us to see. I’m going to take my time making you fall apart—one sound, one gasp, one shiver at a time.”
Her breath catches.
“I’m going to use my mouth until you forget how to say anything but my name. And then? I’m going to take you.” My hand slides down her hip, grip tightening possessively. “You give me your submission, little omega, and I’ll give you everything else.”
She trembles, and fuck—I feel it in my blood.
I glance at Carson. “Restrain her.”
His eyes flare with heat. “With pleasure.”
Willow gasps as Carson moves behind her, his hands slow but firm as he brings her wrists together—not behind her back, but in front, cradling them loosely in a silk tie he grabs off the couch. “You good, peaches?” he murmurs, voice warm against her ear.
“Yes,” she breathes.
Hunter steps in from the side, silent and predatory.
I point to the center of the couch. “Sit back. Pull her into your lap. Keep her steady.”
He obeys, sinking into the cushions with calculated ease. Carson gently guides Willow down into Hunter’s lap, her wrists still loosely bound in front of her. Hunter wraps one strong arm around her waist, his other hand spreading over her thigh.
The position is perfect—supportive, open, controlled. She's cradled against one alpha, restrained by another, and utterly exposed to me. Or she will be.
I flick my gaze to Carson. “Help her out of her jeans.”
He kneels in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees, his eyes searching hers with a lazy, cocky warmth. “You look like a dream, peaches,” he says. “You feel it? That hum under your skin?”
She swallows hard, nodding once.
Hunter shifts beneath her, tightening his grip, his mouth brushing her temple. “Let him in, princess. Let us in.”
The sight of the three of them makes my cock pulse inside my pants. Need settling low in my spine. I watch as Carson tugs first one leg, then the other, out of the tight jeans, leaving her lace panties in place.
Slick darkens the fabric telling me exactly how much she wants this. Her thighs press together as her scent spikes, rich and heady and sweet.
I move closer.
Predator slow.
Her eyes track to me, wide and dark and glittering. I settle into the couch beside them, one arm draped over the back, my other hand trailing down the line of her thigh until I reach the bend of her knee.
She jerks slightly beneath my touch—hyperaware. Her breath stutters.
“I want your eyes on me,” I say softly.
She looks.
“I want your body open.”
She shivers.
“And I want your permission.”
That’s the thing, always the thing. Control means nothing if it’s taken. I only want what she’s willing to give. But when she does give it—fuck, there’s no high like it.
“Yes,” she whispers.
My hand moves upward, over soft skin, between her thighs, parting her gently until I feel just how wet she is. Hunter holds her steady, and Carson leans in, his mouth brushing her bound wrists with reverence, worshipping the way she lets herself be held in this way.
I press two fingers against her panties, and she moans, sharp and breathless. I slip her underwear to the side and slip my finger into her warmth. She gasps.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur. “Made to be unraveled.”
Carson moves in, his hand covering mine, both of us working her now in tandem—stroking her, coaxing her, watching her come undone in the most beautiful, breathless way. Her head falls back on Hunter’s shoulder, her hips lifting into our hands.
“You can take more,” Hunter whispers in her ear. “You want more.”
And she does.
Her body is begging for it, every sound she makes pulling me deeper into the need to push her farther. To see how many ways I can make her fall apart. To show her just how good it feels to be ours. How good it can be when she gives me her control.
“Carson,” I growl. “Mouth on her. Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He slips her panties further to the side and buries his face between her thighs as if he doesn’t need air to survive. Her fingers curl into themselves, her entire body going taut. Her face is mesmerizing in her pleasure.
But just as she’s about to tumble over the edge, I say, “Stop.”
Carson groans but obeys, falling back on his heels. His chest rises and falls with sharp breaths. He knows the rules—and I’ll reward him for it later. But first, we need to teach Willow the rules.
Hunter smooths his hands over her thighs, splaying his fingers wide. He’s the picture of restraint with her in his lap, her back to his chest, skin flushed and trembling.
Willow pants, soft and needy, the sound shooting straight to my cock. Her pupils are blown wide, leaving only a sliver of blue around the black—a total eclipse.
I motion for Carson to move. He does, slipping aside, and I take his place between her thighs. She instinctively closes her legs. She thinks we’re done.
We’re not.
“I can smell how badly you want this,” I murmur, kneeling close, my palms sliding up her calves, over her thighs. My thumbs tease the crease where her legs meet her center. “But I’m going to need you to say it.”
She lets out a low whimper.
“Words,” I growl. “Tell me.”
“I want it,” she gasps. “Please.”
“Goddamn,” Carson mutters, sounding almost pained. “You hear that, G? She’s already begging and you haven’t even—”
“Quiet,” I snap. “Watch.”
I tug her panties to the side, exposing the slick heat of her to the cool air. She sucks in air, her back arching, and I grin.
“Hunter. Hold her thighs apart.”
His hands move with precision, bracing on her inner thighs, spreading her wide for me.
I lean in, my breath ghosting over her most sensitive place. “You’re mine now, Willow. All of ours. But this—” I press a slow kiss to her inner thigh, “—this is mine first.”
Then I drag my tongue up her center, sucking her clit between my teeth, and she shatters.
Her cry echoes off the walls, hips bucking, but Hunter and Carson hold her steady.
Her whole body vibrates with need—and I’m not even close to finished.