Chapter 50
Willow
I’m not sure I remember how to breathe.
My body is boneless, trembling, still echoing with the aftershocks of release. But Graham doesn’t give me time to recover, not even a second. His eyes are molten, locked on mine, seeing everything, every crack, every hidden place I’ve tried to keep sealed. And he wants all of it.
All of me.
“Again,” he growls.
My lips part on a broken sound. “Graham—”
“No.” His hands are already moving, sliding up my trembling thighs, anchoring me in place. “Don’t think. Don’t talk. Just give it to me.”
My body obeys before my brain can catch up.
Carson brushes his fingers over my wrist, still loosely restrained, his touch soft where Graham’s is demanding. Hunter’s hands grip my thighs, grounding me, holding me open like I’m theirs to explore, to ruin, to worship.
And I am.
Somewhere in the haze, I realize I stopped fighting this a long time ago.
Another wave crashes through me, unexpected and sharp, and I cry out—only for Graham to drag it out even longer, until I’m shivering with the aftershocks, tears slipping down my cheeks from the sheer intensity of it all.
“I can’t—” I gasp. My legs tremble as I try to close them.
“Yes,” Graham growls, as he snakes his hand up my body, his thumb pressing lightly against my lower lip. “You can, and you will. You’re doing amazing, Willow. Let go. We’ve got you.”
Those words—we’ve got you—break something open inside of me. A dam, a wall, a lifetime of carefully constructed control.
I’ve been holding on for so long.
Too long.
Now I’m free-falling—and somehow I know they’ll catch me. Even if I don’t know where this ends. Even if this breaks me in new, terrifying ways.
It’s too late either way.
As my breath slows and I start to come back into myself, Graham runs two fingers over my clit. The touch is so sensitive I cry out, my body going tense.
“More,” he demands.
My body is an instrument in his hands—one he’s tuning with precision. And he doesn’t just want perfection.
He craves it.
“Graham—” I gasp, already trembling again.
“No thoughts, Willow. Just pleasure.”
“Let go, peaches,” Carson murmurs from beside me, his touch the opposite of Graham’s unrelenting control. He kisses my temple, gentle and soft, grounding me in a way that makes the contrast almost unbearable.
Hunter’s hands glide over my stomach, hiking my shirt higher with each slow stroke.
I try to focus on that, on the warmth of his touch, the safety it offers.
But then Graham curls his fingers just right, and I’m dragged back into the fire, attention zeroed in on the intense pressure building inside me.
I move my hips, trying to chase the release, to take control.
Graham stops instantly.
He leans back on his heels, his fingers trailing my slick across my inner thighs as he pulls away.
“Do you need more?” he asks, his voice low and dark. “Or something else? Too much pleasure, omega?”
His questions are a dare—dark, dangerous, and completely addictive.
I shiver, already aching.
I want it all.
“No,” I whisper. “It’s not too much.”
Graham’s eyes darken, his jaw tight with restraint. “Then open for me, omega.”
Hunter and Carson respond before I can. Their hands shift, adjusting me—positioning me exactly how Graham wants. I’m weightless between them, floating on sensation and touch, guided by their strength and his command.
Graham’s fingers return, slower this time—deeper. Every stroke is precise. He’s not playing with me. He’s claiming me. Wrapping his dominance around every nerve ending until I don’t know where he ends and I begin.
“You feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s what happens when you give in.”
I nod, dizzy with the need to fall apart again.
“Words, Willow,” he reminds me, never relenting. “I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“Yes,” I choke out, hips lifting instinctively. “I feel it.”
“Good girl,” he growls, and the praise rips through me.
My next orgasm crashes into me a wave that pulls me under—violent and overwhelming. My body arches off Hunter’s chest, a sob tearing from my throat as everything inside me unravels.
Graham doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t slow.
Not until I’m gasping, limp, and trembling.
And even then, he doesn’t back away.
He presses a kiss to my thigh, then trails his mouth up to my hip. “You think I’m finished with you?” he whispers.
My eyes flutter open. I can barely breathe, let alone speak.
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
“You’ll give me everything,” he says softly. “Every sound, every tremble. Every last bit of that stubborn fire—until it belongs to me.”
Hunter drags my shirt higher, taking my bra with it, baring me completely. My arms stay above my head, still bound, the fabric of my clothes bunched at the restraint. His mouth finds my neck, lips trailing heat along my skin just as Graham’s rough palms slide over my exposed breasts.
He rolls my nipples between his fingers until they’re tight, aching peaks.
“Look how perfect you are,” Graham murmurs. “Tied up. Spread out. All for us.”
Before I can respond, he leans in, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, and pleasure explodes through me, jagged and sharp. Pain and pleasure blend until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
I cry out, arching toward him, but it’s not enough.
Then he pulls back, and cool air flows over my flushed skin—made worse by the slow drag of his breath across the places he just touched.
“Stand her up,” Graham commands, and Carson moves without hesitation, while Hunter steadies me with strong hands. My legs are boneless. My whole body hums, overworked and still desperate.
“Are you on birth control?” Graham’s voice cuts through the haze. The question barely lands through the thick fog of lust and submission, but I nod, breathless.
No babies. Not yet. Not when I don’t even know what I want in life.
Graham’s gaze drops to my slick, trembling thighs, then lifts to meet mine, molten heat simmering beneath the control in his expression.
“Good,” he says, voice rough. “Because I want to feel you lock around my knot.”
My eyes drop to the clear outline of his cock pressing against his jeans—thick, long, impossibly hard. The sheer size of him should make me nervous. Instead, it makes my core clench. I’m already soaked, already aching, and I know I could take him. I want to take him.
“Hold still,” Carson murmurs, stepping behind me. His voice is low and careful, soothing even as it sends a fresh shiver down my spine.
He undoes the ties at my wrists with practiced fingers, careful not to jar my aching arms. Then he peels my shirt and bra away completely, baring me to the warm air and the eyes that never stop watching. Their eyes track every move I make.
Once my arms are free of fabric, Carson fastens the restraint again, this time letting my hands rest at the small of my back. Restrained. Exposed.
Hunter steps closer, his breath warm on my shoulder. “You still good, princess?”
I nod, too overwhelmed to speak.
Graham’s hands find my waist. Large, rough, grounding. His touch is firm but reverent. “Turn her around.”
Carson guides me gently, turning me until I’m facing Graham again. I meet his eyes, and they stop me cold.
They’re dark with restraint, burning with intensity. Hunger. Possession. Mine.
His hand comes up slowly, thumb brushing along my bottom lip in a touch so reverent it makes my knees wobble.
“You still good?” he murmurs, repeating Hunter’s question. “Give me your color.”
“Green,” I breathe, the word catching in my throat. “So green.”
Graham growls low in his chest. He undoes his belt and pushes his jeans down just enough to free his cock, and fuck—he’s thick, flushed, and already leaking.
My lips part in awe, and his expression tightens.
“Hunter,” he says. “Support her. I’m not holding back.”
Hunter moves behind me again, settling his arms around my waist, holding me as he moves us against the back of the couch. It brings my feet off the ground, and Carson kneels beside me, one hand on my thigh, soothing, steadying.
Then Graham steps forward and guides his cock to my entrance, dragging the tip through my slick folds.
I gasp, arching toward him.
He doesn’t thrust—he claims—pressing forward in a slow, unrelenting slide until I feel impossibly full. My legs shake; my knees would totally be buckling right now if my feet were on the ground, but Hunter holds me firm.
My moan breaks the air, sharp and desperate. “God—Graham—”
“You’re doing perfect,” he rasps, pulling back only to sink into me again, harder this time. “So tight. So fucking good.”
Every thrust pushes me closer to the edge, but Graham doesn’t speed up. He builds it—slow and punishing—until I’m trembling, whining, begging for more.
“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you’re ours.”
I barely manage a nod, tears stinging my eyes from how good it feels. “I’m yours.”
He snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.
“No,” he growls. “Say who you belong to.”
“All of you,” I breathe. “Carson. Hunter. You.”
Graham snarls and thrusts deeper, his knot starting to swell. “That’s right.”
I feel the pressure building—him thickening, locking inside me—and I spiral.
I come with a cry that tears from my throat, stars dancing behind my eyes. My body clenches around him, and that’s what undoes him.
He follows me over, groaning as he buries himself fully, his knot swelling, locking us together.
It’s overwhelming—intense, primal—but safe. So safe.
Hunter holds me gently as Graham slumps forward, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
And Carson’s right there, pressing his lips to my temple. “Good girl, peaches.”