Chapter 69
Willow
I’m still pressed against Graham’s chest when the tears finally slow.
Happy tears. Overwhelming tears. The kind that comes when something cracks wide open in your chest and, for once, it doesn’t hurt.
His hand strokes slowly down my back, anchoring me, his musk wrapped around me.
He settled on the edge of my new nest, with me in his lap.
Carson’s hand brushes my knee, a soft touch, like he can’t quite stay away.
And Hunter, still lingering just inside the room, watches me with a look I can’t name.
None of them speak.
They don’t have to.
Because I feel it.
Through the bond. Through the silence. Through the way they’re here, all of them, waiting to be whatever I need.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” I whisper into Graham’s shirt.
His lips press against the top of my head. “You let us in. And accepted us.”
I pull back just enough to look around the nest again. Every detail sinks deeper this time—how soft the pillows are, how layered the blankets, how intentional every little thing is. The colors. The smells of them scattered around with items that must have come from their rooms here. The placement.
They didn’t just build this for an omega.
They built this for me.
My throat tightens again, but not with tears.
With want.
With the ache that’s been living just under my skin ever since I let them claim me. Maybe even before. I can’t get enough of them. I’m addicted to their kisses and crave their touch. And this…this amplifies it in ways I didn’t even know were possible.
I meet Graham’s eyes. “It doesn’t feel real.”
He smiles, slow and quiet. “Then let’s make it real.”
He doesn’t move right away. Just watches me, his hands resting on my waist as he holds me in his lap. He waits for me to say yes without saying it out loud.
I nod.
Then Carson is beside me, tilting my chin to him and kissing me. He hums with pleasure and licks into my mouth. Hunter drops down close behind me, warm and steady, his breath against the back of my neck. Graham’s hands never leave my waist.
Their movements are slow, unrushed. As if we have all the time in the world.
And in this nest, right now—we do.
Carson’s mouth moves down my neck, his fingers toying with the hem of my shirt, waiting for a signal. I give it to him by lifting my arms. The shirt slips away, and the tension shifts—heavier, hotter.
Hunter kneels behind me, his chest brushing my back as his hands trail slowly up my spine. Carson shifts closer at my side, his touch light but deliberate.
Graham dips his head, brushing a kiss against my shoulder, his voice low. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I want this.”
That’s all he needs.
Hunter’s fingers slide beneath the band of my bra, unfastening it with ease. Carson leans in and drags his nose along my stomach, his breath warm against my skin. I tremble before they even finish undressing me.
It’s not rushed.
It’s worship.
They touch me as if I’m everything. As if every inch of my skin is a story they’ve been waiting their whole lives to learn.
Lips trail down my hips, over the hollow of my collarbone, along the curve of my ribs. Each kiss is deliberate, almost greedy, leaving heat in its wake.
Hands roam, rough and careful all at once. Mapping scars. Counting freckles. Memorizing the places no one else ever bothered to notice. Their palms drag over the soft of my stomach, the dip of my waist, the swell of my thighs—every touch a vow that nothing will be forgotten, nothing overlooked.
My breath shudders out. I’m trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of being seen this way—held, studied, claimed. Their attention is relentless. Worship tangled up with hunger.
Fingers curl against my skin, grounding me while their mouths keep moving, exploring. A kiss to the inside of my wrist, hot breath against the pulse in my neck.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. They’re pulling me apart piece by piece, and I don’t want them to stop.
The nest shifts beneath us as we move—pillows collapsing, blankets tangling, heat and skin pressing closer with every second. My body melts into theirs, surrounded, caged, loved.
And then I catch it. Their musk.
It’s everywhere, thick in the air, already soaked into the fabric of this space.
Graham’s steadiness. Hunter’s raw edge. Carson’s sharp sweetness.
Woven into the pillows, pressed into the blankets, clinging to the walls until it feels impossible to breathe without drowning in them.
This isn’t just a room anymore—it’s theirs. Claimed long before I ever crawled in.
My perfume hasn’t had the chance to mix, to settle. To say I belong here, too.
Until now.
Graham’s mouth crashes into mine, deep and possessive, stealing my breath and leaving me trembling.
Hunter’s musk surges around me, primal and unrelenting, wrapping tight as if he’s sealing me into the circle of them.
Carson’s fingers slip between my thighs, skilled and merciless, dragging a moan from me so raw it feels like I’ll shatter apart in their hands.
I arch, nails digging into shoulders, ribs, anything I can hold onto as they close in tighter. Graham devours my mouth, Hunter’s chest cages me from behind, and Carson’s touch pushes me higher, relentless.
The nest is no longer just a space. It’s a battlefield and a sanctuary, torn between the feral and the tender. Every breath I take is them. Every inch of me is theirs.
The room changes.
The air changes.
The nest soaks in my scent—my arousal, my pleasure, my bond—and blends it with theirs until it’s not theirs anymore.
It’s ours.
“This nest will never smell the same again,” Carson murmurs, dragging his nose along my jaw, kissing the corner of my mouth.
“Good,” I whisper, already breathless.
Graham’s hand curls around the back of my neck, his lips skimming my collarbone. “It shouldn’t,” he growls. “This is your home now. Our home. Our omega. Our scent.”
My name falls from their lips in groans and whispers, tender and wrecked.
And when I finally come apart, shaking, gasping, held in their arms, I feel myself settle into the space..
I’m here.
I’m theirs.
I’m not broken.
Not claimed like some prize.
I am whole.
I am home.
Time slips away.
The nest is a blur of warmth, kisses, soft moans, tangled limbs, and whispered names. I lose count of how many times I fall apart, how many times their hands bring me back together.
Eventually, my body gives out. Sated. Spent. Safe.
I curl between them, chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. Carson rubs lazy circles into my hip while Graham traces the curve of my spine with his knuckles. Hunter hasn’t said much—he rarely does—but I feel his gaze on me. Watching. Thinking.
Always thinking.
When I glance up at him, he’s already shifting to his feet.
He leans over, presses a kiss to my forehead, and says, “I’ll be back.”
I blink after him, dazed.
The nest rustles with his absence, and I almost protest—until I hear water running down the hall.
He’s drawing me a bath. Of course he is.
Carson chuckles softly next to me. “He pretends he’s not soft. But you? You turn him into a marshmallow.”
I crack one eye open. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he grins, reaching over to trail his fingers down my thigh. “You should’ve seen him after the first time you smiled at him. Full-on meltdown. He tried to rearrange the entire house just to make sure you’d be comfortable if you ever visited.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile gives me away.
A few minutes later, Hunter returns. He doesn’t speak, just scoops me into his arms as if I’m weightless. My head falls against his shoulder, and I let myself be carried.
The hallway is quiet.
The world feels slower here. Softer.
He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot.
Inside, the light is dim. The deep clawfoot tub is nearly full, steam curling from the surface.
The water is tinted soft pink from rose salts.
The same type I have in my apartment. It makes my stomach flip over.
He’s really been paying attention. A towel is laid out on the bench nearby.
Another is folded perfectly for my hair.
There’s even a little cup with raspberries next to the tub just in case I want something sweet.
I blink back a fresh wave of tears.
Hunter sets me down, fingers trailing over my arms. “In?” he asks, voice low.
I nod, too full to speak.
He steps in first, settling into the water with a low exhale. Then he holds out his hands, and I climb in, easing down between his legs, my back to his chest.
The water envelopes me. Hot. Soothing. Exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Hunter wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me gently against him.
His mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “Everything about you feels like home.”
My breath catches, and I lean back into him. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Take care of me, like it’s an instinct for you.”
“It is.”
Hunter reaches for the sponge again, lathers it up, and starts to move it across my skin—slow and patient. He drags it over my collarbone, down the slope of one arm, rinses, and repeats.
His hands follow next, bare and warm, sliding across my stomach, then down to the tops of my thighs, working in long, soothing sweeps.
“You’re quiet,” I murmur.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You’re here and safe. That’s all I need right now.”
That word—safe—curls in my chest and tugs something loose. I want to stay here. Forever, maybe.
Hunter’s hand finds the cup of water he set on the edge of the tub. He tilts it slowly, pouring warmth over my hair. It runs in rivulets down my back, over his arms, soaking us both.
I sigh, boneless.
“Lean forward for me,” he says, voice thick and gentle.
I do, and he gathers my hair in his hands, working shampoo through the strands, his fingers massaging my scalp with slow precision. I melt under his touch, utterly undone by how present he is. How there’s no expectation behind his care. No tension. Just love.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper without thinking.
His hands still.
Then he leans forward, pressing his lips between my shoulder blades.
“You don’t have to earn love, Willow,” he murmurs. “You just have to let it in.”