20. Charlotte
CHAPTER 20
CHARLOTTE
T raining, fittings, more training, it's like we've picked up where we left off. Yesterday's bruises overlap with today's, a rainbow of patchy healing bruises along my forearms from blocking Moses’ strikes. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy the burn, the earned ache of muscles worked to their limit.
The burgundy gown Beaux’s designer friend delivered fits like vengeance itself. Sleek yet forgiving, with hidden pockets for a ceramic blade along my thigh and a miniature panic button disguised as costume jewelry. Practical and deadly, just like me.
“Again,” Moses had said this morning, circling me on the training mat. “This time, use your center of gravity. ”
I’d nodded, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades, and lunged.
Now, I roll my shoulder, working out the tender spot where he’d flipped me. Worth it for the moment I finally executed the counter-move correctly, his surprised grunt as he hit the mat beneath me was more satisfying than a thousand political victories.
Making my way toward Teagan’s office, I’m surprised I haven’t been pulled in another direction by one of the guys. They’ve been hovering since we decided on our offensive strategy, Josiah testing equipment on me, Beaux running scenarios, Moses drilling self-defense moves into muscle memory. Only Teagan has kept his distance, retreating into strategy and planning.
The rest of the penthouse is quiet, suspiciously so, but his office door is cracked open and faint noise spills through. A low sound, almost like breath held too long. Followed by a rough whisper I can’t quite make out. Curiosity tugs at me, stronger than hesitation.
I nudge the door open with my knuckles. And freeze.
Teagan stands at the center of the room, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp and with an intensity that stills me further. Josiah kneels before him, bare-chested, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. His body is rigid with tension, like he’s made of wire and willpower.
Teagan’s hand is gripping Josiah’s neck, not hard, not cruel, but commanding. His thumb brushes across Josiah’s lower lip, and Josiah opens for him without a word.
My breath hitches.
Teagan doesn’t look surprised to see me. If anything, he smiles, slow and deliberately, a wolf catching a scent. “Well, well,” he murmurs. “Look who decided to join us.”
Josiah doesn’t move. His cheeks flush, but his eyes don’t lift from the floor. It’s not shame I see on him, it’s control surrendered. Freely. Reverently.
I can’t move. Can’t look away. Something about the scene pins me to the doorway, heart pounding in my throat. It isn’t just about sex, it’s deeper than that, I assume. Trust layered beneath power, affection woven into submission.
Teagan drags his gaze back to mine. “You’re welcome to stay,” he says, voice low and rich, “but if you stay, you don’t get to be a spectator.”
My stomach drops, heat blooms low and fast between my thighs.
He gives me a moment, just one, and then adds, “ You’ve seen Josiah’s brilliance. His chaos. His humor. But this?” He tugs lightly on Josiah’s short curls at the nap of his neck, and Josiah shivers. “This is how he resets. This is what he needs. And I’m the only one who gives it to him.”
Josiah exhales softly, still silent.
I swallow hard. “Is he okay?”
“He’s more than okay,” Teagan says. “He’s perfect.”
That word cracks something open in me.
“Show our Charlotte that you’re okay, J.” Teagan says tapping leg in a gesture I can only assume means to come closer.
Josiah’s lips part then, not to speak but to press a kiss to the side of Teagan’s thigh. A devotion that silences every thought in my head.
Teagan holds out his free hand. “Come here, Charlotte.”
I step inside the room, letting the door fall shut behind me.
Teagan’s hand is still extended.
I walk toward him slowly, every nerve ending alive and crackling. Josiah doesn’t look at me, but I see the way his breath catches as I get closer, how his fingers curl tighter behind his back. He’s kneeling not because he has to, but because he wants to. Needs to .
I know that need. I felt it in the nest, craving structure, surrender, the relief of letting go. But this is different. This is his way.
Teagan takes my hand the moment I’m close enough. “You don’t have to do anything,” he says, voice like velvet over steel. “But if you stay, you stay as part of this.” His gaze burns into mine. “Can you give me your trust, Charlotte?”
I nod, throat too tight for words.
“Words, Omega.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, kisses the center of my palm, then guides me gently to stand behind Josiah. “He won’t speak unless I say so,” Teagan murmurs, now circling us both like a panther. “But he hears you. He feels everything.”
Josiah’s back is flushed, his breath steady now. I reach out, brushing my fingertips across his shoulder blades, and feel the shiver ripple down his spine. That subtle reaction makes something inside me unfurl. I press a kiss to the back of his neck, tasting salt and surrender.
“He loves that,” Teagan murmurs. “Touch grounds him. Praise feeds him.”
My hands slide down Josiah’s sides, reverent, explorative. My own body sings with want, not just for Teagan, not just for Josiah, but for this connection, this intimacy that feels like a sacred rite.
Teagan’s hands come to rest on my hips from behind. He presses himself flush to my back, his breath a hot whisper in my ear. “You’re gorgeous when you let yourself feel.”
He guides my hands forward, until they rest on Josiah’s bare chest. “He’s yours too, you know. We all are. He just needs different care.”
Beneath my palms, Josiah’s heart pounds like a war drum.
“Tell her what you need,” Teagan says at last, voice dipping lower. “You may speak.”
Josiah’s voice is a rasp. “Touch me.”
I do. I let my fingers glide down the slope of his chest, tracing the muscle there, the faint tremble beneath. I caress him with unhurried intention, each stroke delivered like a blessing. His head tilts backward, finding support against my stomach.
Teagan moves around to Josiah’s front again, crouches low, his presence suddenly magnetic.
“Open your mouth,” he orders softly.
Josiah obeys without hesitation, his lips parting as Teagan slides two fingers past them, not forceful but firm. Josiah sucks them in, eyes fluttering closed, devotion painted across his face. The sight makes my thighs clench.
“Good boy,” Teagan murmurs, and Josiah lets out a shuddering breath, relaxing into it.
That single phrase, the praise, the permission, lights something inside me. A hunger deeper than heat. A craving for this, this dominance and shelter, this holy surrender.
Teagan looks up at me, his fingers still in Josiah’s mouth, his pupils blown wide. “Do you want to taste him, Omega?” His voice is a low growl now, wrapping around me like silk and smoke.
I nod.
He withdraws his fingers and brings them to my lips, glistening with Josiah’s saliva. I open for him, never breaking eye contact as he slides them between my lips.
The taste of salt and submission blooms on my tongue. I moan.
His voice rumbles through me. “On your knees, Charlotte.”
And I go, moving from behind Josiah, I drop to my knees in front of him. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Because in that moment, I don’t feel owned. I feel chosen .
Josiah looks wrecked. Beautifully, utterly undone, his pupils blown, lips wet, chest rising in shallow bursts. But beneath the haze, there’s clarity in his gaze. Not just hunger. Something deeper. For me. For this.
I’ve never seen someone so thoroughly surrendered yet so present. The juxtaposition hits something primal inside me. His surrender isn’t fragility, it’s an alternative form of power, one demanding greater bravery than I’ve ever mustered for any political struggle.
Teagan steps behind me, his hand settling at the nape of my neck. The weight of it sends electricity down my spine, a silent claim that doesn’t feel like ownership but like shelter, like belonging.
“You feel this, Josiah?” he asks, voice low and deliberate. “She’s giving herself to us. To you.”
Josiah’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Yes, sir.”
The honorific slides from his lips so naturally, like breathing. I’ve heard worse men demand that title with threats and violence. But Teagan’s earned it in a way I’m only beginning to understand.
“Do you want her?” he asks.
Josiah doesn’t blink. “More than anything.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my skin tingle. No games, no posturing. Just naked want.
Teagan’s grip tightens, grounding. “Then ask her. ”
My heart thuds against my ribs. This is real, it is really happening and there’s no panic. Teagan is still checking in without saying a word, ensuring I have a voice, ensuring Josiah respects it.
Josiah turns his body to face me directly. Wrecked, reverent, his voice barely above a whisper. “Charlotte, may I touch you?”
My lips part, breath catching. I nod, but Teagan’s fingers press firmer at my neck. A warning.
“Use your voice,” Teagan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
The reminder doesn’t feel like a correction. It feels like protection, for me, for Josiah, for the fragile thing we’re building between us.
“Yes,” I say, breathless. “Yes, Josiah. Touch me.”
His hands reach for my thighs, gentle and tentative, like I’m something precious. His touch is different from Teagan’s, softer, more exploratory. His thumbs trace circles into my skin, anchoring me, waking something inside me that isn’t just desire, it’s connection.
My sun dress bunches at my waist where I kneel. Josiah’s fingers slip beneath the fabric, tracing the edge of my panties with a reverence that makes me tremble.
Teagan’s palm trails over my shoulder, fingers gliding down the curve of my arm. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs in my ear. “Letting him see you like this. Letting him have you.”
His praise melts through me like heat against ice. I arch into the sensation, needing more. The words sink deeper than they should, hitting places I’ve kept locked away, protected. Places that crave validation and approval, not because I’m weak, but because I’m human.
Josiah leans in, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. One kiss. Then another, higher this time. His tongue follows, teasing, tasting. The contact sends sparks racing up my spine, pooling low in my belly.
“Off,” Teagan commands, voice like smoke and gravel. “Now.”
There’s no ambiguity about what he means. I strip. Slowly. The air is cool against my skin, but the heat between us makes it irrelevant. Teagan helps, steady hands at my hips, lifting, guiding, until I’m standing bare before them.
I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. But their gazes don’t reduce me to flesh—they elevate me. Like I’m art given life.
Josiah’s eyes go wide. “You’re—fuck, Charlotte.”
The crude word spilling from his usually clever mouth feels like victory. I’ve unmade him as much as he’s unmade me.
I cup his jaw and pull him closer. “Show me.”
He dives in like a man starving, tongue sweeping between my folds, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, finding every nerve ending, every weakness. His moans vibrate against me as I grind down on his tongue, chasing the pleasure he gives my clit generously. His hands grip my thighs, not to control but to savor.
My head falls back as sensation builds, a crescendo of heat and pressure. Teagan’s hand finds my throat again, there for balance, not restraint, and it only heightens everything. His thumb strokes the pulse point at the base of my throat, monitoring my pleasure like it’s his to safeguard.
“Good,” he breathes. “Let him taste what’s his.”
The possessive edge in his voice should rankle me. Should trigger all my defenses about autonomy and independence. But it doesn’t. Because there’s no force behind it, no coercion. Just fierce, protective desire.
I come with a cry, hips trembling, hands tangled in Josiah’s hair as he drinks every last drop. Colors burst behind my eyes, pressure building and breaking in waves I can’t control. My body jerks, oversensitive, but Josiah gentles, slowing, easing me through the aftershocks.
When I finally tug him up, his lips are swollen, face flushed with pride and lust. His expression is a beautiful contradiction, smug yet reverent, hungry yet sated. I kiss him deeply, tasting myself on his tongue, and he groans into my mouth, pressing closer.
Teagan steps in front of me now, eyes dark, cock already hard and leaking through his loosened pants. “Your turn,” I whisper, already reaching.
He hisses as I pull the zipper of his jeans down and wrap my hand around him, pulling him free. Thick. Heavy. I lick my lips, then take him into my mouth inch by inch. The taste of him is sharp and masculine, salt and musk.
He groans. “Open wide for me, Omega.”
I do. I take him deep, my tongue swirling, sucking, working him the way I know he likes. My jaw aches, but the discomfort is secondary to his pleasure.
Josiah trails kisses along my spine, hands warm against my hips. His own erection presses against my back, hot and insistent.
Teagan grabs a fistful of my hair to steady himself. “Just like that,” he rasps. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His praise hits me like a drug. I’ve been called many things, headstrong, difficult, radical. But never perfect. Never like I’m enough exactly as I am.
I hum around him, and he jerks, pulling free with a grunt. “Enough. Get on him.”
I turn, climbing into Josiah’s lap, his cock already rising again beneath me. I lower myself slowly, gasping at the stretch, the way he fills me. Different from Teagan, but no less intense.
“Charlotte,” he breathes, hands bracing my waist.
The way he says my name feels like a thousand butterflies taking flight within me. I dip my head and capture his lips with mine, grinding against him as we discover our perfect cadence together.
Teagan moves behind me again, one hand on my back, guiding. “Good girl. Ride him.”
I move. Rocking. Grinding. My pace finds his rhythm, and Teagan’s fingers find my clit. The pleasure spikes hard, blinding. Josiah’s hands grip my hips, helping me rise and fall, his breath uneven against my neck.
“You feel her?” Teagan asks Josiah. “Feel how wet she is? How ready?”
Josiah groans, thrusting up into me. “She’s unreal.”
I ride him faster. Harder. Teagan’s fingers tease me closer and closer to another peak .
“I want to feel you,” I gasp, looking back at Teagan. “Please.”
His eyes flare. “You want both of us?”
I nod, frantic now. “Yes. Please.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Slicks himself with my juices with a practiced hand and lines up behind me. He waits, hand on my hip. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I want you. Now.”
He pushes in beside Josiah slowly, the burn exquisite as my pussy accommodates them both, the stretch insane. I cry out, body trembling, caught between them.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice strained. “Take all of it. All of us.”
They move together, Josiah beneath me, Teagan behind me. Deep. Controlled. Filling every inch. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Only feel.
Only them.
Pleasure coils tight and then explodes, my orgasm hitting so hard I scream. They follow, Teagan gripping my hips like a lifeline as he spills inside, Josiah groaning into my neck as he does the same.
I collapse between them, boneless, wrecked, and whole.
Teagan kisses the back of my neck. “That’s our girl.”
And in this moment, I believe it.