32. Charlotte
CHAPTER 32
CHARLOTTE
I wake to the gentle press of Moses' chest against my back, his arm draped over my waist, the weight comforting rather than restrictive. His scent—frankincense and myrrh—wraps around me and thoughts of me on my knees for him send delicious shivers down my spine. Beyond the windows, the city stretches beneath a blanket of early morning fog, but in here, time feels suspended. Our nest—my nest—has become a sanctuary.
The massive California king mattress sits on a platform of memory foam, surrounded by pillows, blankets, and cushions in every texture. Some nights, like last night, we all pile in together after the day's chaos becomes too much. Other nights, different combinations of us find comfort in each other's arms while others take watch or sleep elsewhere.
There are no rules here. Just us, finding our way.
Josiah stirs beside me, his head using my thigh as a pillow, dark lashes fluttering against caramel-brown cheeks. His scent, rain and clean linen, is like a balm and I find myself wanting to sniff him constantly. Of course, he lets me, even though he is not a fan of touch all the time. I reach down, threading my fingers through his short curls, and he hums, nuzzling against my touch without opening his eyes.
"Morning, sunshine," I whisper, careful not to disturb the others.
His lips curl into a sleepy smile. "Five more minutes."
"Take all the time you need." I yawn.
His hand finds mine, squeezing once before relaxing back into semi-consciousness.
On my other side, Beaux sprawls face-down in a tangle of sheets, one arm flung across my hips. The black pepper and whiskey notes of his scent spike momentarily as he grunts in his sleep, then settle back to a warm, mellow undercurrent. The tattoos across his back, demons locked in eternal battle with angels, shift with each breath, telling stories I'm still learning to read .
Beyond him, Teagan sits in the armchair we pulled close to the nest, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug, the other holding a tablet. I want to scoff and tell him to come back to bed, but the man is hardheaded as hell. Always vigilant. Always watching. His leather-and-gunmetal scent carries notes of protectiveness that have become as essential to me as oxygen.
Our eyes meet over the rim of his mug, and something intimate passes between us without a word being spoken.
"How long have you been up?" I ask, voice still thick with sleep.
"Not long." The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Coffee?"
I nod, carefully extracting myself from the tangle of limbs. Moses stirs, his eyes opening just enough to verify that it's me moving before he settles back, unconsciously pulling Beaux closer to fill the space I've left. The casual intimacy between them makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
My bare feet make no sound on the plush carpet as I pad to Teagan's chair, leaning down to accept the mug he offers. Our fingers brush, sending tingles along my nerve endings. I breathe in the rich aroma of freshly ground dark roast, because of course he wouldn't settle for anything less, before taking a sip.
"Any news?" I nod toward the tablet in his hand.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Nothing we need to deal with right now."
Which means yes, plenty of news, none of it good.
Six weeks since my video went viral. Six weeks of rabid media coverage, protests in the streets, riots in some cities. Six weeks of death threats, attempted break-ins, and round-the-clock security. Six weeks of watching from this penthouse as the world grapples with the uncomfortable truths I forced into the open.
"Let me see."
He hesitates, then hands over the tablet with a resigned sigh. The screen shows live coverage of a protest outside the Alpha Association headquarters in Chicago. Signs bearing my face and slogans like "JUSTICE FOR OMEGAS", “CHARLOTTE FOR PRESIDENT!” and "NO MORE SILENCE" fill the frame. The crowd is massive, stretching for blocks.
"Turn up the volume," I request, perching on the arm of his chair.
The reporter's voice fills the space:
". . .day seventeen of continuous protests following whistleblower Charlotte Matthews' explosive revelations about systemic Omega abuse, abduction and trafficking. Multiple Government officials have now been arrested, with more indictments expected. Meanwhile, Congress has fast-tracked legislation to strengthen Omega protection laws. . ."
I mute it again, handing the tablet back to Teagan. "Faster than I expected."
"People were ready for change." His fingers find mine, interlacing them. "You just gave them permission to demand it."
"Not everyone's happy about it." I nod toward the window, beyond which we know paparazzi and death-threat-spewing traditionalists alike have been camped out for weeks, held at bay only by the building's exceptional security and the pack's reputation.
Teagan's thumb traces circles on my palm. "Not everyone needs to be."
From the nest, Moses' deep voice rumbles, "Some people deserve to be unhappy."
I turn to find him propped up on one elbow, watching us with those dark, observant eyes that never miss a thing. His cornrows are slightly disheveled, softening his usually stoic appearance. It makes my heart twist in ways I'm still learning to navigate .
"Look who's finally joining the land of the living," I tease.
His lips quirk. "Bold of you to assume I was ever asleep."
The movement disturbs Beaux, who groans dramatically, rolling onto his back and flinging an arm over his eyes. "If you're all going to insist on talking, at least make it interesting."
"What qualifies as interesting to you at"—I glance at the clock—"seven thirty-eight in the morning?"
His arm slides away, those chestnut brown eyes fixing on me with a heat that sends electricity dancing down my spine. "I can think of a few things, Harlequin."
The nickname he gave me weeks ago now rolls off his tongue with practiced ease, making my breath catch every time. I hide my reaction behind another sip of coffee, but from the knowing smirk that spreads across his face, I'm not fooling anyone.
Especially not in a room full of Alphas who can scent every spike of desire, every flutter of my pulse.
Josiah stirs, finally sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "If you're plotting morning sex, I vote yes, but coffee first." His hair sticks up at odd angles, making him look younger than his thirty-two years.
I laugh, the sound lighter than I would have believed possible after everything we've been through. "You're all incorrigible."
"That's not a no," Beaux points out, waggling his eyebrows.
I take another sip of coffee, deliberately slow. "It's not."
The atmosphere shifts subtly, the playful banter taking on an edge of something more. Four pairs of eyes track my movements as I set the mug down on the side table and stretch, intentionally arching my back just enough to make my borrowed t-shirt, Teagan's this time, ride up my thighs.
"Tell me something," I say, sliding from the chair arm onto Teagan's lap. He immediately adjusts to accommodate me, one hand settling possessively on my hip. "When this all dies down, when the world finds its new normal, what then?"
The question has been circling in my mind for days. The momentum of crisis has carried us this far, but what happens when the adrenaline fades? When there's space to breathe and think about what we're building here?
"Whatever you want," Teagan answers without hesitation, his voice low and certain. "This is your pack, too."
My heart squeezes at the simplicity of his statement. My pack. The concept still feels new, fragile, like something that might shatter if I examine it too closely.
"And if what I want is all of you. Forever?" The question slips out before I can second-guess it, hanging in the air between us.
Moses slides from the nest to kneel beside the chair, his large hand finding my ankle, thumb pressing against the pulse point. "You already have us, Charlotte. Forever."
"All of us," Josiah confirms, his eyes now fully alert and serious as he crawls to the edge of the nest. "However you want us. Forever."
Beaux sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist, revealing the full glory of his tattooed torso. "We've been yours since you walked into our lives and turned everything upside down."
The raw honesty in their voices undoes something in me—some final tether of uncertainty I'd been clinging to. Heat floods my body, not just desire, but something deeper. Something that feels dangerously like belonging.
"Show me," I whisper.
The words act as a catalyst. Moses rises first, taking my hand and drawing me to my feet with gentle insistence. Teagan follows, his chest pressing against my back, hands sliding beneath the oversized t-shirt to trace the curve of my waist. His lips find my neck, just below my ear, and I shiver.
"Cold?" His breath is warm against my skin.
I shake my head, words momentarily beyond me as Beaux and Josiah rise from the nest, completing the circle around me. Four distinct scents mingle in the air, creating something entirely new. Our scent. Pack scent.
Josiah reaches for the hem of my shirt, his eyes seeking permission. When I nod, he lifts it slowly, reverently, exposing inch by inch of my skin to the cool morning air. I raise my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head, leaving me in nothing but my panties.
There's no self-consciousness here, not anymore. These men have seen me at my strongest and my most vulnerable. They've held me through nightmares and celebrated every small victory. They know every curve, every stretch mark, every scar that tells the story of who I am.
"Beautiful," Beaux breathes, his hand cupping my cheek with unexpected tenderness. "Our perfect Harlequin."
Moses' hands slide down my arms, fingers interlacing with mine as he draws me toward the nest. Teagan follows, already shrugging out of his shirt, revealing the tattoo sleeves that map his arms like constellations that I've spent hours tracing. Josiah and Beaux shed their remaining clothes without hurry or urgency, as if we have all the time in the world.
And maybe, finally, we do.
I sink into the nest, welcomed by the tangle of sheets that hold our combined scents. Moses settles behind me, his chest solid and warm against my back. Beaux stretches out beside us, propped on one elbow, watching with open hunger as Teagan's fingers trace patterns down my belly, dipping beneath the waistband of my panties.
"Is this what you need?" Teagan asks, his voice hushed, reverent.
"It's a start," I manage, breath catching as his fingers find slick heat.
Josiah laughs softly, positioning himself on my other side, his lips finding my shoulder. "Always so demanding."
"You wouldn't want me any other way," I counter, gasping as Moses' teeth graze the sensitive juncture of my neck and shoulder.
"No," he agrees, the word vibrating against my skin. "We wouldn't."
What follows transcends simple physical pleasure. This isn't just sex—it's communion. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of praise and encouragement builds a bridge between us, reinforcing bonds that have been forged in fire and blood.
Teagan's usual iron control slips as I take him into my mouth, a broken groan escaping him that sends warmth flooding through me. His fingers tangle in my hair, alternately gripping and releasing as he fights his instinct to guide me. I hum against him, savoring my power over this man who rarely surrenders to anyone.
"Fuck, Charlotte," he rasps, his accent thickening with pleasure.
Beaux's manic energy finds exquisite focus as he maps every sensitive inch of my body. His clever tongue traces the curve of my hip bone, my inner thigh, everywhere but where I need him most. When he finally relents, the hot press of his mouth against my core makes me arch and tremble. My fingers claw at the sheets as he laughs against me, the vibration making me gasp.
"That's it, Harley," he murmurs against slick flesh. "Let me hear you."
Josiah watches me through hooded eyes, always intuitive, reading my responses like they're written in a language only he understands. He knows precisely when to push me toward the edge and when to soothe, his long fingers working inside me with deliberate precision while his other hand caresses my breast.
"You're close," he whispers, not a question but a statement. "But not yet."
And Moses, my quiet sentinel, anchors me through it all. His large hands span my waist, steadying me as the others drive me higher. He presses his lips to my shoulder blades, my spine, the small of my back. His strength becomes my foundation in this storm of sensation, keeping me from being swept away completely.
We move together in a dance with no predetermined steps, following instinct and desire where they lead. Sometimes I'm the focus, surrounded by hands and mouths and murmured praise that makes me blush, even as I arch into their touch. Other times I watch, entranced, as they pleasure each other with the familiarity of long-time lovers, finding new ways to include me in their established rhythms.
There are no designations here—no Alphas, Betas, or Omegas. Just five people who have chosen each other against all odds.
I'm sprawled across Moses' chest, his heartbeat thundering beneath my ear, when Teagan slides inside me from behind. The fullness draws a keening sound from my throat that Beaux captures with his mouth, swallowing my moans as Josiah's clever fingers find my clit.
"Let go, Charlotte," Moses rumbles, large hands framing my face. "We've got you."
And I do. I shatter completely, coming undone in their hands, knowing they'll piece me back together. Teagan follows moments later, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, body shuddering against mine.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slicked and breathless, scents mingling until I can no longer distinguish where mine ends and theirs begin. Beaux presses lazy kisses along my collarbone while Josiah traces patterns on my thigh. Moses' hand finds Teagan's, both resting on the curve of my waist.
Outside, the world continues its chaotic tumble toward whatever new order will emerge from the rubble of what we've torn down. There will be battles still to fight, enemies to face, truths to defend.
But here, in this moment, in this nest, it's just us.
My pack. My choice. My home.