Chapter 21 #2
Between the three of us we ease Mia upright.
Every muscle in her protests, little flinches she can’t quite hide, and I have to bite my tongue against apologizing again and again.
She makes a small, bewildered sound when we shift her, but she doesn’t fight us.
She lets us manhandle her like a ragdoll because she trusts us not to break her.
Declan slides back against the headboard, bracing his shoulders. We guide her down to straddle his lap, facing him. Her thighs tremble as they open over his, but his hands are already there on her hips, big and steady, taking the weight she can’t hold herself.
He slicks himself in her, gathering the mess we’ve already made and smoothing it over his cock. Then he draws her in closer, tucking her against his chest like he’s settling a feverish patient instead of getting ready to fuck her.
One arm wraps around her back, holding her upright, cradling her in that quiet way that’s so…Declan.
“Mia.” His voice is pitched just for her. “Eyes on me.”
She drags her gaze up. It’s hazy, glassy, but anchored. She knows exactly who owns that voice.
His thumb brushes her cheek. His other hand rubs slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades, keeping her tethered.
“Do you want me?” he asks. There’s a beat where she could still say no. If she did, I’d haul her out of here myself.
“Yes,” she breathes instead, immediate and wrecked. Her voice cracks as she swallows hard. “Yes, Declan. Please.”
He inhales sharply, just once, then moves.
Two fingers first, easing into her already-abused entrance. I can see the way his jaw tightens as he feels along the stretched, tender ring of her, checking for any catch that would make this a hard no.
She gasps, hips trying to jerk, but he holds her steady and pulls her in closer with the arm around her back, tucking her head under his chin like he’s shielding her from the world.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. He doesn’t pull out.
A moment later he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with the slow, relentless pressure of his cock.
He guides her down onto him, letting gravity and his hands do the work.
Her knees slide on either side of his hips, and I reach out without thinking and catch one, bracing it so she doesn’t have to.
He pushes in until her pelvis meets his and stops there, breathing hard. Her nails dig crescents into the hand on her side; she’s not even looking at whose it is. Her other hand fists weakly in Declan’s hair.
“Okay?” he manages, voice rough, his mouth against her hair.
She nods, tears bright at the corners of her eyes from pure overload. “Yeah,” she whispers. “You feel…right.”
He closes his eyes for a second like that costs him more than the entire heat, then starts to move.
There’s hardly any thrust at first. Just that same slow, internal rocking I’d tried for, but gentler somehow.
Less about what her body can take and more about what her mind can process.
Because he’s underneath, he can control every angle; his hands on her hips steer her in tiny arcs that never jar, never drag her any further open than she already is.
He tips her forward a little until her chest is pressed to his, spine curved so she can rest on him instead of riding him.
One arm bands around her waist, holding her close, while the other slips down between them.
His fingers find her clit, circling it in a soft, steady pattern that nudges her toward release.
The room goes quiet.
It’s different with him. With me, it’s always been bodies colliding, teeth bared at the universe even when I’m trying to be careful.
With Eli, it’s worship. With Declan…it’s this ruthless kind of gentleness.
The way he shifts his angle when her breath catches too sharp.
How he eases off when her pulse flutters too high for too long.
How, every time her muscles start to clench in that panicked way, he tightens his hold and murmurs something low into her hair until she melts again.
When the orgasm comes, it rolls through her. A long, deep wave that seems to unknot her from the inside. Her eyes roll back, then flutter half-open again, too tired to stay there. Her scent, which had started to sharpen, simply…softens. The manic edge leaches out like someone cracked a window.
Declan follows her over a few slow thrusts later, groaning against her neck as he spills into her. I watch his face twist with something that looks a lot like relief.
His knot swells too, locking them together, keeping her seated on him, full and held, no room for that terrible, echoing emptiness to sneak back in.
Pinned to his chest, Mia just sags. Every line of her goes lax, cheek pressed to his shoulder, lips parted on a shaky exhale that sounds like surrender.
I can finally, finally breathe.
He stays propped against the headboard, still joined with her, his hand spread across the small of her back in that protective way that says he’d fight God if He tried to take her. Her breathing evens out in tiny increments, each one stealing a stone off my chest.
A warm cloth appears. Eli’s been to the bathroom, but I barely registered him moving.
Careful hands clean what they can around where they’re joined, wiping away the slick and come on her thighs so she doesn’t have to lie in it later.
Declan’s fingers sweep over the swollen skin he can reach, checking for anything worse than what we already know we did.
It’s all angry redness and puffed flesh that’s going to have very loud opinions tomorrow, but no tearing.
Her scent is different now. Still omega, still sweet, but the frantic, grasping edge has finally thinned to something we can live with.
Something in my own chest unclenches so hard it leaves me lightheaded.
Rhys moves in first, sliding along Declan’s right side, his arm coming around both of them like he’s bracketing them in.
I take the other side, stretching out on Declan’s left.
One of Mia’s thighs is draped over his hip, and I rest my palm lightly on it, thumb stroking absent-minded circles over her skin.
Declan’s knot keeps them fastened together as her breaths lengthen and deepen. His eyes keep tracking the rise and fall of her chest even as his own starts to droop.
Finally, Eli wedges himself near the headboard and threads his fingers through Mia’s hair, thumb brushing the soft, damp skin at her temple. From here, I can see all of us if I tip my head back: the pack wrapped around our omega, the storm finally easing.
“We’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow,” Eli murmurs. “Bruises, crash, all of it.”
Mia makes a small, contented sound against Declan’s chest, almost a purr, the vibration of it humming through him and into the rest of us.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness take me.
The heat is done. We survived it.
But as I listen to the rhythm of their breathing, I know the truth. The danger isn’t over.
We’ve tasted her now.
And God help us, I don’t think we know how to let go.