Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mia
I know the exact time because I’m staring at the clock on my laptop screen, willing words to appear on the blank document in front of me, when the first drops hit the window. Within minutes, it’s a steady drumming against the glass, turning the world outside soft and blurred.
The dining table has been completely overtaken.
Cables snake across the surface like vines, connecting laptops to chargers, phones to power banks, monitors to everything.
Knox has commandeered one end, his setup looking like mission control with three screens arranged in a semicircle.
Rhys is at the other end, headphones on, fingers flying across his keyboard like an evil genius.
Eli has taken over the middle section, his laptop surrounded by legal pads covered in his neat handwriting.
And Declan is sitting directly across from me.
He has a laptop open in front of him. A spreadsheet glows on the screen with numbers and graphs that should be holding his attention. But every time I glance up, his moss-green eyes are on me in a way that makes me hyperaware of every movement I make.
I’m trying to finish the article my editor has been waiting for. I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, rereading the same sentence until the words are beginning to sound like gibberish.
My phone buzzes on the table.
I glance down. A text message. From an unknown number.
Unknown: Stop biting your lip. It’s distracting the IT department.
I feel heat rush up my neck. I don’t need a contact name to know who sent that. I look up, and he’s watching me over the top of his screen, one eyebrow raised, mouth curved in a barely-there smirk.
I glance toward Knox, but he’s engrossed in whatever code he’s writing, headphones blocking out the world. Rhys hasn’t looked up in forty-five minutes. Eli is on a call, his voice a low murmur as he paces near the window.
I look back at Declan and type out a response.
Me: How did you get my number?
Unknown: Eli put it in the pack group chat. Save me as ‘Favorite Neighbor’. Don’t tell Knox.
I huff a laugh, shaking my head, and change the contact name to Declan. Then I type back.
Me: Maybe the IT department should focus on actual work instead of watching me.
His response comes immediately.
Declan: Tried that. Turns out you’re more interesting than server loads.
I bite my lip harder, then immediately release it when I realize what I’m doing.
His grin widens.
I shove back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the hardwood. “Coffee,” I announce to no one in particular, even though my mug is still half full, and escape to the kitchen.
The space feels smaller than it did this morning. The rain drums against the window above the sink, and I brace my hands on the counter, breathing in slowly through my nose.
This is fine. This is totally fine. They’re just working. I’m working. We’re coexisting like functional adults.
Except I can still feel Declan’s eyes on me. Can still remember the weight of his hands guiding my hips as he pulled me down on him, the way his voice dropped to gravel when he told me to take it, the—
“You okay?”
I jump, spinning around.
Declan is leaning against the archway, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with those steady green eyes. He moves so quietly for someone his size, like a cat stalking prey.
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Just needed a break.”
“From what? You’ve written maybe three sentences in the last hour.”
“I’m—” I fumble for an excuse. “—thinking. Writers think. It’s part of the process.”
“Uh-huh.” He pushes off the archway and moves into the kitchen, closing the distance between us. “What are you thinking about?”
You. Them. The fact that my house doesn’t feel like mine anymore and I’m not upset about it.
“Work,” I lie.
He stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I can smell the clean scent of his soap mixed with that spicy dark chocolate. So thick it makes my pulse kick up.
“Liar,” he murmurs.
I open my mouth to argue, but he continues before I can.
“I hated going last,” he says quietly.
The abrupt shift in topic throws me. “What?”
“During the heat.” His hand comes up to brace on the counter beside me. “I hated that I went last. By the time it was my turn, you were exhausted. Wrecked. I wanted—” He stops, jaw tightening. “I wanted you present for it. Wanted to see you come apart when you were fully aware.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Declan—”
“I know we agreed to just help you through it,” he continues, his voice thickening slightly.
“And I meant it. But I need you to know that I don’t just want the biology.
I don’t want you when you’re too far gone to remember my name.
” His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face up.
“I want you like this. Clear-headed. Looking at me.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“Can I have that?” he asks, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “Can I have you like this?”
I should remind him that his packmates are literally fifteen feet away, that we’re supposed to be working, that this is wildly inappropriate.
Instead, I nod.
The smile that spreads across his face is slow and pleased. He leans in, his mouth brushing against my ear. “Good girl.”
Then his hands are on my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter. The cold of the countertop seeps through my leggings, making me gasp, and he steps between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs.
“They’ll hear us,” I whisper, glancing nervously at the open archway that barely separates us from the dining room.
His grin turns wicked. “Then be quiet.” He pauses, fingers toying with the waistband of my leggings. “Or don’t. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. “Declan—”
“Shh.” He drops to his knees in one fluid motion, and the sight of him kneeling between my legs steals every coherent thought from my brain.
He hooks his fingers into my waistband and tugs. I lift my hips automatically, and he slides my leggings and underwear down in one smooth motion, cool air hitting my overheated skin.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands spreading my thighs wider. “Absolutely perfect.”
I’m already trembling, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee. Then higher. Then higher still, trailing his mouth along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh while his hands keep me spread open for him.
The first touch of his mouth against my center makes me bite down on my fist to keep from crying out.
He murmurs against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine, “Stay quiet for me, love.”
Then he goes to work.
Declan takes his time. His tongue traces patterns that make my thighs shake, and when he finds the spot that makes my back arch, he focuses there until I’m writhing against the counter.
I bite down harder on my hand, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. The rain drums steadily against the window, providing some cover, but not enough. Not nearly enough for the noises he’s coaxing from me.
One of his hands slides up to press against my lower belly, holding me in place while his mouth works magic between my legs. The other hand grips my thigh, his fingers digging in just hard enough to ground me.
“Declan,” I gasp, my free hand fisting in his hair. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
“Then come,” he murmurs against me. “Let me taste it.”
The combination of his words and the relentless pressure of his tongue sends me over the edge.
I come with my hand pressed hard against my mouth, muffling the sounds as my whole body goes taut and then liquid.
Pleasure rolls through me in waves, each one stealing my breath and making my vision blur.
He works me through it, gentling as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs while I try to remember how to breathe.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, he’s looking up at me with the most satisfied expression I’ve ever seen. His mouth is wet, his hair disheveled from my fingers, and he looks absolutely satisfied.
“Better,” he says, voice rough. “Now I can work.”
He stands, using his thumbs to gently wipe away the evidence of what we just did before pulling my underwear and leggings back up. His hands are careful as he smooths the fabric back into place and helps me down from the counter.
My legs are shaking. I have to grip his arms to stay upright.
He leans down and kisses me. Soft and sweet, tasting like me. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“F-for what?”
“For letting me see you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod.
He takes my hand and leads me back to the dining table.
Knox doesn’t look up from his screen, but as I settle back into my chair, he slides a water bottle across the table toward me without a word.
Rhys glances up briefly, catches sight of my probably-flushed face and Declan’s smug expression, and smirks before returning to his work.
Eli ends his call and checks his watch with theatrical precision. “Productivity break over?” he asks, his tone completely dry.
They knew. They all knew exactly what we were doing.
My face burns hotter, but Declan just laughs and drops back into his chair, pulling his laptop toward him like nothing happened.
“Much more productive now,” he confirms, already typing.
I stare at my own screen, trying to will my brain back online. The blank document mocks me. I manage to write two paragraphs before my brain short-circuits again.
By the time evening rolls around, the rain has settled into a steady rhythm that makes the whole house feel like it’s wrapped in cotton.
Rhys is the first to break. He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with a groan that makes his spine pop. “I’m done. My brain is mush.”
“Same,” Knox agrees, closing his laptop with a decisive snap. “If I look at one more line of code, I’m going to scream.”
Eli glances at his watch. “It’s almost seven. We should eat.”
As if on cue, my stomach growls. Loudly.
Four sets of eyes swing toward me.
“Pizza?” Declan suggests, already pulling out his phone.
“I’m not picky,” I say.
“She says that now,” Knox mutters, “but wait until we order something she doesn’t like.”
“I like everything except anchovies.”
“Noted.” Declan is already scrolling through options. “Half pepperoni, half vegetarian?”
“Perfect.”
They order enough food to feed a small army. Three large pizzas, breadsticks, wings, and something called “cheesy bread” that I’m pretty sure is just cheese melted on more bread.
While we wait for delivery, they don’t pack up. They don’t even mention going back to their house, either. A part of me doesn’t want them to.
My omega definitely doesn’t want them to.
Knox sprawls on my couch, claiming the remote and pulling up something on Netflix.
Rhys disappears into my kitchen and returns with plates and napkins, setting them on the coffee table like he’s done this exact thing in my house before.
Eli helps me clear the dining table of cables and laptops, stacking everything neatly on the sideboard.
Declan just watches me with those steady green eyes, a small smile playing at his lips.
“What?” I ask when I catch him staring.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just…this is nice.”
It is nice.
It’s more than nice.
The food arrives, and we demolish it. I eat more than I probably should, but after days of barely eating during the heat, my body is demanding fuel.
Knox keeps sliding slices onto my plate when he thinks I’m not looking.
Rhys refills my juice without being asked.
Eli makes sure I get first pick of the breadsticks.
Declan just sits next to me on the couch, his thigh pressed against mine, as he chews happily, eyes on me every time I look.
By the time we finish eating, full dark has fallen outside. The rain is still coming down, heavier now, drumming against the roof in a way that makes going anywhere sound deeply unappealing.
“We should head back,” Eli says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.
“Should we?” Rhys asks, already settling deeper into the armchair he’s claimed.
“I mean…” Knox gestures vaguely at the window. “It’s really coming down out there.”
And that’s when I realize they’re looking for permission. All carefully not looking at me while simultaneously tracking my every micro-expression.
They want to stay.
The words stick in my throat for a moment. Because asking them to stay means admitting something. Means acknowledging that I don’t want them to leave. That this thing between us isn’t just heat-driven biology anymore.
“Stay,” I hear myself say. “It’s stupid to walk twenty feet in a downpour when there’s a perfectly good house right here.”
The tension in the room releases like a snapped rubber band.
“If you insist,” Knox says, grinning.
“I do.”
“Your bed’s going to be crowded,” Declan points out.
“Good thing I like being warm.”
His smile is slow. “Yeah. Good thing.”
An hour later, we’re all upstairs.
My bedroom is smaller than the nest room at their place. The bed is a queen, which means there’s absolutely no way we’re all fitting comfortably.
We fit anyway.
Rhys claims the left side, his back against the wall. Knox takes the right, already sprawling like he owns the place. Eli settles near the foot of the bed, his long legs hanging slightly off the edge.
And Declan pulls me into the middle, arranging me against his chest like I’m a soft cuddly toy.
“This is crazy,” I murmur, even as I’m curling into his warmth.
“This is perfect,” he corrects, his accent soft and sleep-rough.
Knox’s hand finds my ankle under the covers, his thumb tracing idle circles as Rhys’s fingers tangle with mine over Declan’s chest. Eli’s palm rests on my calf.
They’re everywhere. Surrounding me. Holding me.
“It’s nice you stayed,” I whisper into the darkness.
For a moment, there’s silence. And then Knox snorts softly. “Yeah, you’re stuck with us now.”
“Terrible fate,” I say, but I’m smiling.
“The worst,” Rhys agrees, his voice already heavy with sleep.
Eli just squeezes my calf gently, and I close my eyes, letting myself sink into them.