Chapter 15
ANITA
Iwake up slowly, my body heavy and warm and completely surrounded.
For a moment, I don’t remember where I am or anything beyond the bone-deep satisfaction humming through every cell, the delicious ache between my thighs, the way my skin feels sensitized and alive.
Then I feel the Alphas. Mason is behind me, one arm draped over my waist, his face buried in my hair.
His bare chest is pressed against my back, warm and solid.
Dylan is in front of me, sprawled on his stomach with one leg thrown over mine, his wild hair spread across the pillow like dark honey streaked with ash.
His hand is resting on my hip, fingers splayed possessively even in sleep.
We’re all completely naked, tangled together under soft sheets that smell like sex and cinnamon and honey and us.
My head is still foggy, thoughts moving through molasses, and all I want to do is sink back into this warmth, into them, and never leave.
Last night was incredible, mind-altering.
I’ve never experienced that level of intensity, that perfect synchronization, or sense of being completely and utterly cherished while being thoroughly fucked.
Mason knotted me at the end. I remember the overwhelming fullness, the way it felt like he was locking himself inside me, claiming me in the most primal way possible. I cried out his name while Dylan held me and whispered praise in my ear.
Then I must have crashed hard because I don’t remember much after that. Orgasms tend to exhaust me like that. And my body buzzes with residual pleasure, pulling toward it like it’s magnetic north and I’m helpless to resist.
I could stay here forever. Wrapped up in them, safe and warm and wanted.
Then I glance at the clock on the bedside table.
6:00 a.m.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I have to be at the harbor at seven, as Ash, to meet Slater for the charter. For work, for the investigation I’m supposed to be conducting instead of sleeping with half of the pack I’m investigating.
Shit, shit, shit.
I need to move and get out of here, transform into Ash, and somehow make it to the harbor in an hour.
I start to slide carefully out of bed, trying not to wake them, moving with glacial slowness.
Mason makes a soft sound in his sleep, his arm tightening around my waist instinctively, and I freeze.
Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up.
I gently lift his arm, slipping out from under it, and he immediately rolls toward Dylan instead, his hand finding Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan shifts in his sleep, moving closer to Mason, and suddenly they’re wrapped around each other, snuggling close.
They look so peaceful and beautiful together.
Mason’s sandy-blond hair is messy from sleep, his face relaxed and handsome as hell. There’s a small smile playing on his lips like he’s having a good dream.
Dylan’s face is half buried in the pillow, that dark hair no longer tied up but instead spread everywhere. His tattooed arm is thrown over Mason’s waist, pulling him close, and even in sleep, there’s something possessive about the gesture.
I have to physically resist the urge to crawl back between them.
The pull is almost painful. My instincts are screaming at me to stay, to curl back into their warmth, to let them wake up with me still there.
But I can’t.
I move quickly now, scanning the floor for my clothes. They’re scattered everywhere, a trail of fabric marking our path from the door to the bed.
My jeans are crumpled near the foot of the bed. I grab them, trying to be quiet, while I spot my top hanging off the dresser. How did it even get there? Boots are by the door.
Where the hell is my bra?
I finally find it, dangling from the bedpost like some kind of victory flag, and I have to bite back a laugh.
My underwear takes longer to locate. I’m on my hands and knees searching under the bed when I spot them tangled in the sheets that got kicked to the floor, instead of being near my jeans.
My phone and keys are on the nightstand on Mason’s side, and I have to reach over him carefully to grab them.
He shifts slightly, making a soft sound, and I freeze again.
His face is so close to mine. Those lips that kissed me senseless last night are right there. I could lean down and kiss him awake. Could slide back into bed and let this morning unfold however it wants.
But I don’t.
I grab my things and back away slowly.
As I’m pulling on my jeans as quietly as possible, I keep glancing at them, and memories from last night flood back with visceral intensity.
Mason’s hands on my hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks. The way he pushed inside me for the first time, like I was everything he’d been searching for.
Dylan’s mouth on me, devastating and thorough. The way he grinned up at me right before making me come so hard I saw stars.
And the pull to crawl back between them right now is so strong it’s making my hands shake. Except, I finish dressing in silence, drawing on my bra, crop top, and boots, shoving my underwear into my pocket because I don’t have time to put them on properly.
I quickly switch my phone to silent mode, just in case, before checking existing messages from last night.
Nina: Went home with Oliver. Don’t wait up!
There’s a second message with a photo attached. Oliver, shirtless, with dark hair and a gorgeous smile, clearly taken from Nina’s perspective while lying in bed with him.
Nina: This is mine tonight. Tell me you had fun too!
I glance up at Mason and Dylan, still sleeping peacefully, and I can’t help it.
They’re so handsome it hurts. Mason’s profile in the early morning light filtering through the curtains, all strong jaw and soft lips. Dylan’s muscled back, those tattoos I traced with my tongue, the way his hair falls across his face.
God, they’re beautiful.
I shouldn’t do this. I know I shouldn’t.
But I lift my phone and snap a quick photo of them sleeping, tangled together, peaceful and perfect.
Then I send it to Nina before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: This was my night.
As soon as I press Send, panic floods me. God, I shouldn’t have done that. What if someone sees? What if this somehow gets back to them?
But it’s too late now.
I shove my phone into my pocket and head for the door, moving as quietly as possible.
The door closes behind me with the softest click, and I’m standing in the hallway, my heart pounding. Okay. Made it this far, now I just need to get out of the house without waking anyone else.
Specifically without waking Slater, or maybe he’s already awake because he seems like the type who gets up at the crack of dawn to do something productive and Alpha-ish.
Deep breaths. He doesn’t know I’m Ash. And he’s probably already gone to work anyway. It’s almost dawn. He’s probably been at the harbor for an hour already.
My heart is thundering against my rib cage as I sneak down the hallway.
The house is even more impressive in daylight. Everything is modern and expensive-looking. High-end furniture, art on the walls, but it’s also lived-in. Comfortable. There are books stacked on the coffee table, a guitar propped in the corner, coats hanging by the door.
It’s a home, not just a showpiece.
I start down the stairs, moving as quickly and quietly as possible, my eyes locked on that front door like it’s salvation.
I’m halfway across the living room, my feet already carrying me toward freedom, when a deep voice behind me stops me cold.
“Sneaking out before breakfast? And here I thought we made a good impression.”
My whole body stiffens.
Every muscle locks up. My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest, and it takes several long seconds before I can even force myself to turn around.
Because I know that voice.
Ice-blue eyes. Hands that lifted me effortlessly. A kiss that ruined me for anyone else.
Jasper.
I turn slowly, and there he is, sitting against the back of the couch, arms spread along the top, legs crossed at the ankles, looking completely relaxed and utterly smug.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a charcoal-gray Henley, the sleeves pushed up to reveal those strong forearms. His ash-blond hair is slightly damp like he recently showered, pushed back from his face, and those blue eyes are watching me with clear amusement.
He’s absolutely devastating, and he’s smirking at me like he knows exactly what I did last night and finds it incredibly entertaining.
I want to die right now. Just melt into the floor and disappear.
But at the same time, merely seeing him squeezes my chest tight. Leaves my body responding with embarrassing enthusiasm, heat flooding through me, slick already gathering despite the thorough workout I got last night.
That face. Those eyes. Those lips that kissed me against my apartment door and made me forget my own name.
And here I am, sneaking out of his house after spending the night with two of his packmates.
Fuck.
“Hey, listen,” I start, my voice wobbly. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s not as it looks. But I have to go. I’m late for something, and I really want to see you again, but maybe you don’t want to see me after this, but I just—”
He pushes off the couch in one fluid motion, and my words dry up completely. He’s moving toward me, all predatory stroll and casual confidence, and I’m rooted to the spot.
“It’s exactly as it looks,” Jasper says, and there’s amusement in his voice. “You spent the night with Mason and Dylan. Had what sounded like an incredible time, based on the noises that greeted us when we got home.”
My face floods with heat. “Oh God.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He’s close enough that I smell the sandalwood, pine, and molasses. I have to lock my knees to stay upright.
“I just didn’t want you to think I was—I mean, after we—”
Why did I think coming here last night was a good idea? What was I thinking?
Oh, right. I was drunk on cocktails and pool games and the way we all flirted.