Chapter Thirty-Two
Rhea
K ai’s hands linger on my skin like he forgot what post-sex etiquette is. He strokes my thighs, my back, probably to make sure I haven’t died from sheer pleasure overdose.
" Shit ," he mutters, voice all lazy and drunk on come. “I’m gonna be thinking about this for weeks. Like... years. Like... probably on my deathbed.”
He presses a kiss to my lower back, then another to the curve of my hip like I’m some holy altar and not a very sweaty, twitching mess.
“Maybe we should just chain you to the couch,” he adds, still breathless. “Save us the trouble of pretending we’re not all completely unhinged over you.”
I laugh - sort of. It starts as a laugh, then turns into a whimper because, oh hello, nerve endings.
My whole body is boneless and buzzing, every muscle somewhere between sex goddess and can’t feel my legs .
I’m wrecked. Fully, unapologetically wrecked.
I could probably be classified as a biohazard right now.
And still... not done.
Because I can feel it. The bond with Ash, steady and grounding, a quiet hum in my chest. Kai’s, on the other hand, is screaming like a feral cat in heat - unruly, hot, curling through me like fire under skin. But there’s one bond missing.
And I can feel him.
Not physically, not yet. But that pressure in the room? That waiting?
That’s Theo.
He’s still holding the line like some noble golden retriever trying not to hump your leg because he believes in honor.
Which, frankly, is starting to piss me off.
This isn’t about Lucian. (Okay, maybe it’s 12% about Lucian.) But it’s mostly about Theo - the first one I reached for. The one who held me like I wasn’t just heat and instinct.
And yeah, okay, I want him. Emotionally. Physically. Carnally. In every soft, awkward, reverent way that is so painfully him.
Kai presses one last kiss to the back of my neck and slides off the couch like a man who’s both deeply satisfied and possibly considering early retirement. I hear the soft thud as he stretches out on the floor beside me, totally naked and unbothered, dragging his knuckles over my calf like he’s petting his favorite meal.
“You’re a fucking dream, ” he mutters. “Better hope Lucian’s got a vault full of self-control, or we’re gonna be back in round two before your spine recalibrates.”
Ash snorts like he doesn’t disagree. And then I feel Theo move.
The air shifts. The temperature goes up three degrees. My instincts ping like a radar.
He’s hard - like, embarrassingly hard. Leaking and flushed and doing his absolute best not to look like he’s been dying to fuck me for a week.
But he doesn’t make it about that.
He waits. Big, warm, and buzzing with restraint.
I look up at him, totally fried and somehow still hungry. I reach for him with a hand that barely lifts off the cushion.
“Theo…”
He moves instantly - like he was just waiting for the green light - and lifts me into his arms with zero struggle.
I'm not small, but he holds me like I’m feathers. Warm, strong, safe -
And according to the hard-on he's got pressed up against me, ready to rail me into the next dimension.
He settles me on the couch again and asks, soft as a prayer -
“Can I?”
I nod, already tearing up like my body knows this one’s going to hit different.
He kisses me - not like he’s trying to stake a claim, but like he’s been holding his breath since I touched him, and this is the first inhale.
His lips are soft. Slow. Devotional.
And oh god, his hands .
One in my hair, one on my cheek, like he’s afraid I’ll break apart if he doesn’t hold me just right.
I melt. Fully.
Turning into a puddle of Rhea.
He shifts, nestling between my thighs like he belongs there ( he does ), cock thick and flushed and twitching against me. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush - he just looks at me like I’m the question and the answer all at once.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, that wrecked voice of his damn near undoing me. “If anything hurts, I stop.”
“It’s not going to be too much,” I breathe. “It’s you.”
His eyes shut like those words hit him somewhere deep.
Then he presses in.
It’s slow. It’s full. It’s devastating.
Every inch of him feels like it’s melting into my bones, thick and deep and careful. I gasp, already teetering on the edge. He watches me the entire time - like he’s reading scripture off my face - and when he’s fully inside, when we’re flush, he breathes my name like it’s a confession.
“Rhea…”
Then, so soft I almost miss it: “I’ll take care of you.”
And I believe him.
Because this is Theo, and even when I’m wrecked and soaked and panting, he still makes me feel whole.
The bond hits like… well, not like a truck. More like a weighted blanket made of sunshine and emotional damage. Warm and slow, not an explosion - just this steady, glowing thread that winds through my chest like, Hey, babe, guess what? Permanent attachment unlocked.
I can practically feel it weaving itself around my ribs, wrapping around all the parts of me that used to be hollow, then double-knotting itself in my sternum as if to say, Yep. You’re stuck with this one now.
I feel him. Really feel him. Every heartbeat. Every shaky breath. Every drop of adoration he’s too shy to say out loud but is now pouring directly into my bloodstream like some ridiculous, gooey love potion.
And then I come. Again.
But this one’s different. No screaming. No writhing. Just a soft, wrecked little cry as my arms wrap around him and my fingers drag across his sweat-slicked back like I’m trying to hang on for dear life -
Or like I’m kneading dough in a very erotic bakery.
It’s not fast. Not wild. It’s like… like sinking into a really hot bath after surviving the apocalypse. Like exhaling after holding your breath through five seasons of a slow-burn romance and finally getting the kiss.
Theo holds me like I’m something breakable and sacred, which is hilarious because I’ve literally been railed by three alphas in the last however-many hours, but sure, let’s pretend I’m a dainty little flower now.
He starts moving again, these slow, deep thrusts that make my toes curl and my brain go fuzzy. He’s not pounding into me like a porn star with a vendetta - he’s pressing . Staying close. Stretching it out like he’s trying to make the pleasure last long enough to qualify for a pension.
And it works.
Oh god, it works.
Every motion feels like a promise. Like he’s carving you are not alone into my soul one stroke at a time.
When he comes, it’s not with a roar or a shout - it’s the softest little gasp against my shoulder. A low, breathy moan into my hair like he’s exhaling three years of pent-up longing directly into my scalp.
Then he collapses. Not dramatically. Just this big, warm alpha pile of affection and afterglow, curling around me like he’s trying to keep every molecule of me within arm’s reach.
We’re both trembling, but not from fear or overstimulation.
It’s the bond settling in our bones. That low, humming ache of oh shit, this is real . The kind of tremble that says, This is forever now. Hope you like each other’s morning breath .
And somehow - under all the slick and sweat and exhausted limb spaghetti - I realize something terrible and beautiful at once:
I have never been held like this before.