Chapter Thirty-Six
Rhea
N obody told me it could feel this good.
Why did nobody tell me it could feel this good?!
There should be a book. An omega orientation video. A warning label, at least.
Because I’m currently lying under approximately 200 pounds of sleeping Alpha, knotted like a damn prize pelt, and all I can think is: Huh. This is the happiest I've ever been while partially impaled.
Ash is still inside me. Literally. Knot and all. He’s heavy - alpha blanket levels of heavy - and radiating heat like a sentient furnace with excellent biceps. His arms are wrapped around my shoulders like I might float away without them. His head’s bowed against my neck, breathing even, like he passed out mid-claim and forgot to set an alarm.
Which is fine. I can’t feel my legs anyway.
Every time I shift, there’s a fresh little zing - pressure and stretch and aftershocks of something that feels dangerously close to round two.
Not that I’m complaining. Not out loud, at least.
Internally? I’m complaining a lot.
And then I realize what’s sticking to my skin.
Lucian’s shirt.
The same one I’ve been wearing like a post-orgasm souvenir.
It’s soaked now - sweat, slick, and about four types of alpha scent - but I didn’t take it off. Ash didn’t take it off. He just shoved it up and handled business like a man on a mission.
A mission with his dick.
It should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.
I don’t have to choose. I don’t want to choose.
I want them . All of them.
And I know now - deep in my bones, in the way my body sings for each of them, in the way every bond thrums a different melody through my blood - that they want me too.
Ash’s strength. Theo’s steadiness. Kai’s wildness. Lucian’s fire.
Each thread pulling taut, unique and undeniable. Separate but harmonizing. A tangled web I don’t want untied.
I’m not split - I’m whole . And for the first time in my life, I feel free. Not despite them, but because of them.
“You’re squirming,” Ash mumbles, voice all wrecked velvet and post-knot smugness.
“I’m… processing,” I say helpfully.
He lifts his head just enough to glance down at my body, then his brow furrows when he sees the shirt.
“You’re still wearing Lucian’s shirt.”
“In my defense,” I say, “I forgot how limbs work.”
He hums, then thrusts just slightly - one evil little grind that sends a shockwave through every sore, still-tingling inch of me.
“Still tight,” he mutters. “Still greedy.”
“Shut up,” I groan, trying not to melt into the bed like a forgotten candle. “My body is confused.”
He laughs. “Your body’s fine. It just likes being full.”
My cheeks flame.
My vagina clenches in agreement, as if to say well, he’s not wrong.
But before I can bite back something witty, I feel it.
Not hear. Not smell. Feel.
The air changes.
Like a cold front sweeping through the heat. Crisp. Controlled. The scent of polished wood and expensive cologne and judgment.
Ash tenses behind me, but I already know. My bond knows.
Lucian.
There’s a hiss as the door seal breaks, and then the sound of bootsteps.
Measured and precise. Each one deliberate; quiet fury wrapped in tailored calm.
He doesn’t speak. Of course he doesn’t speak. He just... exists. All looming silence and billionaire menace in black.
Ash stiffens like he’s preparing for impact. I do not move. Because
a) I am very sore, and
b) I am currently filled with another man’s knot while wearing Lucian’s shirt like I lost a bet.
Which, in fairness, I kind of did.
I make the mistake of looking up.
Lucian is standing at the edge of the room. Not moving. Not blinking. Eyes locked on me like he’s trying to decide if he’s more furious about the bonding or the shirt.
Plot twist: it’s probably both.
I blink. Then blink again.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I am a picture of post-orgasmic tranquility, and not, in fact, a feral omega wearing the wrong alpha’s clothing while still very much... knotted.
Lucian’s eyes drop to where Ash is still connected to me. Then back to my face. Then the shirt.
Shit.
Did I - accidentally - call him here?
I bite my lip, and the bond hums like an open wire.
Yeah. Yeah, I might’ve.
I can feel the tension-laced warning vibrating off Ash like a grenade that hasn’t decided whether to blow.
“I’ve got this,” I murmur, already regretting the fact that I absolutely do not.
Lucian’s eyes snap to mine.
Oh, good. Here comes the storm.
He’s a thundercloud in expensive tailoring - seething, still buttoned up, and looking at me like I’ve personally caused a stock market crash.
“You’re really making yourself at home, aren’t you?” he says. Voice like a silk glove over a fist. “In my house. In my shirt. Filled with someone else’s knot.”
My eyebrows go up.
Wow. Full sentence. No threats yet.
Progress.
“What can I say?” I smile, channeling my inner chaos demon. “Comfort suits me.”
Ash tenses behind me. I feel it in the way his arm curls a little tighter - his version of a warning flare.
Lucian doesn't blink. “You’re still dripping,” he mutters.
“I’m still hydrated,” I counter. “Should I be punished for that?”
Lucian crosses the room like it’s his damn runway show and he’s about to drop a hostile takeover.
The energy? Immaculate. Rage and restraint rolled into a monologue waiting to happen.
Except he doesn’t talk. He just reaches for me - fingers at my chin, tilting my face up like I’m the inconvenient truth he’s trying to rewrite.
“You’re soaked with another alpha’s come, Omega,” he says, voice barely controlled.
“And you’re back to acting like a spoiled tyrant,” I snap, squinting up at him like I’m trying to read the fine print on his delusion.
Behind me, Ash growls low.
The threat isn’t subtle.
“You touch her like that while I’m still inside her, you better be ready to bleed.”
Lucian doesn’t flinch. Typical .
“Didn’t realize I needed your permission to speak to what’s already mine.”
“Excuse me?” I say, channeling all the righteous fury of someone wearing another man’s shirt and currently impaled on a knot. “I thought that we were past this, now. You know, after you lay in this bed with me yesterday. After you knotted me , Lucian. We had a whole emotionally repressed heart-to-heart afterward. Or are you suffering memory loss from how hard you rutted me?”
His jaw twitches.
Good.
“You knew what this was,” I say, softer now. “What I wanted. What I still want: all of you. That hasn’t changed.”
Ash’s hand rests between my shoulder blades now. He doesn’t speak, but he’s holding steady.
My anchor in case this turns into a full alpha brawl.
“So unless you plan on taking your bond back -”
“I can’t ,” Lucian interrupts, his voice jagged and raw.
“No,” I snap. “You won’t. And you shouldn’t have reached back to me if you didn’t want this. You shouldn’t have put your knot in me if you weren’t ready to be here. ”
Lucian still doesn’t respond. But I see it: cracks, regret, rage, and desire all playing poker behind his eyes.
“You’re not mad at them,” I press. “You’re not even mad at me. You’re mad at you. Because you felt me before they did, and you waited. You waited, Lucian.”
That one hits him. Dead center.
His mask wavers, and I lift my chin higher.
“And now you’re scared you missed your chance.”
Despite what I’m saying, the truth is, there’s a part of me that wants Lucian’s frustration, his rage, his jealousy. I want his restraint hanging by threads, and I want to be the one to snap it.
“But don’t stand there for one minute and pretend this is about instinct. You think the problem is biology? No. The problem is me. Because I want all of you. And you’re finally realizing what that means.”
Then, sweet as sin:
“So, are you going to stand there judging me, or are you going to do something about it ?”
The thread snaps.
He moves - fast .
The kiss hits like a power surge, all mouth and possession and the kind of tension that lawsuits are built around. I gasp into it, body tightening, and Ash groans behind me as I clench around him, arousal sparking to life all over again.
Lucian’s hand fists in my hair. He breaks the kiss, panting, and I trail my hand down to the waistband of his stupidly tailored pants.
“I’m not helpless,” I whisper, palming the outline of his cock. “You don’t get to be the only one making moves and taking here.”
His eyes go molten. I squeeze just a little - enough to make a point.
Enough to make him twitch.
“Careful, Omega,” he growls.
“Why?” I grin. “Scared I’ll give you what you want?”
His belt hits the floor. Pants follow.
His cock is thick, flushed, and hard enough to make my mouth water.
“Use me,” I murmur. “If you need to. If that’s how you can handle it. But don’t ever think I didn’t choose this.”
“I should punish you for that mouth,” he snarls.
“You should thank me for it,” I purr, spitting into my palm and wrapping it around him. “You’re welcome.”
His control fractures. Just a crack, but I see it all the same.
And I love it.
“You’re playing with fire, Rhea,” he hisses.
I lean in, all defiant smirk and residual post-knot glow.
“Then burn with me.”
His hand tangles in my hair and yanks my head back. And yes, my breath stutters, my thighs twitch, and I might still be vibrating from the full-body religious experience of Ash’s knot still locked inside me -
But I laugh.
Because honestly, at this point, what else is there to do?
Lucian looks down. His gaze drags over my flushed skin, my come-slicked thighs, the very obvious fact that I’m still stuffed full of another man like a Thanksgiving turkey.
“You’re messy,” he mutters. “ Used, ” he adds for dramatic flair, like he’s trying to insult me with facts.
I tilt my chin. “And you still want me.”
His nostrils flare.
“I can smell it,” he bites out. “Even through the knot. Even with his scent all over you.”
My thighs twitch again. Rude of them.
“You’re turned on,” he says, voice going all low and villain-sexy. “Not just from him. From being caught.”
Okay, now that’s just rude and true.
Ash’s hand tightens where it rests on my thigh. Still knotted in me. Still present. Still entirely Ash.
Silent, coiled, and deeply, deeply annoyed.
“You like being the center of us,” Lucian continues, practically purring. “You like how it feels to have all of us orbiting you.”
I don’t deny it. Why would I? I’m not even pretending at this point.
I am the chaos. I am the storm.
I am the omega who made four alphas lose their minds, and somehow, I’m still upright.
Lucian uses his grip on my hair to tilt my head like I’m a porcelain doll that needs reprogramming.
“I think it’s time I take what you haven’t given anyone else.”
His thumb brushes my lip. It’s possessive. Dramatic.
Kind of hot, kind of annoying.
“You think I’m not in control?” I ask.
“No. But I think you want to lose it.”
Ash lets out a sharp breath behind me.
That one definitely landed.
“She’s not your toy,” he snaps, voice a low thrum of restraint.
“She was always mine,” Lucian replies without even blinking. “Even when I didn’t want her to be.”
Oh good. Nothing says stability like declaring you’re owned by someone who was emotionally unavailable for six months.
“I should’ve claimed you the second I felt you start to burn,” he says.
“But you didn’t,” I snap. “And now I’m not just yours.”
“I know.” He softens, and then: “But I told you before - I will be unforgettable.”
And there it is. Peak Lucian: emotionally repressed, terrifyingly intelligent, and audibly done with being second.
Ash growls again, but I reach for his hand.
Because this isn’t about Lucian’s pissing contest with the other alphas. It’s about me . What I want.
And what I want… is everything.
There has to be a way that we can make this work, together.
Lucian’s thumb slips past my lips.
“You want to be filled?” he asks.
I nod.
“Then open your mouth like a good girl and show me what else you can take.”
I shudder.
I want it all. Again.
I’m a monster.
He slides his thumb deeper over my tongue. I suck, because of course I do. I’m an overachiever.
My tongue swirls, my teeth graze. His jaw flexes as his ego inflates.
I moan around his thumb - just a little, just enough - then drag my teeth across the pad of it on the way out. Not hard. Just a warning.
Just a taste.
I can bite too, Alpha.
His eyes flare, and I’m certain that he hears me through the bond.
“You little -” he starts, then cuts himself off, thumb still resting against my lip like he’s debating if he should yank it back or push deeper. “You like this,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t … but you do.”
“I like watching you try not to lose control,” I say, licking the tip again - lazy, taunting - before letting it slide free with a wet pop .
“You’re walking a very fine line,” he warns.
I smile, tilting my head like a challenge.
“Then catch me crossing it.”
He strokes himself, slow and theatrical, while Ash - still very much inside me - lets out a noise that might qualify as a warning, or maybe a sigh of why is this my life .
“This is about balance,” he says, like he’s giving a lesson. “You gave them everything else, so I’ll take what’s left. And I’ll make sure you remember exactly where it went
“Dibs on my mouth?” I deadpan. “Classy.”
But I part my lips anyway.
Because I want this too. I want all of it.
He slides in slowly - just the head, just enough to press past my open mouth and rest on my tongue.
Not deep. Not brutal.
Not yet.
But every inch is a message. A reminder.
“Don’t even fucking think about looking away.”
Like I could. I’m currently the human version of a traffic accident: stunned, pinned, overwhelmed, and full of opinions I don’t have time to voice because my mouth is very full.
Ash growls low. His knot pulses again, and I just stay there, frozen with one cock in my mouth, and another cock in my cunt.
God. This is going to be so hard to explain to Lexi.
Lucian's hand cups my jaw, thumb under my chin as his other hand rests against my cheek, all possessive stillness and I run the world energy. Which would be easier to roll my eyes at if, you know, his cock weren’t currently pressed against the back of my throat like I’m the final level boss of a power struggle he intends to win.
He pushes forward another inch, until I feel the stretch at the corners of my mouth, the heat of his skin, the steady, punishing pressure of his cock against the back of my throat.
“You look like you were made for this,” he says, sounding way too pleased for someone who hasn’t even bought me dinner. “Big eyes. Pretty mouth. A little too curious for your own good.”
It’s the kind of thing that should make me furious. And maybe it would, if I weren’t also dripping wet, fully stuffed, and mentally screaming into the void like a broken fire alarm.
My tongue swirls around him involuntarily, because apparently I’m a disaster gremlin who likes her problems delivered in hot, angry alpha form.
Lucian's breath hitches. Just a little. One cracked pixel in his otherwise 4K intimidation screen. Which is honestly... gratifying.
He starts moving. Slowly. Shallowly.
Testing me like I’m a weapon he’s trying to figure out how to disarm or accidentally detonate.
Meanwhile, Ash’s knot is still locked in me like the world’s most aggressive plug. His hands are on my waist like he’s trying to hold onto sanity while someone else flosses my tonsils with entitlement.
“You hate this, don’t you?” Lucian murmurs to him. “All that control and nowhere to put it.”
He looks back down at me.
“But she doesn’t hate it. Do you, Rhea?”
I can’t answer. Not with my mouth full of his cock.
But I don’t need to. Not when my eyes speak for me.
My breath, fluttering through my nose. The way my tongue presses instinctively against him, swirling around him, tasting the salt and heat and power of him.
Lucian picks up the pace. His fingers curl in my hair like reins, and I do what any brave omega would do: I breathe through my nose and try not to gag or start singing the national anthem by accident.
He pulls back just enough for air, then slides in deeper. I am absolutely going to need to moisturize my jaw tomorrow. Maybe ice it.
Possibly re-evaluate my life choices.
“You’ll remember this,” he whispers. “You’ll remember where you were, who you had inside you, who you had in your mouth -”
Sir, I can barely remember where I left my keys last week. But sure. Go off.
Ash’s hands curl tighter at my hips, the pressure of his knot pulsing inside me with every shallow thrust Lucian makes. All the while my cunt gets wetter, gets hotter, and I can only just about manage to keep myself still as Lucian fucks my mouth.
He draws back slightly - just enough for me to breathe - and then slides forward again, firmer this time, deeper, his hand at my jaw forcing me to take him whole.
I can sense how desperate Ash is to move, to pull away, to do something , but he’s still locked, still buried inside me, unable to do anything but feel my body shift and react and want .
My hips twitch - yes, again - because apparently my entire lower half is as shameless as I am.
Lucian notices, of course.
Shit.
“You’re moving.”
I try to lie with my eyes.
It doesn’t work.
“You’re grinding on him.” His voice gets darker, meaner. “You think I wouldn’t notice?
Think I wouldn’t smell your little cunt dripping for it?”
Oh my god. Can someone turn the oven off? I am baked.
He thrusts deeper. My eyes water. My scalp tingles from the grip in my hair. Ash twitches behind me - torn between murder and something deeply unholy - and I just try to survive this like a responsible adult.
By which I mean: I don’t die. Bare minimum.
Ash’s hands twitch at my waist, his restraint taut and fraying as my clit literally pulses.
I’m so turned on, it’s almost unfair, and I don’t even know if this is my heat anymore - lingering, clinging on before it fades - or if it’s just me.
Lucian doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. If anything, he thrusts harder, faster , careless to the saliva coursing down my chin or the tears instinctively pricking at the back of my eyes.
“If you’re going to take it, then take all of it,” he growls. “And if you’re fucking yourself on another alpha’s cock, you better be sure that I’m the one you’re thinking of.”
Honestly, at this point I deserve a Girl Scout badge. Oral Endurance Under Pressure . Put that shit right next to my Didn’t Cry in Public Today ribbon.
The rhythm changes. It’s not teasing anymore. Not a game. He’s fucking my mouth like it’s a promise - every thrust a signed affidavit that says This Alpha Means Business.
And weirdly?
It doesn’t break me. It builds me.
Like a steel beam through the middle of a chaotic, hormonal rollercoaster, it makes me.
Every sound in the room is obscene: wet, gasping, harsh breaths and snarled curses and the pulse of slick still hot between my thighs where Ash’s knot keeps me split open.
“Look at you,” Lucian breathes. “Mouth full. Cunt full. And you’re still trying to get yourself off on what’s left of him.”
Tears still sting the corners of my eyes, but they’re not from pain. It’s all from the pressure, from pleasure, the intensity . The burn of being held open in every way, claimed from every angle.
Lucian grits his teeth, his breath hitching. His rhythm falters for the first time.
Then his voice - low, wrecked, pure steel :
“You’re going to really feel this.”
One final thrust, and then -
Stillness.
You ever feel a man come so hard he literally freezes in time?
Because I have. Right now.
It’s like a horror movie freeze-frame, but with more protein.
His grip tightens, holding me down, and I swallow. A lot. Like I’m trying to drink from a hose someone forgot to turn off.
The pressure. The heat. The amount.
Honestly, it’s almost impressive. Five stars. Would gag again.
I force my eyes to stay open, even as they blur. Lucian looks right back down at me like I’m a battlefield he’s just burned to nothing.
Finally - finally - he pulls back. His cock slides from my mouth with a wet sound that could honestly haunt a nun, his restraint snapping back into place around him like steel doors slamming shut.
I gasp. Lips red. Jaw trembling. Chin damp.
And I am still filled with Ash, still leaking around a knot like a broken bottle of champagne.
Lucian looks at me like he’s branded me. Like I’m his property.
But I feel something else, too.
The bond, threaded through me like a warning.
It’s faint. New. Fractured in places where his pride tried to resist. But it’s there, stitched into my blood now, whispering the truth even while his mouth stays shut.
He doesn’t want to leave - he wants to stay .
He wants to lay claim to everything - to me - not just with his cock in my mouth or his hand around my jaw, but with his presence. His silence. His shadow cast long across the room.
But then his gaze flicks sideways to Ash, and I feel it twist inside him.
The resistance. The recoil. The burn of pride too sharp to swallow.
Lucian Vale doesn’t share. Not easily, anyway. And even now, I feel the war inside him - the possessiveness, the frustration.
The weight of everything he wants and the boundary he refuses to cross.
His hand lifts - the one that had gripped my jaw like a claim - and hovers for a breathless second. His thumb brushes my lip on the way out, then he straightens. Adjusts his cuff with slow, practiced ease, and steps back.
“Now you’re marked,” he says. “ Everywhere .”
And then turns on his thousand-dollar dress shoe heel and walks out.
The door hisses shut behind him like a sigh of surrender -
And I swear to god, I can still taste him on my tongue.