Chapter 16
Maya
I feel the bed creak and know without opening my eyes that it’s Logan.
The weight distribution shifts, the mattress dipping on Cillian’s other side.
The bed was barely large enough for two of us, and now with Logan joining, I feel the press of bodies from both sides.
Logan has to bring his arm up around my side to keep from falling off the edge.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Should I reveal that I’m awake?
Pretend to sleep through this intrusion?
Cillian’s breath remains steady beside me, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep.
The fever that had gripped him earlier has broken, leaving his skin cool against mine where our arms touch beneath the thin sheet.
“It’s okay to pretend,” Logan whispers, his voice barely audible even in the stillness of the room. “I know you’ve done that before.”
Memories flood back before I can stop them.
Those first nights after Logan forced the bond, when he would come to my bed in his quarters.
I would lie still, eyes closed, breathing carefully regulated, pretending to be asleep while he took what he wanted.
It had seemed easier that way—to pretend unconsciousness rather than acknowledge what was happening.
Rather than admit that parts of me responded to him despite my mind’s rejection.
Rather than face the humiliation of giving in willingly.
I keep my breathing steady, fighting the urge to stiffen or pull away. Logan’s arm rests lightly over my waist, not restraining, just... there. Present. Unavoidable.
Like the bond itself.
“I know you’re awake,” he continues, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “But it’s okay, I don’t mind if you want to pretend.”
I consider maintaining the pretense anyway, out of pure stubbornness if nothing else. But what would be the point? He already knows.
“What do you want?” I ask, keeping my voice low to avoid waking Cillian.
Logan is silent for a moment, long enough that I wonder if he’ll answer at all. When he does, his voice carries a note of uncertainty I’ve rarely heard from him.
“For now? Nothing but somewhere to go to sleep.”
I scoff at that, quietly.
His arm tenses slightly against my waist, not threatening but definitely present. “This.I want this. You and Cillian. The two of you together.”
Anger flares hot in my chest, burning away the lingering unease. “You don’t deserve it.”
“I know.”
But he doesn’t pull away, I don’t demand that he leave.
Iwake to the sound of soft moaning. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure where I am or what’s happening. Then my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains, and I realize I’m still in Cillian’s bed. But something has changed.
The mattress shifts rhythmically beneath me. I turn my head slightly and freeze at the sight that greets me.
Logan and Cillian are fucking.
Cillian lies on his side, eyes closed, head tilted back in pleasure.
His pale throat works as he swallows another moan.
Logan hovers behind him, his powerful body moving in a steady rhythm as he thrusts into Cillian.
The muscles in his back flex with each movement, a display of controlled strength that makes my mouth go dry.
I should look away. Should close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, or better yet, slip out of the bed entirely and leave them to their privacy. But I can’t move, can’t tear my gaze from the scene unfolding beside me.
Logan’s golden eyes meet mine over Cillian’s shoulder. He doesn’t stop his movements, doesn’t show any surprise at finding me watching. Instead, his lips curve into a slow, predatory smirk that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows I’m watching, and wants me to watch.
The realization should anger me—this is just another form of control, another way for Logan to assert his dominance. But instead, I feel a sharp throb of arousal so intense it leaves me breathless.
Cillian’s eyes remain closed, his face a mask of pleasure as Logan continues to thrust into him with deliberate, measured strokes. But something changes in his expression—a slight tensing of his features, a catch in his breath that doesn’t match the rhythm Logan has established.
He felt it. Through our damaged but still present bond, he felt the surge of desire that just coursed through me.
His eyes snap open, ice-blue and startlingly alert despite the pleasure clouding them. His gaze finds mine immediately, as if he knew exactly where I’d be. His hand reaches for me, palm up, an invitation I’m not sure I should accept.
I hesitate, caught between desire and caution.
This feels like a line being crossed, a boundary being redrawn without my explicit consent.
And yet... Isn’t this exactly what we discussed last night?
Finding balance between the three of us?
Creating a dynamic where I might feel safe enough to explore what exists between us all?
Cillian’s fingers brush my arm, a touch so light it might be accidental if not for the intent in his eyes. “Maya,” he whispers, my name a plea on his lips.
I glance at Logan, whose rhythm hasn’t faltered despite the exchange happening beneath him. His golden eyes hold mine, that same smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. But there’s something else there too—a question, perhaps. Or a challenge.
Cillian’s hand slides up my arm, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Please,” he says, the word barely audible over the sound of skin meeting skin as Logan continues to move within him.
I make my decision.
I shift closer, allowing Cillian’s hand to cup my cheek, to draw me down until our faces are inches apart. His breath is warm against my lips, coming in short pants that match Logan’s thrusts.
His mouth is hot and demanding against mine, his tongue seeking entrance which I grant without hesitation. I taste him—clean snow and pine needles, crisp and somehow comforting—as his other hand moves to my waist, sliding beneath my borrowed t-shirt to find bare skin.
Logan’s rhythm falters momentarily as he watches us kiss, a low growl escaping him that sends a shiver down my spine.
But he doesn’t interfere, doesn’t try to separate us or claim my attention.
He simply adjusts his position, allowing Cillian more freedom to touch me while continuing his own steady thrusts.
Cillian’s hand skims up my side, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his fingers brush the underside of my breast, I gasp against his mouth, arching into the contact without conscious thought.
“Yes,” he murmurs against my lips. “Let me touch you. Let me make you feel good.”
I nod, beyond words now as desire clouds my mind. His hand cups my breast fully, thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure shooting down my spine, pooling between my thighs where I’m already embarrassingly wet.
Logan’s pace increases, his thrusts becoming more forceful. The change in rhythm affects Cillian, whose kisses grow more desperate, more demanding as his pleasure builds. His hand slips beneath my bra, skin to skin now, and I moan into his mouth at the contact.
“She likes that,” Logan observes, his voice rough with exertion and arousal. “Touch her more. Make her come for us, Cillian.”
The command should irritate me—Logan has no right to direct my pleasure, to tell Cillian how to touch me. But instead, it sends another wave of heat through me, my body responding to his voice in ways my mind still resists.
Cillian’s hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach to the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants. He pauses there, his fingers just barely dipping beneath the elastic.
“May I?” he asks against my lips, ever respectful even as his body trembles with the dual assault of Logan’s thrusts and his own desire to touch me.
“Yes,” I breathe, beyond pride or hesitation now. “Please, Cillian.”
His hand slips lower, finding me wet and ready through the thin cotton of my underwear. I gasp at the contact, my hips bucking involuntarily against his palm. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against my lips where we’re still kissing.
“So wet,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing teasing circles over the damp fabric. “So ready.”
Logan’s rhythm stutters again at Cillian’s words, a harsh breath escaping him. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “Tell me how she feels, Cillian.”
Cillian breaks our kiss, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine as his fingers continue their maddening circles. “She’s soaked,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “Hot and slick and perfect.”
I should be embarrassed by this discussion of my arousal, this clinical assessment of my body’s response. Instead, I find myself arching into Cillian’s touch, silently begging for more.
He understands without words, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of my underwear to find me directly. The first touch of skin to skin draws a moan from deep in my chest, my head falling back as pleasure courses through me.
“That’s it,” Cillian encourages, his voice soft but intense. “Let go for me, Maya. Let me feel you come.”
His fingers circle my clit with maddening precision, the pressure perfect, the rhythm matching Logan’s thrusts into his body.
It’s as if they’re connected, moving as one entity despite being two separate people.
As if the pleasure Logan gives Cillian translates directly into the pleasure Cillian gives me.
A chain of sensation, linking us all together.
The thought pushes me closer to the edge, my body tightening with impending release. Cillian senses it, his fingers moving faster, more deliberately. His other hand comes up to tangle in my hair, pulling me down for another kiss that’s all heat and hunger.
“Come for us,” Logan commands from above, his voice the deep Alpha rumble that bypasses thought and goes straight to instinct. “Show us how good it feels.”
The combination of Cillian’s skilled touch and Logan’s commanding voice pushes me over the edge. The orgasm crashes through me like a wave, intense and unexpected. I cry out against Cillian’s mouth, my body shaking with the force of my release.
Through the haze of pleasure, I feel Cillian’s body tense beneath mine, his own climax triggered by the sensation of mine through our bond. He breaks our kiss to gasp for air, his head thrown back as he pulses in Logan’s grip.
Logan follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he drives deep one final time. A low, guttural sound escapes him as he finds his release, his golden eyes never leaving my face as he comes.
For several heartbeats, none of us moves. We remain frozen in this tableau of spent passion, connected by touch and bond and something deeper that I’m not ready to name. Then Logan withdraws carefully from Cillian, collapsing onto the bed beside him with a satisfied exhale.
Cillian’s hand slips from between my thighs, leaving me feeling strangely bereft despite the lingering pleasure still coursing through my veins. I shift away slightly, suddenly aware of what just happened, of the line we’ve all crossed together.
“Don’t,” Cillian says softly, his hand finding mine where it rests on the mattress between us. “Don’t pull away. Not yet.”
I glance at him, then at Logan, who watches us both with those golden eyes that seem to see too much.
I expect to feel regret, or shame, or at least uncertainty about what just happened.
Instead, I feel... calm. Sated. Almost peaceful, in a way I haven’t experienced since before the doctor’s compound.
Since before Logan forced the bond.
The realization is unsettling. This shouldn’t feel right. This complicated entanglement between the three of us, this strange balance we’re creating—it shouldn’t make me feel safe. Shouldn’t make me feel almost... happy.
But it does.
Logan remains silent, his golden gaze moving between Cillian and me with an expression I can’t quite decipher.
There’s satisfaction there, certainly—the smug contentment of an Alpha whose pack is finding harmony.
But there’s something else too, something that might be wonder, or gratitude, or perhaps even a touch of humility.