FIFTY #3
My hands close around her breast, my thumb brushing her nipple until it hardens to a point. She cries out, hips lifting into Kaito’s mouth, and Fletcher curses softly against her lips when he leans in to steal more kisses.
Ewan reaches across her stomach, fingers finding mine and guiding, not because I need the help, but because the pack bond wants connection everywhere. His hand over mine, my hand over hers, Fletcher’s mouth now on her throat. Kaito between her thighs.
Dakota comes with a sound that’s half sob and half snarl, an Omega’s needy whine rattling the back of her throat as she topples over the edge.
The bond sparks to life even brighter.
All of them.
All of us.
Her pleasure burns brightly through Ewan, controlled and fierce through Kaito, both solid and shaking through Fletcher, and through me it becomes winter finally cracking open under the first ray of sunlight. Quiet completely obliterated by want.
She’s still trembling when she reaches blindly for Ewan and he goes gladly. He kisses her like he’s been waiting to breathe.
“Hi,” she whispers against his mouth.
He laughs, ragged and completely folded for her. “Hi.”
“You’re wearing clothes. Pants. What’s that about?”
His grin grows. “That’s an actual nightmare. Horrible oversight from us.”
He fixes it fast enough that Dakota laughs again, then moans when he settles against her side, hard and aching against her hip. Fletcher removes the last of his clothes with less humor, but his hands are careful when he shifts behind her, supporting her body and making sure her knee is cushioned.
Kaito rises, mouth wet and eyes dark and Dakota stares at him. “So smug.”
“Nope,” he counters.
Ewan looks down. “Mate, you look a little smug.”
“It’s called satisfaction.”
Dakota makes a strangled sound. “Oh my god, that’s worse.”
I laugh before I can stop the sound from leaving my mouth and everyone looks at me.
Dakota smiles, small and stunned and mine.
Then her heat fully rises, filling the room with her scent.
Wild honey. Rain. Need. All thick and spreading to every corner of the room.
This time, it’s not the terrifying, body-stealing kind from before.
It’s not the fever that took her choices and bent the world around biology.
This heat opens because the bonds are open, because she wants it, and because she trusts us enough to ask for it.
Her thighs part and her hand reaches for mine.
“Come here,” she says softly and everything in me stops.
Ewan goes still, Kaito’s eyes drop and then lift again, and Fletcher’s hand strokes once over her hair.
I move between her thighs with a level of care I can barely contain. Dakota watches every second, and when I push into her body, she makes a sound so soft that it almost ends me there and then.
I pause and her nails dig into my arm. “Don’t you dare stop there.”
My control cracks into something almost like a smile. “Bossy.”
“I call it driven,” she breathes, eyelashes fluttering and mouth parting with a silent moan.
I push even deeper, slow and deliberate. Her body takes me inch by inch, hot and tight and shaking. My forehead drops to hers, and I hear every breath. Every wet slide. Every small broken sound she tries to swallow and fails.
The bond between us stops being quiet pretty soon after that. Instead, it grows deep. Still calm at its center, but now it spreads through me as I move inside her, each thrust careful at first. Then less careful when she wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me closer.
Her mouth opens against my shoulder. “Xeon.”
I’ve wanted many things in my life. Safety.
Silence. A place where the past can’t reach.
But I have never wanted anything like this.
Never wanted anything so badly. Not just her body, but her trust and choice and the way she looks at me while the others touch her, love her, hold her.
She doesn’t have to worry about losing me in the room because the room itself is ours now. It belongs to us.
Ewan kisses along her arm, murmuring filthy praise between sweet nonsense until Dakota is laughing and moaning at once.
Kaito’s fingers find her clit again, precise and merciless, and she clenches around me so hard my vision flashes white.
Fletcher’s hand wraps around her throat lightly, not pressure, not control, only presence, and Dakota turns her face into his palm like she has chosen even that.
“Look at me, darlin’,” Fletcher says.
She does.
“Still yours?”
Her eyes shine. “Still mine.”
“Good girl.”
Dakota shatters apart around me not even a second later.
The praise, the touch, Kaito’s fingers, Ewan’s mouth, me inside her, all of it folds together and sends her over.
She cries out, body arching, walls clamping down on me tightly, and heat crashing through the pack bond so fiercely every Alpha in the room groans.
I follow after her, unable to help myself when my knot swells enough to brush the pulsing lock I desperately want to sink into.
I just can’t hold back. Not from this. Not from her.
The climax practically tears through me silently at first, then with her name against her throat as I spill inside her.
My knot bulges until it aches right before her lock swallows me down, fusing us together tight enough that I see stars behind my eyelids.
Dakota’s gasp breaks against my shoulder and I go still. Every part of me goes still.
“Too much?” I ask, voice rough.
Her nails dig into my back. “Oh my god, no.”
Her words vibrate through the new bond, but not with fear or panic.
It’s just pure want and unbridled need. Choice.
Mine, hers, ours. The bond locks deeper, frost and steel pounded straight into warmth and wild honey and rain.
It’s driven right into a pack that opens around us and doesn’t close like a trap.
I collapse carefully, shifting my weight off her as much as the lock allows.
Dakota grabs me before I can move too far.
“Nope,” she whispers.
So I stay.
Long enough for her to breathe against me.
Long enough for Ewan to kiss her shoulder and whisper, “There you are.”
Long enough for Kaito to press his mouth to the outside of her knee, reverent and careful.
Long enough for Fletcher to close his eyes like the sight of her breathing is enough to ruin him.
Then the heat pulls again and Dakota’s lashes lift. Her smile is tired and filthy and past the point of dangerous as she pants, “That was one.”
Ewan makes a wounded sound. “One?”
She looks at him. “So you can count. That’s cute. I believe in you.”
His grin turns wicked. “Probably a terrible choice for you to make, love.”
The rest of the night after becomes touch and sound and choice. Not just one moment, but many.