Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beau
She’s warm against me, her back pressed to my chest, the blanket loose enough that I can see the faint trail of freckles scattered over her shoulders. I start counting them without meaning to—one, two, three, all the way down the curve of her spine until they disappear under the sheet.
Her skin’s the smoothest I’ve ever touched. Not just soft, but silken, like anything rougher than my fingertips might leave a mark. I press my lips to the back of her shoulder, then a little lower, tasting the faint salt of sweat and the ghost of our scent still clinging to her.
She stirs at the touch, a slight sound leaving her throat as she shifts in my arms. Then she turns toward me, curling into my chest like its instinct.
“Hey,” I murmur, kissing her forehead. Then her temple. Then, because her eyes are right there, I kiss her lids, too.
When she blinks them open, green and still hazy from sleep and heat, the air between us changes. She smells like us—like three Alphas tangled up in her earlier—and my self-control takes a step back. Her lips are so close I can taste her breath, so I lean in and kiss her slowly.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask when I pull back, my hand rubbing lazy circles over her hip.
She swallows, her eyes flicking away for a second before she meets mine again. “I’ve never… experienced anything like this.”
I nod, letting her take her time.
“I’m sore,” she admits quietly. “And… a little horny.”
That pulls a smile from me I can’t hide. I kiss her again, softer this time. “Takes a bit of patience and a few more orgasms for your heat to break.”
Her gaze drifts past me, scanning the room. “Where are the others?”
“Levi went to grab food from B&B, and Simon’s at the clinic, picking up something for your fever.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then says, “I’m… sorry. About the whole… your shirt thing.”
I shake my head. “If I’d known you were gonna go into heat this bad, I never would’ve left.”
Her cheeks color. “I’m a bit embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” I tell her. Then, because honesty’s easier with her than it should be, I add, “If we’re confessing things… I stole your thong.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“And I fucked it,” I continue, watching her reaction. “More than once.”
She lets out this quiet, broken whimper that shoots straight to my cock.
“You okay?” I ask.
Her lip catches between her teeth, and then she says it: “Is it okay if you… fuck me again?”
“Of course, baby.”
She takes my hand, guiding it down until my fingers slip between her thighs. She’s slick—so slick my knuckles are wet after the first pass—and the heat rolling off her is like a living thing.
We start kissing again, slow at first, then deeper, messier, until I’m groaning into her mouth. My fingers work her open while her nails scrape lightly over my stomach.
Her hand pauses at the waistband of my boxers. “Why’d you put these back on?”
Before I can answer, she’s sliding them down, tossing them aside, and wrapping her hand around me. The way she strokes—confident and hungry—makes my hips flex into her grip.
She pushes at my chest until I’m flat on my back, then swings a leg over me, straddling my hips. The sight of her above me, hair messy and cheeks flushed, is dangerous.
She leans forward, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance, and then she freezes. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”
I chuckle low in my chest. “No.”
She frowns faintly. “I can’t… keep control. I don’t get it.”
“It’s heat,” I tell her, my hands sliding up her thighs. “Don’t fight it.”
She bends down, licking the side of my neck, then my jaw, then my lips. Each pass is wetter, needier, her hips rocking unconsciously over me.
When she sits back up, one hand on my chest, she reaches between us to guide me in.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing her wrist gently. I spit into my hand, then smooth it over her entrance. “Don’t want you getting too sore. Should tell them to grab lube when they come back,” I mutter, but the thought’s gone the second she starts sinking onto me.
Every inch is a slow stretch, a wet glide, until her hips are flush with mine. My head falls back on the pillow.
She starts moving almost immediately, her hands braced on my chest, riding me in quick, desperate rolls. The sound of her slick meeting my hips is obscene, every bounce making me harder.
I hear the front door open, faint voices in the hall, and then the scent of food—warm bread, roasted meat, something sweet underneath.
The bedroom door opens, and the first thing I see is Levi’s grin—sharp, satisfied, the kind of grin that says he already knows exactly what’s happening in here before his eyes even drop to where Wren is riding me.
Simon follows a step behind, a paper bag in one hand, and as they take in the scene, neither of them looks surprised. They look pleased, as if this is exactly where they expected to find us.
“Hey, baby,” Levi says, his voice low, roughened by something that makes my pulse jump. He steps closer, bracing one hand on the mattress as he leans in to kiss her temple.
She doesn’t slow down, not even when his scent swirls around us—she keeps moving, hips grinding down onto me in quick, messy rolls that make my vision go tight at the edges.
Simon crouches down on her other side, his eyes taking in the flush on her cheeks, the sweat beading at her hairline, the glassiness in her pupils. His voice softens in the way he reserves for patients who are right on the brink of breaking point.
“I know you’re having trouble concentrating, sweetheart, but I’ve got something that’ll help your fever.”
She nods, though it’s a shallow, distracted motion. Her body’s locked into the rhythm she’s found on my cock, the sound of slick between us obscene in the quiet.
Simon sets the bag down within reach and starts pulling out supplies—the sterile crinkle of an IV packet, the muted slosh of a small fluid bag, a small fan, and, thank fuck, a fresh bottle of lube glinting under the light.
“Give me a second and let me flip her,” I tell him, tightening my grip on her waist. My own voice comes out thicker than I expect, like my body’s already preparing for the inevitable lock of my knot.
“Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice breaking into something desperate, almost raw. “I’m so close.”
Simon chuckles under his breath, a soft, knowing sound, and steadies her arm without hesitation. “He wouldn’t stop, sweetheart.”
I try to keep my hips still, try to give him room to work without pulling out of her. The restraint costs me—every muscle in my back feels strung tight, my breath catching when her inner walls squeeze around me like she’s trying to pull me deeper.
Simon swabs her inner elbow, efficient and precise, then slides the needle home like he’s done it a thousand times. She flinches, just a twitch, but doesn’t stop moving on me. Hell, if anything, she rocks her hips harder, and I have to bite back a groan.
“This is just fluids,” Simon says, taping the line in place. “Keep you from getting dehydrated. It has some electrolytes and there’s a little bit of antibiotics in here—plus Sensurex—to help break your heat.”
Her lashes flutter, her nod slow and drowsy, but the fever-haze in her eyes doesn’t fade. Sweat slips down her temple, catching in the curve of her cheekbone.
“Don’t move your arm,” Simon warns, glancing at me. I reach for one of the scarves tangled on the nightstand and tie it loosely from her wrist to the bedpost—not restraining, just enough to keep her still so the IV won’t pull.
“You did well,” Simon murmurs, leaning in to brush a kiss over her damp cheek.
But I’m right at the edge. My knot’s swelling, the thick pressure locking me deep inside her, each tight roll of her hips milking me closer to the point of no return. “Fuck,” I growl, my fingers digging into the soft flesh at her waist.
From the other side of the bed, Levi’s voice is lazy and smug. “Got food. We can eat later, but for now, come for Beau.”
“Yes—yes—yes,” she gasps, her voice climbing high, breaking apart as her whole body tightens over me.
And when she comes, it’s like being hit head-on—heat flooding every nerve, slick spilling around me in waves, the grip of her pulling every drop out of me until I’m locked inside, pulsing into her with no way out.
My head tips back, a low, guttural sound tearing from my throat as the knot swells to full. I hold her tight against me, her chest to mine, her breath hot against my neck.
We stay like that for long minutes—just breathing, bodies pressed together, my knot keeping us fused while the storm in her body starts to ebb. Her scent shifts subtly, the sharp edge of her heat blunting just enough that I can think past the need to rut. Not much, but enough.
I glance up and catch Levi sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, already digging into a container from the paper bag, watching us like it’s a show. Simon’s sitting on the other side, elbows on his knees, sipping water and looking satisfied in that quiet, clinical way of his.
“You’re easing up,” Simon observes, voice even. “That’s good. Fever’s dropping a little.”
I hum low in my chest, brushing a hand over her back. “She’s still warm, though.”
She stirs faintly at the sound of my voice, her lashes lifting just enough to meet my gaze. There’s a sleepy weight to her eyes now, like she could drift off mid-breath if I let her.
“Hungry?” Levi asks her, holding up a fork with a bite of something that smells like garlic and butter.
She shakes her head weakly and settles against me again, her cheek pressed to my chest.
I drop my mouth to her hairline, breathing her in. She still smells like us—thick with Alpha scent, the kind of mix that clings to skin for days.
My knot’s still holding her, but there’s no urgency in her movements now. Just small, slow shifts, like her body’s adjusting without her even noticing.