Chapter 31 #2
They take turns after that—Jude in my ass, pounding until he knots, come filling me deep. Then Ryker in my pussy, his knot locking as he bites my shoulder, claiming his mark. Dorian goes again, this time in my mouth, knot swelling against my tongue until I swallow every drop.
Hours blur. Or days? I lose track. They bring me water, fruit—sweet berries that burst on my tongue like tiny orgasms. I eat from their hands, licking fingers clean, then pull them back down.
Fucking becomes my world: waking to Dorian’s cock sliding into me, slow at first, then brutal. Ryker’s mouth on my pussy, tongue fucking me through another climax before he knots my ass. Jude teasing my nipples with his teeth while he pounds my pussy, knot stretching me until I sob with release.
They play with me endlessly. Fingers in both holes while I ride one’s cock. Mouths on every inch—sucking toes, biting thighs, lapping slick from my folds. I come so many times it hurts, body oversensitive, but I beg for more.
“Don’t stop—fuck me forever.”
Dorian claims my neck repeatedly, bruises blooming like flowers under his teeth. “Mine,” he growls each time, knotting me deepest, come mixing with the others’ until it drips from every opening.
Sweet treats punctuate the haze—chocolate melting on my skin, licked off by eager tongues. Strawberries fed between thrusts, juice mixing with sweat and come. I wake tangled in limbs, pussy aching but clenching for more.
Who’s inside me now? Ryker, hips snapping, knot swelling. I rock back, meeting him, lost in the rhythm.
Another orgasm builds as Jude fingers my ass again, three digits now, preparing for his turn. Dorian’s hand wraps my throat, squeezing just enough to heighten everything.
“Come for us, Norah. Show us how much you need this.”
I shatter, screaming their names, body convulsing. They don’t stop. Come fills me again, knots locking in rotation—pussy, ass, mouth. I swallow load after load, pussy and ass overflowing, sheets soaked.
Time slips. Is it morning? Night? Doesn’t matter. I wake to teasing fingers circling my clit, building me up before a cock replaces them.
They knot me together sometimes—Dorian in my pussy, Jude in my ass, double stuffed, knots pressing through the thin wall. I black out from the intensity, coming to with Ryker in my mouth, feeding me his release.
Sweetness breaks through: honey drizzled on my breasts, sucked off while I grind on a thigh. Candy melting between kisses, shared mid-thrust. Fucking, eating, sleeping in their arms—only to wake and fuck again.
My body hums constantly, marked and claimed. Bites on my neck, thighs, breasts. Come drying on my skin, only to be added to. All that exists is them—cocks stretching me, knots binding us, mouths devouring.
Dorian bites my neck once more, claiming deep as his knot pulses. “Ours forever.”
I nod, lost in ecstasy, as another wave crashes. They fuck me through it, over and over, until the world is nothing but pleasure.
I wake slowly, like I’m surfacing through thick water. Everything is heavy. My limbs feel weighted, uncooperative. My thoughts drift in and out, catching on nothing, then slipping away again.
Even the air feels different. Warm. Dense. Saturated with something sweet and familiar that clings to the back of my throat when I breathe in.
The first thing I register is stillness.
Not the tense kind. Not the brittle quiet that comes before something breaks. This is deeper than that. Settled.
My body isn’t braced for anything. There’s no frantic edge humming beneath my skin. No sharp pull low in my belly that demands attention. No ache screaming to be touched, held, filled, grounded in someone else’s hands.
Just quiet.
Real quiet.
The kind that feels earned. The kind you collapse into after surviving something intense and coming out the other side intact.
My eyes open.
Morning light spills across the bedroom in soft bands, pale gold slicing through the half-drawn curtains. Dust motes float lazily through the air, catching the light.
The room looks… lived in. More than lived in, actually. It looks like time forgot about it for a while.
Sheets are tangled beyond saving, twisted and bunched in ways that tell stories I only half remember. Pillows are everywhere, some shoved against the headboard, some on the floor.
A glass of water sits empty on the nightstand, condensation ring dried into the wood. Another glass lies on its side near the bed, a faint water stain spreading beneath it.
Clothes are scattered in every direction like someone lost a very determined fight with gravity and gave up halfway through picking things back up.
And then, there’s them.
Dorian is asleep on his side, close enough that his knee brushes my thigh, the contact grounding even in sleep. His arm is bent awkwardly beneath the pillow.
Jude is sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his face, chest rising with deep, even breaths, the other hand resting loosely at his side.
Ryker is turned toward me, even in sleep, like something in him insists on keeping me in his line of sight. His brow is faintly furrowed, mouth set in that familiar hard line, as if part of him never quite stands down.
Protective. Always.
The scent hits me then. All of them.
Warm. Masculine. Layered together with my own in a way that feels intimate and overwhelming all at once.
It settles over me like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer, heavy with comfort. I breathe it in without thinking, my shoulders dropping as my body responds before my mind can catch up.
For the first time in days, my thoughts line up properly.
That realization lands harder than anything else.
It’s over. The heat is gone.
I test it cautiously. I inhale, waiting for the familiar spike, the answering throb, the rush of need that hijacks everything else.
Nothing happens. Just breath moving in and out of my lungs. Just me, present in my own body again.
My body feels… wrung out. Like I have been stretched in every direction and finally allowed to settle. Tender. Used in the most thorough way possible.
When I shift slightly, awareness blooms everywhere at once, a low ache spreading through muscles and places I don’t usually think about.
It’s not painful. Not exactly. It’s just very, very present, like my body wants credit for everything it endured.
I push myself upright, careful not to wake anyone. The movement feels exaggerated, like gravity has a personal vendetta against me.
My legs wobble when I stand, knees protesting, calves tight. For a second, the room tilts, the edges blurring, then everything settles back into place.
Okay. Bathroom. That’s the next logical step.
Each step feels deliberate, measured. My skin is hypersensitive, like my nerves haven’t fully powered down yet. Every brush of air registers.
When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I stop short.
Oh.
There are teeth marks everywhere.
My neck first, obvious and impossible to ignore. Along my collarbone, down the slope of my chest. Purples and reds in various stages of fading, layered over softer bruises that look newer, more tender.
Some marks are distinct enough that I can see the shape of them, the curve of teeth pressed into skin. Others are faint, barely healed, like echoes.
They worked me over.
And not gently.
I lift my hand, fingers hovering before tracing one mark just below my throat. My skin reacts instantly, a shiver racing through me.
A strange mix of emotions rushes up all at once. Shock at the evidence staring back at me. Heat that has nothing to do with a heat cycle and everything to do with memory. Pride, sharp and unexpected.
And something dangerously close to affection, so intense it scares me a little.
This was wild.
Days of losing myself to instinct and scent and hands and mouths and voices layered over one another. I remember flashes more than full scenes.
Fingers digging into my hips. Being pinned, lifted, surrounded. Growls in my ear. The way my name sounded coming from different mouths, roughened, claimed. Being wanted so completely, there was no room left for anything else.
I swallow hard and turn toward the toilet to pee.
Relief comes immediately, but it’s followed by a sharp sting that makes me hiss and brace my hand against the wall. My body flinches on instinct, breath catching in my throat.
Okay. Yep. That tracks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, riding it out. My body is still recovering. That much is painfully obvious.
For half a second, panic flares anyway. What did I do? What does this mean now? How do I face them with a clear head, knowing what I let myself become, what I wanted without hesitation?
Then I inhale.
Their scent is still on me. Thick. Familiar. Wrapped into my skin like it belongs there. It settles my racing thoughts, smoothing the edges before they can spiral too far.
It calms me.
That realization might be the wildest part of all.
I wash my hands, splash cool water on my face, watching my expression slowly come back into focus. My eyes look tired, yes, but clearer than they have in days. I reach for a towel, wrapping it around myself just as a knock sounds at the door.
“Norah?”
Dorian’s voice.
“I’m decent,” I call back, throat a little rough.
The door opens slowly, like he’s afraid I might spook if he moves too fast. He fills the doorway, looking as exhausted as I feel.
His hair is a mess, curling in every direction. His beard has grown in thick and uneven, shadowing his jaw. Dark circles sit under his eyes, evidence of too little sleep, but his gaze is focused on me immediately.
Concerned. Present.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Just wanted to check on you.”
I nod, leaning back against the sink, suddenly aware of how unsteady I still feel. “What day is it?”
The question clearly catches him off guard. He blinks once, then a faint smile curves his mouth. “Friday.”
Friday.
The word echoes in my head.
I stare at him. “That’s… five days.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Five days.”
My heat took five days.