Chapter 31 #3
I really look at him then. The wrinkled shirt he must have slept in. The faint crease on his cheek from pressing into a pillow. The way his shoulders slope just a little, like he hasn’t truly rested in a while.
“Have you been staying here?” I ask.
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Where else would I be staying?”
Something in my chest loosens at that answer, tension I didn’t realize I was holding finally easing.
“Come here,” he adds, stepping forward before I can overthink it and pulling me into a hug.
I melt into him instantly.
His scent hits me full force now that I’m this close. Cedar and bergamot and clean sweat and something unmistakably Dorian. It sinks into me, making my knees weak in a way that has nothing to do with heat.
Why does he smell so fucking good?
His hand slides up my back, fingers threading gently into my hair. He strokes in an unhurried way that tells me he’s right here with me.
I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the sound beneath it, letting myself just exist there for a moment.
I lift my head, and his fingers trace my cheek, then my neck. His touch pauses over a bite mark, thumb brushing lightly, thoughtful.
I gasp before I can stop myself.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, pulling his hand back.
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s just… sensitive.”
He nods, eyes darkening, but he doesn’t push. He gives me space without pulling away completely.
Then reality crashes back in.
“Today’s the farmer’s market,” I blurt.
He blinks. “How the hell do you even remember that?”
“I was supposed to meet my delivery guy,” I say, words tumbling out. “And I didn’t confirm anything and what the fuck and—”
“Hey,” he says calmly. “Wren is taking care of everything.”
My breath stutters. “My best friend,” I whisper.
He nods. “She’s been here. Checked on you. She’s the one who brought the berries.”
Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
Of course she did.
“Hey,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to my face. “Hush, sweetheart. You’re just coming down from the heat. It’s morning. You don’t need to worry about anything else right now.”
I sniff and nod. “Okay.”
He wipes at my cheeks with his thumb, patient and careful.
“Your hair is a matted mess,” he adds lightly. “But I have something that can help.”
“You do?” I ask.
He smiles. “Come here.”
He kisses my forehead, then takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom.
That’s when I see them.
Jude and Ryker are sitting on the edge of the bed now, both awake.
Jude’s hair sticks up in every direction, eyes still a little unfocused as he looks at me. Ryker’s gaze snaps to me immediately, sharp and assessing, scanning me like he’s checking for damage.
A flash of heat curls low in my belly at the sight of them.
They’re marked, too. Bite marks along shoulders and chests. Scratches I recognize without thinking. Evidence of how much I took and how much they gave back.
It was a lot of damn sex.
“Are you okay?” Ryker asks, already halfway to standing.
I nod, tightening my grip on Dorian’s hand. “Yeah. I am.”
Their shoulders relax at the same time.
And just like that, I know. I’m exactly where I need to be.
I stand there wrapped in a towel, still a little unsteady, still very aware of my own body in a way that feels both intimate and awkward now that my head is clear. The three of them watch me like I might vanish if they blink too long.
The first thing that slips out of my mouth is ridiculous.
“I stink,” I say.
It's a reflex. A sudden awareness of myself layered in scent and sweat and something deeper that clings to my skin.
Heat aftermath. Too much time tangled together. I wrinkle my nose instinctively.
Jude lets out a soft laugh. Not mocking. Warm. He pushes himself fully upright on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, and smiles at me like I just said something charming instead of mortifying.
“You really don’t,” he says. “You smell like you.”
My face heats immediately. I feel it spread from my cheeks down my neck, lighting up every bite mark like a spotlight.
I glance away, suddenly fascinated by a wrinkle in the carpet.
Dorian clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, and I hear the faint rustle of plastic, “I brought something.”
He steps closer and sets a small overnight bag on the dresser. Unzips it. When he pulls the bottles out, my breath catches.
My shampoo.
My conditioner.
The exact ones I buy. The scent I’ve loved for years. Something small and familiar and unmistakably mine.
“You remembered,” I say, a little stupidly.
He shrugs, but his mouth curves. “I pay attention.”
My chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with instinct.
He hesitates, then looks at me properly. “Can we take care of you?”
My heart does something warm and dangerous inside my ribs. I nod before I can talk myself out of it.
“Yes.”
Dorian exhales like he has been holding that breath for days. “Okay. I’ll get your hair cleaned up.”
Jude stands, already rolling his shoulders like he has a plan. “I can handle the clothes. Sheets, too. It’s… a lot.”
Ryker snorts. “That means I’m on breakfast duty.”
Something about how easily they fall into roles makes my eyes sting again.
They each step in turn, quick and gentle. Jude presses a kiss to my temple, his lips warm and lingering just long enough to make my stomach dip.
Ryker cups my face, brushes his mouth over mine in a kiss that is firm but careful, like he is checking in rather than claiming.
Dorian kisses me last, deeper than the others, like he’s sealing something. He nods at them once, a silent exchange I don’t fully understand but feel anyway.
“If you have eggs,” I say to Ryker, because suddenly that craving is loud, “I really want eggs.”
His mouth lifts into a full smile, beautiful and devastating. “Okay, sweetheart.”
The bedroom clears out in a quiet shuffle. Dorian guides me back into the bathroom, hand at my lower back, not steering so much as reminding me he’s there.
“Hey,” he says once the door is closed. “You really okay?”
I nod. Then I nod again, more firmly. “Yeah. I am.”
He studies my face like he is reading something between the lines. “It was a lot for one Omega to take.”
I tense despite myself, waiting for the unspoken follow-up.
“You did so well,” he finishes. “I’m proud of you.”
The words hit harder than anything else this morning. My chest folds inward around them. I step closer without thinking, letting myself curl into him, forehead pressing into his shoulder.
He wraps his arms around me easily, like this is where I belong.
I tilt my head up and kiss him. It’s soft, brief, but full of meaning. When I pull back, something tender remains between us.
“How’s your mom?” I ask quietly.
“She’s okay,” he says. “For now.”
He brushes his thumb along my jaw, grounding me again. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He turns the shower on, tests the water with his hand, adjusts it until steam begins to rise. “I’m a little sad about it,” he admits. “You smell really good. I don’t love the idea of washing it away.”
Heat blooms low in my belly. I swallow, suddenly aware of how close he is.
“We can get it back,” I say, half-teasing.
His smile turns slow and knowing. He steps aside and helps me out of the towel, movements careful, eyes tracking every mark like he’s cataloging them.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t hurry me. He treats my body like something precious rather than something to consume.
When I step under the spray, the water is warm enough to soothe without stinging. He follows, his boxers discarded and kicked aside. The space feels intimate without being overwhelming.
“Sit,” he says, guiding me onto the built-in bench.
He wets my hair first, fingers working through gently, easing out tangles before adding shampoo. The scent blooms around us, familiar and grounding.
His hands move with purpose but patience, massaging my scalp in a way that makes my eyes close despite myself.
“Okay?” he asks quietly.
“Mmhmm.”
He rinses, then adds conditioner, working it through slowly, detangling with care. It feels like being taken apart and put back together at the same time.
He washes me too, careful around tender places, checking my face for reactions, adjusting when I hiss or flinch. Again, there’s nothing rushed or hungry about it. Just care.
“I’m pretty sure they’re in love with you,” he says casually, like he is commenting on the weather.
My eyes snap open. “Dorian.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “And you’re in very good hands.”
I swallow. “Do you love me?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “More than anything.”
He leans in and kisses me again, deeper this time, full and certain. When we pull apart, my chest feels too full for words.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper. “I’m glad you didn’t leave.”
“I promised I’d stay this time,” he says. “And I meant it.”
I look at him, really look at him. “I want you to stay.”
“Okay, baby,” he says, smiling.