Chapter Nineteen
Charlotte
When Tomas takes her, it is fast and furious, her back pressed up against the front door that has only just closed behind them in the foyer.
Her skirt is lying around them in shreds on the floor.
He spits in his hand, rubs it on the head of his cock, and then he is inside her pussy in one thrust, jolting her back against the door with a squeak.
The plug is still in her ass, narrowing her channel even further against the already thick length of him.
Her orgasm builds with every violent thrust. Tomas' face is buried in her neck, muttering things against her skin too low for her to hear. When she tips over the edge, she brings him with her, coating her with the scent of him in short, forceful thrusts.
He is still panting against her when Alex clears his throat behind them. "I'll run a bath, then."
Tomas deposits her in the steaming water with Alex, leaving the two of them alone so he and Silas can start dinner.
It is Alex's hands that gently ease the plug from her, settled in his lap with her legs around his hips, the warm soothing water like a cocoon around them.
A bite of pain elicits a gasp from her as the plug slips free, the sore muscles protesting the use that's been demanded of them.
"What a good girl you are, Charlotte," he murmurs. The words ease the ache she feels, the strange openness at having been spread apart and penetrated for such an extended period. "We'll take care of you now, sweetheart."
Sweetheart. Good girl. We'll take care of you. The words stroked her soul from the inside, soothing and caressing all the stinging parts of her that yearned for their care.
She feels him reach around her and peeks over to see what he's doing. A soft blue washcloth is in his large hand, his other has a bottle of pink sparkly body wash in it, which he uses to generously lather.
He guides the washcloth gently over her shoulders, making her eyes flutter close at the sensation. His hands are tender but determined, washing from shoulders down her arms to her hands, then between each finger.
As the washcloth dips down her chest and over her breasts, Charlotte expects him to linger, but he does not. He is thorough, ensuring the suds reach in the crease below each breast and under her arms, but he does not tease, does not even seem apt to at the moment.
As he reaches between her legs, he is careful and gentle, running the washcloth gently from front to back, then out again.
He shifts her deftly, turning her so he can continue his route down her legs.
He gives each toe its own treatment before sliding the washcloth up the back of her legs.
As he reaches the cleft of her bottom, he pauses.
"Are you sore here, baby?" His voice is hushed, as if he doesn't want to break the tranquil silence.
"A little," she responds, her voice a whisper in response.
He hums as he gently eases the cloth between her thighs, sliding up towards the back carefully.
She cannot help her squirm at the discomfort of being touched there, but he is careful and quick and when he unstoppers the tub, she finds herself relaxed and languid in his arms as he dries her off with a fluffy towel and wraps her in a robe.
"Would you rather have dinner in your room tonight?" It's a question, but she knows the one he's actually asking is whether she wants time alone.
"No," her voice is still a whisper.
He carries her back to her room and she takes a moment to admire the space that they had furnished that weekend, still unable to believe it was hers.
The bed was low to the ground, sturdy, and large enough to fit all of them. It was still made up perfectly, all crisp edges and pillows artfully piled at the head of the bed. She hadn't even slept in it yet.
Buttery sheets of lilac cotton with a matching striped duvet covered the bed, along with three fluffy throw blankets arranged across the foot in cream, pale pink, and amethyst. It was perfect, like they plucked a nest out of one of her dreams and brought it into reality.
Her fingers itched to arrange it all just so, to line the pillows around her and her mates, weaving the linens around them into a nest.
No, not her mates. Not her nest. Just a bed, she scolds herself.
Alex carries her to the bed where he perches her on the edge before proceeding into the walk-in closet, which she knew was already full of the clothes they had purchased for her.
She'd poked her head in earlier and nearly had a stroke at the sheer quantity and variety of things she'd found stuffed in there, from ballgowns to lingerie that was made up only of boning and ribbons.
He returns with another legging and oversized sweater set in a deep emerald green with matching socks and strappy bra.
"Let me do this for you," he murmurs, setting the clothes beside her on the bed. "Arms up, baby."
Without thought, she raises her arms, letting him dress her like a doll. He pulls the bra over her head, adjusting it over her breasts, and then slips the warm weight of the sweater on.
He slips her socks on next, tugging them over her heels deftly, then guides her to step in her leggings, his hands gliding up her thighs and over her hips as he guides her to standing.
He slips off his own robe, letting her get an eyeful of his sculpted body. He was more muscled than the other two, his shoulders broader, tapering down to a defined chest. She couldn't keep her eyes off him. The alpha preened at her ogling, his muscles flexing as he stalked out of the room.
"I will be right back," he rumbles, his voice deepening with pleasure.
As he steps out of the room, Charlotte cannot stop herself from darting to snatch up the discarded robe, breathing in deeply for the scent of his skin lingering in the fabric.
Before he can return and see her, she quickly stuffs the robe under the pillows of her nest where it can distribute his scent through the fabric.
He returns moments later dressed in grey sweatpants and no shirt, the slight smirk on his face telling her he did it on purpose, that he's enjoying the way she can't keep her eyes off his body.
He doesn't say anything about the robe though, and Charlotte hopes it means he hasn't noticed that it's missing.
They seemed to have a never-ending supply of the fluffy things so she hoped she would be able to keep it in her nest without notice.
At least when they didn't want her to sleep in their beds with them, she would be able to snuggle with his scent and maybe it would help keep her warm and grounded.
She wondered how long the scent would stay in the fabric, how long it would last when they found their real omega and were done with her.