Chapter 4 #3
The thought arrived with the clarity of a bad idea dressed up as a reasonable one.
I could close the door, open Heat Seekers, and send another ping.
Then I could wait for someone whose face I didn't know and whose scent didn't make my stomach do things that belonged in a different genre of problem entirely.
It would be the safe, anonymous transaction I'd signed up for instead of the one the universe had delivered.
It would take time. The app wasn't instant, and my heat had moved past the point where minutes felt like a unit I could afford.
The cramps were coming closer together. The slick was getting harder to ignore.
My skin felt microwaved from the inside.
The hollow, aching want that followed each cramp lasted longer every time, building toward something my body was very clear about and my brain was still pretending was negotiable.
I could sit on the bathroom floor with a towel between my legs, a glass of water, my phone in my hand, and wait for a stranger who smelled like nothing I cared about.
I could do that.
The three men standing in my hallway smelled like toasted pine and tangelo, brown butter and musk, sweet mint and sea salt. Each scent pulled a different hunger through me, and none of it felt hypothetical anymore.
They were also, objectively, hot. Denil's broad shoulders flexed under his crossed arms, his tie still loose from the ceremony, and his ice-blue eyes stayed on me.
Isak had dark wavy hair I wanted to grab and an earring I might want to kiss.
Miner stood between them, the only one whose scent hadn't shifted, saying exactly the right things with a mouth that would look so much better swollen from kissing.
Hot. Helpful. Present. Three things my heat-addled brain was having trouble organizing into any hierarchy that made sense.
Guilt twisted around Celia's wedding. Her brother and his pack stood in my hallway instead of circulating through her reception because I'd pressed a button and their app had pinged.
Far below, Celia was dancing with her bond-mates, with no idea that the karmic joke of the century had her name on it.
She would laugh. She would laugh until she cried. Then she'd ask very pointed questions I wasn't prepared to answer, and then she'd tell me it was fine, it was more than fine, it was actually funny. And I'd believe her, because Celia didn't lie to me about things that mattered.
Miner was still holding the pause, his attention on my face instead of the robe, damp hair, or flush climbing my neck. He kept looking me in the eyes and waited for my decision.
It was such a simple thing. It shouldn't have leveled me. It did.
I trusted him, the one I didn't know. He'd kept Denil in the hall, preserved my exit, and waited for an answer without touching me. Those choices mattered more than familiarity.
I trusted his handling of the moment more than I trusted my own body.
My body wanted things. It had wanted things before: some excellent ideas, some catastrophic.
The distinguishing feature between those categories had never been how much I wanted them in the moment.
Want was not a reliable compass. Want was biology with a marketing department.
Miner stood in the hallway, holding the line and waiting. He had options; each time, he chose the one that left the next choice with me. In my experience, control took decisions from my hands. Miner was using his to leave mine free.
The heat rolled through me again, lower, deeper. A wave that started in my abdomen and radiated out until my fingertips went oversensitive, the inside of my thighs warm and slick, the hollow ache behind it so urgent my knees almost buckled.
I put a hand on the doorframe by Miner's hand. Steadied myself. Looked at Miner, then Denil, then Isak, and made the calculation that had been running underneath everything since the moment I'd opened the door.
I needed help, and the heat was overtaking me. Three vetted, present, willing adults stood within reach. They smelled like everything I wanted and had spent every minute at the door protecting my choices. That was safer than waiting for a stranger who might not show up.
"Okay," I said.
Miner's expression didn't change. His hand stayed out. Waiting.
"Okay," I said again, quieter this time. The next words scraped past my pride and came out rough enough to hurt. "Please come in. Help."
The threshold crossed.
Miner stepped through first, slow enough for me to track, and lifted the duffel from Denil's feet.
Denil followed, shoulders clearing the frame with inches to spare.
His scent washed over me in a wave that blurred my vision at the edges.
Isak came last and closed the door behind him.
In the amplified acoustics of the moment, the soft click landed like the period at the end of a sentence.
The suite felt smaller with four people in it. Warmer. The gold fixtures around the room caught the light and gleamed. The king bed in the next room was very, very visible.
Miner set the duffel down on the cream carpet. Turned to me. His eyes were blue-gray, steady, entirely on my face.
"Tell us what you need," he said.
And I did.