3. Chapter 3 #2
His middle finger slides between my folds, gathering slick, and brings it up to my clit.
He circles it once, twice, and my hips jerk forward, chasing the pressure.
But he holds me steady, controlled, an immovable wall of alpha muscle, and sets his own pace.
Slow. Torturous. Maddening circles that build the heat higher and higher without letting it crest.
"JD, "
"Shh." His lips brush the shell of my ear. "Patience. You're not the only one who gets to play."
And then another pair of hands.
From the darkness in front of me, Knox materializes. Golden hair, green eyes, that wicked grin that promises trouble. He's shirtless, his chest smooth and sculpted, and he looks at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"Hello, little omega," he purrs. "Having fun without me?"
He drops to his knees.
I should be embarrassed. I should push him away. But this is a dream, and dream-logic says there's no shame here, only want. And I want, I want, with a ferocity that scares me.
Knox presses his face against my stomach, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across my skin. Down, down, down, over the curve of my hip, along the crease of my thigh, until his breath is a hot wash against my aching center.
"She smells incredible," Knox says, looking up at me with those devil-green eyes. "Like honey and sin. I could eat her alive."
"Then do it," JD says behind me, his finger still working my clit in those maddening circles.
Knox grins and then his mouth is on me.
His tongue is hot and slick and skilled, and the first broad stroke from entrance to clit makes me scream.
The sound echoes in the dark, formless space, swallowed by nothing.
JD holds me upright, his arm banded across my chest, his hand cupping my breast, fingers rolling my nipple, while Knox devours me.
His tongue circles my clit, then dips lower, pushing inside me, tasting the slick that's pouring out of me.
"She's sweet," Knox murmurs against my flesh. "So fucking sweet. I want to feel her come on my tongue."
"Make her come," JD orders, and the Alpha command in his voice makes my body clench.
Knox doubles his efforts. Two fingers slide inside me, long and dexterous, curling against the front wall of my channel while his tongue works my clit in rapid, fluttering strokes.
The pleasure builds like a storm, lightning crackling along my nerve endings, and I'm thrashing between them, JD's iron grip behind me, Knox's wicked mouth below, and the sensation is so overwhelming that tears stream down my cheeks.
"Please," I sob. "Please, please...”
"Please what?" a third voice says. Deklan.
He appears to my left, leaning against nothing, arms crossed, that familiar scowl on his face.
But his eyes, God, his eyes, are molten.
Dark and burning, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
He's wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, and somehow that makes it worse, makes it dirtier, like the buttoned-up Beta is watching me fall apart and cataloging every detail.
"Please what?" he repeats, and his voice is low, controlled, but there's a crack in it. A hairline fracture where the want bleeds through. "Tell them what you need, Willow."
"I need, " I gasp as Knox's fingers curl harder. "I need… I need all of you."
Deklan's jaw tightens. He uncrosses his arms and steps closer. His hand, steady and precise, the hand of a man who deals in numbers and strategies, reaches out and cups my face. His thumb traces my lower lip, pulling it down, and his dark eyes track the motion.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he says quietly.
"Then show me."
Something shifts in his expression and the scowl cracks. The wall crumbles. And what's underneath is raw, aching hunger, the kind that's been suppressed so long it's turned volatile.
He kisses me.
Deklan kisses me, and it's nothing like what I expected from the grumpy, controlled Beta. His mouth is demanding, his tongue pushing past my lips, tasting me, claiming me. He swallows my moans as Knox's tongue pushes me closer to the edge, as JD's hands map every inch of my body from behind.
Three men. Three scents, pine, smoke, and cedar, wrapping around me until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. Three sets of hands. Three mouths. And me, suspended between them, trembling, pleading, desperate.
"Come for us," JD growls in my ear. "Come for us, omega, and we'll give you everything."
Knox's teeth graze my clit, Deklan's tongue strokes mine, and JD's fingers pinch my nipple, hard, perfect, exactly right, and the orgasm detonates.
I come so hard the dream shatters and I wake up screaming.
Not a scream of fear, a scream of pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
My body is convulsing, my inner walls clenching around nothing, my back arched off the bed.
Slick is gushing between my thighs, soaking through the sheets, and my clit is throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
The aftershocks roll through me in waves, each one smaller than the last, but the heat doesn't fade.
If anything, it's worse. The dream intensified everything, and now I'm lying in the dark, shaking, drenched, and more aroused than I've ever been in my life.
My hand is between my legs, but I don't remember putting it there. My fingers are buried inside myself, two of them, and my hips are still rolling, still chasing the phantom sensation of Knox's mouth. I yank them away like I've been burned.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But it wasn't. Not really. Scent-matched dreams aren't just fantasies, they're connections. Biological links forged by compatible pheromones that allow matched partners to share sensations across distances. The dream was real. The pleasure was real. And if I felt it...
Shoot! They felt it too.
I squeeze my thighs together and bite down on my knuckle. The taste of blood blooms on my tongue, I've bitten too hard and broken skin, but I don't care. I need something to hold onto, some anchor to keep me from flying apart.
The room is dark, and the digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:47 AM. I've been asleep for less than an hour.
I need to calm down. I need to think about something else, anything else. Tax returns. Wet paint. The molecular structure of…
A floorboard creaks in the hallway, and I go rigid.
Someone is out there. Standing in the dark hallway, feet from my door. I can hear breathing, ragged and uneven, the sound of someone trying very hard to control themselves.
Then a second set of footsteps. Lighter and more deliberate, a second body joining the first.
Silence and then, so quiet I almost miss it, a voice. Knox's voice, threadbare and raw:
"She dreamed about us. I felt it. I was in it."
"I know." JD. Rougher, barely human. "I felt it too."
A pause follows before a third voice, Deklan's, tight and controlled but fraying at the edges. "This isn't going to work. She can't stay here."
"She's not leaving." JD again, with a finality that brooks no argument.
"She's twenty feet away, JD. I can smell her through the wall. She's slicking in her sleep, dreaming about us, and we're all standing in this hallway like goddamn voyeurs. This isn't sustainable."
"No one said it was sustainable." Knox's voice drops lower. "But what's the alternative? Send her back? Find another nanny who won't trigger the match? You know as well as I do that a scent-match with three compatible partners is statistically…"
"I don't give a damn about statistics." Deklan's voice cracks. "I care about Lily. I care about this family. And I care about not ruining an omega's life because we can't keep our knots in our pants."
Silence falls. Heavy, suffocating.
I should be horrified. I should be mortified that they know, that they felt the dream, that they're standing in the hallway discussing my arousal like it's a problem to be solved. But instead, something warm and desperate blooms in my chest.
They're fighting about me. Not about who gets me, about how to protect me. About how to do this right. About how to not ruin me.
The warmth spreads through my chest, and I press my hand against my sternum, feeling my heartbeat slow. The heat between my legs is still there, constant and aching, but it's tempered now by something else. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
Through the door, I hear JD exhale. Long, slow, and controlled. The sound of a man forcing himself back from the edge.
"Nobody touches her," he says. "Not until she's ready. Not until she asks. We keep our distance. We keep this professional. We focus on Lily."
"And if she asks?" Knox says.
Another pause. The air in the hallway seems to thicken, and I can feel their collective attention turning toward my door, three sets of eyes in the dark, all fixed on the thin barrier between us.
"Then we don't hold back," JD says.
I hear them retreat. Footsteps fading in three different directions, three doors opening, three doors closing. The hallway falls silent. I lie in the dark, heart pounding, slick still cooling on my thighs, and stare at the ceiling.
‘Don't touch her. Not until she's ready. Not until she asks.’
I press my face into the pillow and breathe in cedar and rain. What if I ask?
The thought is a whisper, barely formed, and I shove it down before it can take root. I'm here for Lily. I'm here for the job. I'm not here to fall into bed with three men who make my body do things I didn't know it could do.
But the dream lingers. The memory of JD's hands on my hips, Knox's mouth between my thighs, Deklan's lips on mine, soft and fierce and desperate, like he'd been waiting his whole life to taste me.
My hand drifts down again. I bite my lip. I close my eyes.
Don't.
I roll onto my side, away from the connecting wall, away from the hallway, away from the three men breathing in the dark.