Epilogue #2
Marcus goes next. He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces something small.
He holds it out. It’s a bracelet, made with a simple leather cord, with a small silver charm.
I look closer. The charm is a tiny wolf, mid-run, its lines smooth and precise.
He carved it himself. I can see the faint marks of the tool along one edge.
“Give me your wrist,” he says quietly, and clasps it on himself, his big fingers careful with the small clasp. He doesn’t let go right away.
“I love it,” I tell him.
“Good.” He releases my wrist, and there’s a faint dusting of color across his cheekbones that I find completely endearing.
Then Rex stands up and picks up a guitar from behind his chair. He plays a song for me.
It is not good. It is spectacularly not good. The first chord sounds like a question that went wrong, and he stops, adjusts his fingers, and starts again. When he finishes, I’m crying and also giggling at the amount of effort he put into his love song for me.
“It’s a work in progress,” Rex says when he finishes, tucking the guitar away with great dignity.
“It was perfect,” I tell him, wiping my eyes. “I love it.”
Alaric produces a slim black box without preamble and sets it in front of me.
Inside, on white satin, are earrings and a matching bracelet to the necklace he had bought for me years ago at the mall.
Diamonds, brilliant-cut, serious, and beautiful.
I’ve learned, in four years of living with Alaric, that his version of love is very expensive, and I’m not complaining anymore.
He stands and comes to me, moving my hair gently to reach my earlobes, setting each earring in place. Then he takes my wrist and clasps the bracelet on. His fingers brush my pulse point.
“You said once that you never felt like you deserved pretty things,” he says, low, close to my ear. “I’ve been correcting that error for four years. I intend to continue.”
“Thank you, babe,” I whisper, kissing him on the lips, and he turns red.
Then Ryker sets his hand flat on the table. “My turn. But you need to come with me.”
“Come with you where?” I look around. “It’s nine o’clock.”
“Humor me.”
A limo is waiting at the top of the stairs. We pile in, and I spend the short drive across the resort property trying to read Ryker’s expression, which is its usual granite self except for the faintest tension at the corners of his mouth that means he’s pleased about something.
We stop at the far edge of the resort grounds, where the property narrows to a strip of land between the beach and the palms. And there, set back from the sand with a white picket gate and a porch wrapped in climbing jasmine, is a cottage.
I step out and stop.
It’s small and white and lit from within, warm amber light spilling from the windows onto the stone path. The whole thing looks like a picture from a book I would have stared at as a child. The color is warm, and there are fireflies everywhere, lighting up the night.
“What is this?” I breathe.
Ryker comes to stand beside me. He holds out a key and a folded paper.
“Your house,” he says. “The deed’s in your name.”
I look at the paper. Then at him. “Ryker, I already live with you…”
“I know.” His voice is steady, but careful in the way it gets when something matters.
“You came to this island with one bag and no backup plan. You spent years sleeping on couches and hoping people would keep you around. I want you to have something that’s yours.
Not ours. Yours. You can do anything you want with it.
You can rent it out, burn it, or let it sit empty.
But I want you to always know it’s there.
That you have something that belongs to you and no one can take it. ”
I stare at him.
The tears come before I can stop them.
“Ryker,” I whisper, my voice breaking from this gesture of his.
He pulls me against his chest without a word, one arm wrapping tight around my shoulders, his hand pressing to the back of my head. I cry into his shirt while he holds me. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek, his grip unwavering.
“Don’t cry, my sweet.”
“Thank you,” I manage eventually. “I know that doesn’t cover it.”
“It covers it,” he says against my hair.
I pull back, take a breath, and put the key in the lock. The door swings open onto a sitting room with built-in shelves and a window seat and a little kitchen through an archway, everything tucked and perfect and exactly the kind of quiet beauty that makes a person feel held.
Marcus closes the door behind us.
The sound of it is quiet and very deliberate.
I turn fully and find all five of my alphas filling the small space of the hallway, the warm lamplight catching the clean lines of their faces. The air in the room changes.
Ryker’s eyes are dark. Lorenzo’s mouth curves slowly. Rex is watching me intensely, while Marcus tilts his head, watching me. It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together. Alone.
I bite my lip.
Their hands are at their sides, perfectly still, but I can see their erections straining against their pants. All of them are already hard.
Their eyes are dark, hungry. I’m their omega. They’re mine.
And tonight I’ll give them a show. Right there in the living room, I peel my shirt up and over my head, letting it drop. Cool air kisses my skin. Next comes the skirt, sliding down my thick thighs until I step out of it.
Their gazes follow every movement.
I reach behind me, unhook my bra, and let the straps fall from my shoulders. My breasts spill free, nipples already tight. Ryker’s breath hitches sharply, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting not to lunge.
I hook my thumbs in my panties and drag them down, bending at the waist so they get a full view of my ass and the wet shine between my legs.
When I straighten, I’m naked except for the jewelry Alaric gave me.
The jewelry glints against my skin as I turn, plant my feet, and shake my ass—slow, deliberate rolls that make the soft flesh jiggle.
A sharp, collective intake of breath cuts through the room.
I glance over my shoulder, voice low and teasing. “Do any of you like my fat ass and thick thighs?”
Marcus rips his shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. His voice is a rough growl. “I need a piece of that fat ass. Right fucking now.”
I giggle, cheeks heating even as fresh slick squelches down my inner thigh. The sound of it makes all of them groan. I turn and walk toward the bedroom without another word.
Behind me, five heavy sets of footsteps follow—boots and bare feet on hardwood, breathing ragged, the low rumble of alpha growls. They trail after me like men bewitched, and the knowledge sends a fierce, possessive thrill straight to my core.
I feel powerful. So fucking powerful.
These strong, dangerous alphas follow me because they can’t help themselves. My scent, my body, my slick… they own them. And I love it. I love the way their eyes stay glued to the sway of my hips, the way their cocks are already straining against their pants. I revel in it.
In the bedroom, I climb onto the massive bed, lie back against the pillows, and spread my legs wide.
My pussy is swollen, throbbing, slick glistening in the low light and coating my thighs.
Five pairs of eyes lock onto me like I’m the only thing in the universe.
They tear at their clothes—shirts yanked over heads, jeans shoved down, cocks springing free, knots already starting to swell at the bases.
None of them look away from my body for even a second.
I bite my lower lip, slide my hand down my stomach, and dip two fingers between my folds. I circle my clit slowly, then faster, hips rolling up into my own touch.
A moan slips out, long and needy.
Their growls answer me. It drives them wild. I can see it in the way their hands fist at their sides, the way pre-cum beads at the tips of their cocks.
Alaric and Marcus are the first ones naked. They crawl onto the bed on either side of me.
Alaric’s mouth seals over my left nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the sensitive peak while his hand palms and squeezes my other breast.
“You’re teasing us too much, hun,” he rasps against my skin, sending flickers of fire through my belly.
Marcus latches onto the right nipple, suckling deep, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. “So full. Gonna suck these dry while we ruin you.”
Ryker, Rex, and Lorenzo join them.
They nuzzle and nip at my thick thighs, teeth scraping soft flesh, leaving marks.
Ryker pushes my legs even wider and buries his face between them.
His tongue drags a long, filthy stripe through my slick folds, then seals over my clit and sucks.
Slick coats his mouth, his chin, and it glistens on his cheeks.
He groans like he’s starving. “This pussy… fuck. So wet, so swollen. Missed the taste of you, baby. Could live right here.”
He removes his mouth suddenly all their fingers are rubbing my pussy.
Five sets of hands. Someone rubs tight circles on my clit while another spreads my lips.
Fingers tease my entrance, dip inside, then slide back to press against my asshole.
The sensations blur together—rubbing, circling, pressing, dipping.
I’m panting, hips jerking, slick pouring out of me in a steady stream.
“I missed you all so fucking much,” I moan, voice breaking.
Alaric pushes one thick finger into my pussy, curling it immediately against that spot that makes my toes curl.
At the same time, Marcus presses a finger into my ass.
The dual stretch burns so good. My pussy clenches greedily around Alaric’s finger while my ass flutters and opens around Marcus.
They work me in tandem, thrusting slowly, stretching me open.
Then Ryker adds his finger alongside Alaric’s, two thick digits now pumping into my cunt while Marcus works a second finger into my ass.
The fullness is intense, perfect, filthy.