57. Finn
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Finn
She wakes slowly. Her eyelids flutter. Once.
Twice. Then open fully. Blinking up at me with those soft, beautiful, dazed eyes.
Still warm from sleep. Still soft and pliant in the nest I built for myself—my blankets, my scents, my carefully arranged sanctuary—but now it's hers too.
Now it's ours. And I've never been happier to share something that was mine.
The nest that smells like all of us now. Like pack. Like home.
"Hey," I say, and my voice comes out softer than I meant it to. Quieter. Because looking at her like this—flushed and warm and choosing to wake up to me—makes my chest feel too full. Makes everything feel too big.
"Finn," she breathes, and just hearing my name in that voice, all heat-soft and needy, makes me want to give her everything. Anything. Whatever she needs.
Lachlan is beside us, his hand resting on her hip, grounding her. Keeping her tethered. "You okay?" he asks gently.
She nods, but her eyes drift back to me. Focusing. Sharpening with something that looks like want. "I need..." She trails off, uncertain.
"What do you need, beautiful?" I ask, and I'm already leaning closer, drawn to her like I've always been. Like gravity. Like she's the only thing that makes sense.
Her gaze flicks down my body, then back up. Deliberate. Intentional. "You."
My breath catches. Just stops completely for a second. Because I've imagined this—of course I have—but hearing her say it, seeing the way she looks at me like I'm exactly what she wants...Yeah. I'm gone. Completely.
"Yeah?" My voice cracks slightly. I clear my throat, try again. "You want me?"
"Yes." No hesitation. Just certainty.
I shift closer, my hand sliding up to cup her face. "Then I'm yours. However you want me." I pause, make sure she's looking at me. Really looking. "You're in control here, okay? You decide. You lead. I'll follow."
Her eyes widen slightly. Surprised. "But you're—"
"An Omega," I finish. "Just like you. And being an Omega doesn't mean I can't choose this. Doesn't mean I can't want you to take what you need from me." I lean in, press my forehead to hers. "Let me show you that receiving isn't passive. That it's a choice. That it's powerful."
She swallows hard, and I can see the moment it clicks. The moment she understands what I'm offering. What I'm asking for.
"I don't know how," she whispers.
"I'll show you." I kiss her softly. Once. Twice. Then pull back just enough to meet her eyes. "Touch me. Anywhere you want. I'll tell you what feels good."
Her hand comes up tentatively, fingers tracing along my collarbone. Down my chest. I suck in a breath, and she pauses.
"Don't stop," I say quickly. "That's—yeah. That's good. Keep going."
She does. Her palm flattens against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. It's racing. Pounding. She has to feel it—has to know what she does to me.
Lachlan shifts slightly, giving us space but staying close. His presence is steady. Grounding. A reminder that we're safe. That this is safe.
"Can I..." Kaia's voice is barely a whisper. "Can I touch more?"
"Gods, yes. Please." The word comes out desperate. Needy. I don't even care. "Touch me wherever you want. I'm yours."
Her hands explore. Tentative at first, then bolder. Learning the shape of me. The places that make me gasp. The spots that make me shiver. And I let her. Let myself be vulnerable. Let myself just feel without trying to perform or deflect or make a joke to ease the tension.
"Finn," she murmurs, and there's wonder in her voice. "You're shaking."
"Yeah." My laugh is breathless. Unsteady. "You're kind of overwhelming in the best way."
She leans in, kisses my jaw. My neck. The hollow of my throat. And I tilt my head back, giving her access. Surrendering. Trusting her completely.
"I want..." She hesitates.
"Tell me," I encourage. "Whatever it is. I want to give it to you."
"I want to—" She breaks off, blushing. Even in heat, even after everything, she's still shy about asking.
"You want to be on top?" I guess, and the way her breath hitches tells me I'm right. "Then do it. Take what you need. I'm right here."
I shift onto my back, pulling her with me. She straddles my hips, and the weight of her, the warmth—it's everything. She's everything.
"Like this?" she asks.
"However you want," I say, and my voice is rough now. Strained. "Fast or slow. Deep or shallow. You decide. I trust you."
She moves experimentally, and I have to bite back a groan. My hands find her hips, not to control but to steady. To ground myself.
"Is this okay?" she asks.
"More than okay. You're perfect. This is perfect." The words tumble out, unfiltered. "You can—if you want—you can move however feels good. I'll follow your rhythm."
She does. Slowly at first, finding what works, what feels right. And I let her—let her explore. Let her learn my body the way I learned hers. Every time she moves, every time she adjusts, I tell her. "Yes, like that. That's so good. You're so good."
Jonas's hand appears in my peripheral vision, sliding into Kaia's hair. Grounding her. "You're doing beautifully," he murmurs.
She picks up the pace, and I can feel the tension building in her. In me. Everything is heat and pressure and the slide of skin against skin. My hands tighten on her hips.
"Kaia," I gasp. "I need—can I—"
"What do you need?" Her voice is breathless but focused. Present.
And here it is. The moment where I have to be honest, where I have to show her the part of me that isn't bright and shiny and easy.
"I need you to see me," I say, and my voice cracks. "Not the version of me that makes everyone laugh. Not the chaos. Just...me. The part that needs. That wants. That's not always okay." I swallow hard. "I'm scared you only want the light parts. That if you see the rest, you'll—"
She leans down, cuts me off with a kiss. Deep. Thorough. When she pulls back, her eyes are fierce.
"I want all of you," she says firmly. "Every part. The joy and the pain. The brightness and the need. All of it, Finn. I choose all of it."
Something in my chest breaks open. Cracks wide. And I realize I'm crying. Just a little. Just enough.
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
She moves again, and this time I let myself fall apart. Let myself be vulnerable. Let myself need without apology. And she holds me through it. Steady. Certain. Choosing me.
"I'm close," I gasp. "Kaia, I'm—"
"Me too," she breathes.
"Will you—" I have to stop. Swallow. Try again. "Will you mark me? Please? I want you to claim me. I want to be yours."
Her eyes widen. "You want me to mark you first?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "Right here." I touch the spot above my heart. "I want you to choose me. To claim me. To make me yours before I make you mine."
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she nods, and leans down. Her mouth finds the spot I indicated, and she bites. Not hesitant. Not uncertain. Claiming.
The bond snaps into place like lightning. Like coming home. I feel her—everything. Her pleasure. Her trust. Her love. Her certainty. And underneath it all, her own reclamation. Her own power. She's not just receiving. She's taking. Choosing. Claiming.
My release hits me like a wave, and I cry out. Loud. Unrestrained. She follows a moment later, and I feel it through the bond. The way she shatters. The way she trusts me to catch her.
When the intensity fades, I'm still shaking. Still overwhelmed. I pull her down against my chest, holding her close.
"My turn," I murmur against her hair. "Can I mark you? Please?"
"Yes," she breathes.
I shift carefully, gently rolling us so I can reach her. My mouth finds the spot above her heart—mirroring where she marked me. And I bite, sealing the bond. Completing the circle.
But this doesn't feel like possession. It feels like gratitude. Like trust. Like joyful surrender. Like coming home to someone who sees you completely and chooses you anyway.
When I release the bite, I'm grinning. Can't help it. "We match," I say, and my voice is thick with emotion. "You marked me first. You claimed me. You chose me."
"I did," she agrees softly. "I do."
"I love you," I say. Simple. Direct. True. "All of you. Every part. The strength and the vulnerability. The control and the surrender. Everything."
"I love you too," she whispers back.
Lachlan’s hand appears, resting on both of us. Grounding. Anchoring. "You two are disgustingly cute," he says, but his voice is warm. Fond.
I laugh, breathless and happy. "We really are."
Kaia shifts, settling more comfortably against my chest. Her fingers trace the mark she left on me. "Does it hurt?"
"No," I say honestly. "It feels right, like it was always supposed to be there."
She smiles. Small and soft and genuine. Then she presses a kiss directly over the mark. Sealing it. Claiming it. Claiming me.
And I've never felt more seen. More chosen. More loved.
Jonas moves closer, his hand sliding into Kaia's hair. "You did so well," he murmurs. "Both of you."
I can feel Adrian's presence at the edge of the nest. Watching. Waiting. His turn will come. But for now, this moment is ours. Mine and Kaia's. A bond forged not through dominance but through mutual surrender. Through trust. Through choice.
And it's perfect.