Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
TRISTON
B eau’s touch disappears. Vaguely, I hear the opening of a drawer and rustling. Emily’s hands fall away from me as she pulls out of my hold, and I cry out. New tears fall, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see her walking away.
“Shhh, Omega,” she whispers. Her fingers trace my chin and then the shell of my ear.
There’s a new seductive tone lacing her words.
They soothe me almost as much as her touch did.
Her lips graze the sensitive spot just behind my ear.
“I’ll fix it, okay? I’m not going to let you hurt anymore.
I just can’t carry you. Will you let Beau get you to a place where we can help? ”
I manage a nod. Soft footsteps move away from me, and I try to keep the bone deep dread from stealing my breath.
Then Beau’s next to me, soundlessly pulling me back to my feet.
His lips are soft against mine, the demand of a few minutes ago gone completely.
His skin is warm against mine, his chest hair just the right amount of abrasive as his hands palm my thighs and he pulls me against him.
He doesn’t move until my knees are around his hips.
His dick is hard, too, only a soft fabric separating us.
I grind against him even as he walks deeper into the house.
“Fucking hell,” he grunts.
I drop my mouth to his jaw and then his throat, trying to relearn his taste, too.
My eyes fly open as he drops me onto a soft bed, falling right above me, his knees forcing mine even wider.
His chest heaves, his pulse fluttering in his throat.
Beside him, Emily’s stripping out of the jeans that have tormented me all afternoon.
Her shirt’s already gone, and her hair falls over one shoulder.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
Beau hands her a small gray packet. She doesn’t ask if I’m capable of putting the condom on myself.
She simply straddles my thighs and does it herself, her movements confident even as her vanilla pulses out from her, the siren’s call of it growing even stronger, like it’s trying to fix the touch-starvation, too.
A second packet rips open as she adjusts herself, holding the base of my dick as she notches the head at her cunt.
My hands shake so damn bad as I palm her thighs, tracing the stretch marks there, too.
Every single one a mark of the little girl we made.
Tears burn my eyes again, but they’re not quite the same desperate torrent of emotion.
Her eyes lock on me as she slowly slides down, and then there’s nothing in the world but the two of us, our scents blending together.
She squeezes me tighter than a fucking fist, and I push up into her.
She plants both hands on my chest as she rolls her hips. Heat pools between my hips and at the base of my spine. Fuck, I’m not going to last. In another couple hours, I’ll be embarrassed. I grab her hips and shake my head.
Before she can say anything, Beau’s just behind her, his knees pushing against my thighs, forcing them wider.
He wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her shoulder.
Watching Emily take us both was one of those memories I kept locked away except for the most desperate and lonely nights.
The way her chest flushes and her nipples draw tight?
The way she clenches around whoever’s already inside her while the other of us takes up space that’s not there?
Except it’s not her that Beau breaches. He pushes into me with one steady thrust that I can’t try and escape.
His hand is hard and heavy on my hip, just under Emily’s thigh, keeping me still.
I toss my head back, crying out. Emily’s palm covers my mouth.
I’m too far gone to even realize I need to be quiet.
They move in tandem with each other, holding me still as they wring pleasure from my body, and I’m left without anything but the ability to take.
Even still, I run my thumb over her clit. She clenches harder around me, and I groan. Her nails break my skin as she drags them down my sternum. I push into her, fighting against Beau’s proprietary hold.
“Fuck, Beau,” she gasps, “I need?—”
A growl cuts her off as my scent snaps out, still just as sour as before. I focus on them, on the way Emily’s holding Beau’s arm in a death grip, her head tilted back on his shoulder. His movements don’t falter for a moment, his strokes so deep I’m pretty sure I can feel them in my throat.
“Yeah, I know, firecracker,” Beau mutters. His voice is so low and haggard. My stomach tightens. “Mark me instead. Until you trust yourself, mark me instead.”
She twists and pulls the skin of his throat between her teeth.
In the same moment, she slams down harder than before, taking all of me, and I explode.
Pleasure ricochets through me, stealing my vision and ripping up my throat.
Emily’s hand presses harder against my lips, muffling the sound.
A second thumb joins mine, moving across Emily’s clit with precise, tight circles.
A large, firm hand grabs mine, lacing our fingers together over Emily’s hip.
Callouses bite into the back of my hand, and I revel in it, in all the points of contact after so many months of nothing but impersonal hands during my heats.
Not even a minute later, Beau shoves into me harder than before and moans.
He collapses forward, pinning Emily between us.
I’m reduced to sensations as a her cunt tightens around me again, her lock on the edge of clamping down.
His arm is strong and warm beside my head.
Her lips are soft in the hollow of my throat.
Her teeth are points of pain as they scrape along my collarbone and up the side of my throat.
“Firecracker,” Beau gasps. “That’s a hard no.”
He lets go of my hip and shoves his hand between her lips and my throat just as she comes, her lock tightening down around my dick fast enough I lose my breath.
It sends me over the edge again, a second climax racing through my limbs.
By the time I can keep track of limbs and time and voices, Beau pulls out of me and slides off the bed.
A door opens, and a faucet turns on. Emily collapses fully on top of me.
It’s automatic to wrap my arms around her and twist a strand of her hair around my finger.
Beau climbs back on the bed before her lock releases, stretching next to me, his head on his arm. His touch moves over Emily’s back and then my arm.
“Is it better?” he asks, though I’m not sure if it’s for me or her.
As if to answer him directly, a new wave of my clove scent fills the room. The sour edge is dampened. Emily hums against my chest.
“Better but not gone,” she whispers. “The… the haze has faded, though.”
Beau nods and then he’s pressing kisses up my neck, his teeth pulling the skin hard enough my back arches.
I swallow back a whine when her lock releases.
She eases back to her knees before getting off, letting me sit up.
Her hands trail down my arm as I stand and disappear into the bathroom to get rid of the condom.
I freeze in the middle of their bathroom, just stand there, as I try to work up the courage to grab my clothes and leave.
It’s where Beau finds me a few minutes later.
He doesn’t say anything, just laces our fingers together and pulls me back into their bedroom. Emily’s in a thin slip that hugs her curves like water. She holds out her hand, too.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “It’s not like we ever did this before.”
Not until that last night, at least. Not like this.
Emily rolls her eyes. “Get over here. This isn’t that summer, and you know it. Let me give you more touch.”
I don’t have it in me to fight her. Beau slides in behind me, covering all three of us with the lightweight quilt from the bottom of the bed.
Emily molds her curves to me, her hand warm and grounding on my thigh and her lips soft on my sternum.
Beau’s legs mix with ours, his knee slipping between mine.
My eyes close, exhaustion roaring up on me.
“Vanilla flowers?” Emily asks. Her lips run over the tattoo that covers my chest, right over my heart. I can tell the portion she traces, the flowers first and then the cowboy hat and then the small Monroe Ranch logo emblazoned in the center of the hat.
My cheeks heat. “Um, yeah.”
She pulls away. When I manage to look at her, her eyes are full of the question. I shrug as much as Beau’s hold allows.
“It didn’t seem fair to bog us all down with strings when the whole point was none.
But when I was gone, after I lost all contact because of the doxxing…
” I swallow, and my scent pulses. The sour edge is gone for the moment.
“I wanted to hold onto it, protect it. So I had an artist draw something that reminded me of both of you. I’ve been told it’s overly feminine because of the flowers but… ”
Vanilla falls over me, that possessive edge to it again.
“I like it,” she whispers.
The words follow me into sleep.