Chapter thirty-eight #2
I pull away from Gabriel. Subtle—just a shift in my weight. I open a gap between us and pick up another brush. The contact breaks. Gabriel reads me and matches the move.
Miles watches us separate. His face slowly relaxes. Crisis averted.
That night, after Gabriel goes to bed, Miles comes into my room. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just climbs in, buries his face in my neck, and holds on so tight it almost hurts.
“I’m trying,” he whispers.
“I know.”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
“I know that too.”
He nips my neck. “You pulled away from him.”
“You needed me to.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I was watching you. The same way you watch them.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Then: “Thank you.”
Thursday and Friday blend together, a blur of small, careful progress.
Miles puts me next to Cyrus for movie night and sits with Garrett.
Later, he lets Garrett braid my hair while everyone’s watching TV, Miles curled up on Gabriel’s lap, keeping an eye on everything like he’s daring himself to be okay with it.
He lets Gabriel pour me coffee in the morning, our fingers touching on the mug, and he only flinches a little.
During the day, when the others are gone, Miles fucks me.
A lot.
There’s a desperation to it. Like he needs to remind himself (and me) that I’m his first, theirs second.
Kitchen counter. The shower. The nest. My bed.
His studio floor, once, because I told him the city painting was almost done and he just needed me, right there, paint still wet on my fingers.
That was a fun (not really) clean up afterward.
It’s kind of hard to get paint out of carpet.
But I don’t mind. The sex is always good. He knows my body now. Knows exactly where to push and when to slow down. He can tell the difference between gasps that mean more and ones that mean too much. He takes care of me while pretending he’s only taking what he wants.
Saturday morning, everything changes again.
We’re in the nest. All five of us—a weekend morning where nobody has anywhere to be. Garrett is scrolling his phone. Cyrus is half-asleep. Gabriel is reading on his Kindle, which is… kind of sexy. Miles and I are wrapped up in the middle, his head on my chest, my fingers in his hair.
It starts slow. Miles kisses me. Then deeper. Then his hand is under my shirt, his mouth on my neck. His scent goes thick. Every alpha in the room sits up.
He strips me quick, no warning. Shirt off, pajama pants down, and suddenly I’m naked in the nest while four sets of eyes are on me.
“Don’t just stare,” Miles says. “Get undressed.”
Gabriel doesn’t move right away. Cyrus glances at Miles. Then—slowly—they follow the order.
The nest fills with skin and scent. Every breath feels like standing on the edge of something.
Miles fucks me first. Face to face, slow, making sure everyone sees. He wants them to watch. He wants them to know how I respond to him before he lets any of them touch me. He makes me come, hard, and while I’m still gasping, their scents get heavier, the air almost too thick to breathe.
Then he pulls out and looks at Garrett. “Come here.”
Garrett’s across the nest in a second. Miles puts him beside me, takes Garrett’s hand, places it on my breast. Garrett goes still. His eyes are wild.
“Touch her,” Miles says. “Gently. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Garrett touches me like he’s been waiting forever.
His hands are bigger, warmer, the calluses different.
Every place Garrett touches me goes electric.
The same as it did when Gabriel touched me.
He traces my collarbone, cups my breast, brushes his thumb over my nipple. I arch, moaning. Miles’s eyes go dark.
“Kiss her,” Miles says.
Garrett does. His taste floods me. The kiss deepens. His tongue tangles with mine. His hand slides to my hip, pulling me closer.
Miles watches, fighting himself the whole time. I see the effort cost—the tension, the flared nostrils, his fingers digging into his thigh. But he lets it happen.
“Enough,” he says finally. Garrett pulls back right away.
Miles looks at me, then at Garrett’s cock, hard and flushed.
“Lily,” Miles says. “Do you want to touch him?”
I glance at Garrett. His face is wide open, needy. That cock I’ve seen through clothes but never actually touched. I nod.
Miles takes my hand and wraps it around Garrett. Garrett groans, low and wrecked. He’s hot and thick in my palm, hips twitching. Struggling not to move.
“Slow,” Miles says. “Make him wait.”
I go slow. Garrett groans, his hand lands on my thigh, squeezing. Miles pulls it off me.
“No. She touches you. You don’t touch her. Not yet.”
Garrett puts his hand on the mattress, white-knuckled. I stroke him, slow at first, then a little faster when Miles tells me to.
“Faster,” Miles says.
I do. Garrett’s breathing goes ragged, his abs clench, tension winding him up tight.
“Miles,” Garrett gasps. “I’m going to—“
“Not yet.” Miles moves behind me, arms around my waist, kissing my neck while I stroke Garrett. The combination makes my head spin.
“Now,” Miles says. “Let him come.”
I squeeze and twist and Garrett comes, knot inflated, spilling over my hand and his own stomach. He drops his head, chest heaving.
Miles takes my hand, licks my fingers clean, one by one. Garrett watches, dazed.
“Good,” Miles says when he’s done. “That’s enough for today.”
He goes back to fucking me until we both come. All the alphas watching the whole time. It must be torture for Gabriel and Cyrus—they haven’t touched themselves—but Miles keeps me distracted enough to make me forget about them until we’re both spent.
He doesn’t push further after. Gabriel and Cyrus don’t get a turn—not today, even though he ordered their clothes off like he was going to let them join.
But we all understand he isn’t ready for that.
Not yet. He’s just testing his own boundaries for now.
Letting the moments take him where they will.
But the boundary has moved. Yesterday, I could kiss Garrett and snuggle up with his purr. Today, I had my hand on his cock and Miles didn’t shatter.
Progress isn’t straightforward. Sometimes it’s a mess, tangled up, doubling back. But it’s still progress.
Sunday is quiet. Easy. Nobody gets dressed before noon. The hardest question is what to order for lunch.
Miles is in a good mood. Actually, he’s more than good.
He’s light. The heaviness is gone, at least for now.
He teases Garrett about yesterday (“you lasted about thirty seconds, that’s embarrassing”) and Garrett throws a pillow at him.
He dodges and they both end up laughing—real belly laughs that fill the whole house.
Cyrus makes breakfast. Gabriel reads the paper since I guess that’s still a thing. I paint in the studio with the door open so I can hear them. The sounds of a pack. A family. It’s almost too much.
In the afternoon, we build a nest in the living room.
Not just me and Miles—the whole pack. Blankets and pillows from every room, something big enough for all five of us.
Garrett insists on sorting the pillows by softness.
Cyrus brings one blanket and then sits down as if nest construction is beneath him.
Miles orchestrates everything like he’s building a skyscraper, vetoing three of Gabriel’s pillow moves and making Garrett rearrange twice.
He keeps muttering about alphas wanting to lie in nests but none of them understand how to build one.
We pile in and watch a documentary about deep sea creatures. Garrett brings snacks from the pantry. Bodies keep shifting until everyone’s comfortable: Miles between Gabriel and me, Cyrus on my other side, Garrett at the end with his legs stretched out.
I’m surrounded. No matter which way I turn, someone’s there. A body. A scent. A heartbeat. My omega is quiet for the first time in… well, a long time.
Miles leans over Garrett and tugs the blanket up over my legs. “You cold?”
“No.”
“You look cold.”
“I’m not cold, Miles.”
He fusses with the blanket anyway. Garrett catches my eye and grins. I grin right back.
This is what it looks like. A pack. Real and present. More than I’d hoped for since I presented. Because Miles is here—and that makes everything better.
It feels perfect. Too perfect.
I lean into Cyrus. Miles leans into Gabriel. Garrett shuts his eyes, and within minutes, he’s asleep, breathing slow and even, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, tangled up with the rest of us.
The documentary plays and the afternoon drifts by.
Nobody leaves. Nobody fights. Nobody says the thing we’re all thinking, which is this works.
Nobody says it out loud. But I think we all feel it. This works.
Maybe that’s what scares me.