Chapter 43 Craving and Control #2
Lochlan snorts. “Broadswords and mead resolve a lot of shit.”
A few of them laugh.
Lochlan downs the rest of his drink. I wish there were dregs to reveal his mood. His silver gaze meets mine over the fire. “A Vestra isn’t fragile. It’s resilient. We find a way.”
Their words settle over me, bringing clarity to how much strength and unity a Vestra holds. I envy that sense of belonging and devotion so deeply it aches.
Griffin stands, stretching. “We should get to bed.” He extends a hand to me.
I take it, letting him pull me up.
As we walk toward the house, Daire falls into step beside me. His voice drops. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but my chest feels tight, like the air is thick with everything I learned—and everything I’m afraid to want.
Inside, we pass through the dim kitchen. At the base of the stairs, Griffin pauses.
“Why don’t you head up and change?” His voice is gentler than usual, almost careful. “We’ll bring some tea.”
I nod again and climb the stairs, feeling every step like a drumbeat in my ribs.
I hang my dress in the closet, slip back into the yellow silk pajamas, and try to steady my breath.
I’ve spent weeks resisting the pull, pretending it was curiosity or proximity, anything but the truth.
But today stripped away too much, forcing me to realize that my feelings have grown more than roots, but an entire understory—tangled, unruly, alive.
I’ve grown attachments—something I didn’t think could would happen.
I smooth the matching silk tank top over my ribs, but the memory of this morning slams into me with embarrassing force. Waking warm between them. Safe. Held. How Griffin had kissed me.
I’m annoyed for wanting them.
For not knowing if I should.
For wishing they wanted me just as badly.
I don’t know if I’m misreading everything—wanting something that isn’t mine to want. The thought is a bruise, tender and vulnerable.
A soft knock sounds as I yank the blankets back.
“Come in,” I manage.
Daire and Griffin step inside, their expressions filled with confusion and concern as they search my face.
“What’s wrong?” Daire asks.
I shake my head.
I can’t admit that they terrify me.
That I don’t know if any of this is real.
That I’m afraid I’m alone in wanting to explore more.
Griffin’s gaze sharpens, like he’s hearing every frantic thought. “You’re wrong, Bondmate.”
He sets the tea on the dresser and closes the distance between us with deliberate slowness. He cups my jaw, brushing his thumb across my cheek, slow and unbearably tender. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How badly we want you.”
Heat hits my cheeks, realizing my shields are lowered, my thoughts likely blaring to him.
“I know you have a lot of questions,” he says quietly, “but hear me when I say I don’t have a single doubt.
I’ve seen enough prophecies fall apart to give a single fuck what ours says.
Mating bonds are strong because they’re the definition of balance.
Of belonging.” His blue eyes lock with mine.
“You don’t belong to us, Bri. You belong with us. You’re our balance.”
My breath catches, the words landing too deeply. I can’t look away from him. Can’t respond. Can’t think. Something inside me breaks loose. Or maybe it forms—crystallizing into certainty as his words etch across me—my heart. My bones.
I lean forward and kiss him.
He meets me halfway, kissing me back with a groan that vibrates straight to my core. He tilts my head, deepening the kiss until my knees weaken and my thoughts dissolve.
When I finally pull back, breathless, Griffin’s pupils are blown wide.
“Stars,” he breathes.
Heat flares at my back. Daire steps closer, his presence making my pulse race. He touches my spine—a slow stroke that sends electricity racing through every nerve. I feel that familiar sense of gravity, pulling me closer to these two males, to their souls.
Six weeks of tension. Six weeks of ocean blue and amber eyes tracking my every move. Six weeks of them consuming my thoughts.
I turn slowly, facing Daire. The intensity in his gaze steals whatever breath I managed to find. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him. Like he’s starving for me.
My heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out of my chest and escape to him.
Daire doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for me. He just watches. Waits. Gives me the choice, even though I can see how badly he wants to close the distance himself.
I press my mouth to his—so light and hesitant it’s barely a kiss. A question. A theory I’ve debated a million times over the past six weeks—if I really am made for him, as it often feels like I was. Made for both of them—and if they were made for me.
The answer comes immediately.
He threads his fingers into my hair, gripping me gently, and he kisses me like he’s been dying for this. His tongue sweeps across the seal of my lips, and a moan slips out of me, greedy and wanting. Ready.
Our tongues twine and tangle, our desire communicated into a kiss that steals every one of my reservations.
He tastes like citrus from his drink and cinnamon and something darker I can’t name, and I’m drowning in it. Drowning in him.
“He’s been wanting to kiss you so fucking bad,” Griffin says, his voice quiet, gritty. He strokes a hand down my side.
Daire groans into my mouth at the words, the sound vibrating through me, and his other arm bands around my waist, hauling me closer so there’s no space for my doubts to come between us.
The door opens, and I pull back, my heart beating a chaotic and needy tune that panic threatens to stop.
Holden stands in the doorway, his dark gaze slipping over my silk pajamas with a deliberateness that puts my thoughts at war. I can’t tell if he’s angry or turned on.
“You feel her, don’t you?” Griffin asks, lacking the teasing quality I expect. “Even without the imprint, spending so much time together has you sensing her. Reacting to her.”
My heart is in a glass box, terrified that Holden is about to shatter it.
Holden’s dark eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t respond.
Griffin takes a step closer to me. “We can feel you aching. Your bond is calling to us. Constantly.”
Mortification colors my cheeks, despite my core growing tight, a pressure that is nearly painful.
Griffin shakes his head. His throat bobs as he swallows. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re your Mates.”
Daire releases a ragged breath. “Let us relieve you. It will make all of us feel a little more sane.”
“I don’t know if I want the bond,” I admit in a low whisper. “There are too many questions. Too many unknowns.”
Daire swallows roughly, hurt flashing too quickly in his eyes. “Intercourse completes the bond,” he says gently. “Tonight isn’t that. This is just… relief. Comfort.”
I stare at him, trying to piece together what he’s offering.
“And choice,” Griffin adds.
My rational mind is barely a whisper, reminding me that this is insane—that I don’t know these guys well enough, that I don’t understand what it means to be tied to five Mates for the rest of my life.
I want to have a choice in the matter, not just leave my life up to the universe. But want drowns it out.
“How would this work?” I ask.
Daire takes my hand and leads me to the bed. “We can take the edge off. Help you relax.” He runs his fingers up my thigh, and my gaze darts to Griffin and then Holden, feeling embarrassed, and at the same time emboldened.
“Don’t,” Griffin whispers. “Don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. We’re your Mates.”
Mates.
Mates.
Mates.
The word clangs around in my thoughts, growing in volume as Daire’s fingertips dip under the silk of my shorts. My breath leaves me in one harsh exhale.
Daire hums as he skates his fingers across the apex of my thigh, so close to where I want him to touch me and yet so far away that my body constricts with need.
His hand at my waist tightens, and then he’s hauling me onto his lap, draping my legs on either side of his and pulling my back against his broad chest.
Warmth hums through me as he traces his fingers across my skin, memorizing me. Savoring me.
Unwanted tears burn in the corners of my eyes as the gesture makes me feel cherished in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Daire presses a kiss to my temple as his hand lowers, slipping under the layers of my shorts and underwear, brushing against my most sensitive area.
“Fuck,” Holden breathes. “Widen your legs.”
I can’t move, lost in desire.
“You have to listen,” Daire croons, teasing a finger between my legs.
I gasp, desperate for him to touch me. I spread my thighs.
He hums in approval.
“They need to be off,” Holden grumbles.
Daire hooks his fingers into the band of my shorts and underwear and tugs, forcing me to close my legs against the pressure.
“Take them off, Spitfire.” His voice is a whispered demand that makes my nipples harden.
He notices immediately, plucking one through my thin top, then pinching it, before gently rubbing the peak.
The sensation is different, and I can’t decide if I enjoy it or just the newness of it.
“Off,” he repeats. “We want to watch you come.”
I lean forward to peel them down my legs, feeling the hard length of him under me. The pressure makes him curse as he rocks against me, stealing all my thoughts and reasons for why I don’t want to complete the bond.
“Fuck,” he mutters before slamming my back against his chest. He grips the thin fabric and tears the shirt in half, exposing my breasts.
Griffin mutters a stream of curses as Daire presses his finger against my clit. I forget to feel anything except the pleasure racing through my bloodstream.
I lean back further, feeling his ragged breaths and uneven heartbeats that assure me he feels equally undone. He rolls my clit between his callused fingertips, and I moan shamelessly. It’s perfection.
“Stars,” he rumbles. “You’re so sensitive.”