"Oliver—" His name came out as a moan.
"I've got you," he promised against my most sensitive flesh, and the vibration of his words sent sparks shooting up my spine. "Let go, sweetheart. I've got you." He slid one finger inside me, then two, crooking them just right while his tongue continued its relentless assault. The dual sensation was overwhelming—too much and not enough all at once. My hands flew to his hair, gripping tight, holding him against me as my hips bucked up to meet his mouth.
"That's it," he murmured, his breath hot against my slick skin. "So beautiful like this. So perfect. Let me hear you." His fingers curled, finding that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes, while his tongue flicked faster against my clit.
The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter, until I was right on the edge of shattering. "Oliver—I'm going to?—"
"Come for me, Daphne," he commanded, and the low authority in his voice sent me tumbling over the edge. I cried out, back arching off the couch as the orgasm crashed through me in waves. Oliver didn't stop—his fingers kept moving, his tongue kept stroking, drawing out every last tremor until I wasboneless and gasping, my thighs trembling around his head. Only when I finally went limp did he ease off, pressing soft, reverent kisses to my inner thighs, my hip, my stomach. He crawled up my body slowly, worshipping every inch of skin along the way, until he reached my mouth. I tasted myself on his lips and moaned, pulling him down for a deeper kiss. His jaw was wet, his eyes dark with want, but there was something else there too—awe, tenderness, a love so deep it made my chest ache.
"That was..." I tried to find words and failed spectacularly. Oliver smiled against my mouth. "Good?"
"Earth-shattering," I managed. "I think I saw stars."
He laughed softly, pressing another kiss to my lips. "I'll take that as a compliment." I could feel him still hard against my thigh, straining, and I reached down to palm him through his pants. He hissed, hips jerking involuntarily.
"Let me—" I started. He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to my palm. "Tonight was about you. About taking care of you."
"But—" "There's time," he said softly. "There's all the time in the world. Tonight, I just wanted to make you feel good. To show you what you mean to me." My heart swelled. This man—this ridiculous, wonderful, selfless man—had just given me one of the most intense orgasms of my life and was asking for nothing in return.
"I love you," I said, because it was the only thing I could think to say.
"I love you too." He gathered me against his chest, pulling a throw blanket from the back of the couch to cover us. "More than I knew it was possible to love anyone." We lay tangled together on the too-small couch, my head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around me. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke.
"Thank you," he murmured into my hair. "For what?" "For seeing me." His voice was soft, vulnerable.
"For taking care of me. For making me feel like it's okay to not be okay sometimes." I lifted my head to look at him. The exhaustion was still there, but it was softer now, less desperate. And underneath it, I could see something like peace.
"It's always okay to not be okay," I said. "That's what pack is for. That's what I'm for." His eyes went soft. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"You built me a greenhouse," I said, and he laughed—a real laugh, surprised and genuine. "I suppose I did."
"And you were patient. And kind. And you never pushed, even when I was pushing you away." I pressed a kiss to his chest. "You let me come to you in my own time, and you were there when I did. That's why you deserve me, Oliver. Because you earned it."
He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still moving gently on my back. "I've been thinking," he said finally. "About what I mentioned before. About marking. Mating."
My heart stuttered. "What about it?"
"I'm not rushing you," he said quickly. "I meant what I said—there's no timeline, no pressure. I just..." He took a breath. "I want you to know that when you're ready—if you're ready—I'll be there. We all will. To claim you properly. To make you ours in every way." I thought about it—about bearing their marks, about being bound to them not just by words and feelings but by something deeper. Something permanent. A month ago, the thought would have sent me running. Now, wrapped in Oliver's arms after what we'd just shared, it felt less like a threat and more like a promise.
"I'm thinking about it," I said honestly. "I'm getting closer to being ready. Tonight—this—it helped."
His arm tightened around me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I smiled against his skin. "You're very convincing."
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I'll take that as a compliment." We lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the house quiet around us, the papers on his desk temporarily forgotten. Eventually, I knew, real life would intrude again. The restraining order. The harassment case. Trinity's looming threat. But for now, none of that mattered. For now, there was just Oliver and me and the warmth of the love between us.
"We should probably go to bed," I murmured eventually, though I made no move to get up.
"Probably," he agreed, equally immobile. "The others will wonder where we are." "They'll figure it out." His voice was warm with amusement. "Especially after Micah came back from the greenhouse yesterday looking like a man who'd seen heaven."
I felt my cheeks heat. "You noticed that?"
"Sweetheart, we all noticed." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "We're pack. We share. As long as you're happy and taken care of, the rest of us are happy too." Share. The word settled into me, warm and right. Four alphas, one omega. Unconventional by any standard, but somehow perfect.
"I am," I said softly. "Happy, I mean. Taken care of. I didn't think I could be, but... I am."
Oliver's arms tightened around me. "Good. That's all we've ever wanted." Eventually, reluctantly, we disentangled ourselves and gathered our scattered clothes. Oliver pulled on his pants but left his shirt unbuttoned, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. I slipped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.
