Right.
The memory surfaces through the haze—three days ago, when Sage knotted me right before a scheduled rehearsal and we ended up forty-five minutes late because you can't exactly separate when biology locks you together.
The rehearsal director was not amused.
Jett's hand works faster, and I watch with fascination as his knot swells fully, as his cock pulses with release that paints his stomach and hand instead of filling me like I suddenly, desperately want.
"Administrators love me," Blaze continues, pressing a kiss to my temple. "That's the only reason we got away with it. But I can't be pulling that off a second time."
A giggle escapes.
Then another.
High, bright, absolutely unhinged—the sound of someone whose brain chemistry is completely scrambled by endorphins and Omega biology and the sheer absurdity of her current life.
My fingers twitch against Jett's shoulders.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
Counting.
Always counting.
Three partners this morning.
Four if I include Kai.
Even number.
Safe.
Good.
Blaze and Jett lower me carefully—coordinated effort, their hands supporting my weight as my feet find solid ground again. My knees are jelly. Completely useless. If they let go, I'm hitting the floor.
They don't let go.
Both of them keep their hands on me—steadying, supporting, anchoring me while my body remembers how to function independently.
"You okay?" Blaze asks, his golden eyes scanning my face with something that looks almost like concern.
I nod.
Can't quite form words yet.
Too overwhelmed, too satisfied, too thoroughly wrecked to manage coherent speech.
Jett leans in—one more kiss, this one softer. Gentler. The kind of kiss that says thank you and you're mine and I'll catch you if you fall.
Then Blaze kisses me too—his version of the same sentiment, translated through fire and mischief and the particular warmth that is uniquely him.
A knock sounds at the door.
Sharp.
Authoritative.
