Her gasp is sharp, breaking into a sound that’s halfway between shock and pure relief.
I move closer without thinking, taking her hand in mine. “It’s okay,” I tell her quietly. “We’ve got you.”
She nods, quick and jerky, her breath catching as Simon works her over. Her fingers squeeze mine, her scent spiking higher with every pass of his tongue.
I don’t know how long I stand there, holding her hand, keeping my voice low in her ear while her body arches and shudders. The room feels smaller, hotter, and the edges of control are blurring for all of us.
And even though I know this is a line we can’t uncross, part of me is already past it—caught up in the pull of her scent, the sound of her voice when she moans, the way her body responds like she’s been waiting for this all along.
Her body’s a live wire under my palm, every breath shuddering through her like it’s dragged from somewhere deep and primal. Each exhale is hot against my skin, each inhale threaded with the tremor of an Omega barely hanging on to the edge of herself.
Simon doesn’t come up for air until she’s gasping—not just a little breathless, but chest-heaving, lashes clumped from sweat.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is slick, his lips parted, pupils blown so wide I can barely see the ring of color around them. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the hunger in his expression.
I’m not much better. My jeans feel like they’ve turned to steel, every nerve from my hips down locked tight and aching—my body reacting whether I give it permission or not.
The room feels small, the air thick and stifling with her scent. Sweet. Ripe. Heat-drunk and so potent it clings to the inside of my lungs until every breath feels like a hit I can’t stop taking.
Beau mutters a curse under his breath, low and rough like gravel grinding together. “My turn.”
He doesn’t wait for agreement—we’re all past the point of asking permission for every little move. One of his big, callused hands slides along her thigh, spreading over the pale skin as he shifts her onto her back.
She goes easily, pliant and flushed, head tipping so that the wild spill of her hair fans over the pillow. Her gaze flickers between all three of us—restless, searching—like she can’t decide which one to pull closer.
“Look at me,” I tell her, my voice coming out darker, rougher than I meant. It’s not a request.
Her eyes snap to mine instantly. The effect is immediate—the noise in my head dulls, the heat sharpens, and it’s just her. Every detail is magnified.
The fine tremor in her limbs. The elegant line of her collarbone, the fever-flushed skin between her breasts. The pale column of her throat, pulse flickering fast beneath skin that’s too warm, too soft.
The kiss happens before I think about it. One second, I’m locked in those heat-bright eyes, and the next my mouth is on hers—hot, deep, and greedy, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours and she’s the only thing that can fill my lungs.
She tastes fevered and desperate, like the edge of surrender. When she makes a sound—low, helpless, almost pained—my hand tightens at the back of her neck, holding her still so I can drink more of her in.
Somewhere below us, Beau’s shoulders shift, his head ducking as he works her over with single-minded focus. Her hips twitch under his touch, small jerks she can’t suppress, and when Simon leans over to roll her nipples between his fingers, the jolt that runs through her is so sharp I have to break the kiss to remember how to breathe.
I let my knuckles brush down the side of her throat, over the rapid flutter of her pulse, my touch light enough to feel the delicate thrum under my skin. She’s panting now, mouth open, lips wet, every breath a rush of heat against me. Fever radiates off her in waves.
“You need to come?” I murmur, so close my words brush her lips.
“Yes.” It’s a broken sound—part sob, part plea.
Beau answers before I can. “I’ve got her.” His voice is a growl wrapped in control, the kind of restraint that sounds like it’s costing him.
Simon’s eyes haven’t left her. He looks like a man reading a complicated chart only he understands, his expression narrowing with each pass of her scent through the air.
“This isn’t working. I’ve never seen a suppressant fail this hard… but—” He cuts himself off, his gaze flicking to me like he’s deciding if he wants to say the next words.
“But what?” I push, my voice sharper than I intend.
His eyes dart between us. “Knotting could help.”
Her breath stutters hard enough that her chest stalls for a second. “What does that mean? I mean, I have never… it has never… fuck!”
The innocence in her voice does something dangerous to me. “You’ve never what? Been knotted before?” I ask, already knowing the answer in the way her pupils widen, swallowing the color of her eyes.
She shakes her head once. “Never. I’ve only ever been with Betas.”
