“I know I don’t have to.” I meet his gaze. “I want to.”
He kisses me with his full attention, with care for every element, slowly and deliberately and with the patience of someone who has been waiting and considered the waiting worthwhile. He tastes like honey.
When I turn again, Archer is where he always is. He’s present, positioned, watching with the expression that finished changing weeks ago and has stayed changed. He has not moved toward me. He’s standing at the edge of the room with his arms at his sides and the look that sayshe has decided something and is waiting for the right moment to act on it.
I walk to him.
He watches me come.
I stop in front of him and remember the night of passion we shared. Of how he showed me a different side of him, one that is rarely exposed.
“Archer,” I say.
“Lola,” he replies.
“You’re not going to make me come to you every time.”
“No,” he says. And he reaches for me.
His hands are confident, with no hesitation, no performance, just directness that he has committed to completely. He pulls me in and I go. His mouth finds mine and it’s that night again.
This moment doesn’t need to stay small.
I let it be as large as it is.
* * *
Later, I am on the couch. My couch. The blanket is over me and the fireplace is winding down. I am in the middle of it, which is where I have been for two weeks and where I intend to remain.
Ryan is seated in the chair by the window. Tristan is somewhere in the house, I can hear the faint sounds of him being awake and quiet. Jack is slumped at the table, with his head on his arms, asleep. Archer issituated way down the couch.
My feet are near his leg.
He hasn’t moved away.
The fire’s dying glow casts flickering shadows across the room, warming my skin even under the blanket. I’m cocooned here on the couch, my body heavy with the exhaustion of the past weeks. But tonight, the air feels different. Charged. The pack’s presence is a constant hum in my veins.
Archer’s thigh brushes against my foot, a deliberate press that sends a spark up my leg. I don’t pull away. Ryan’s eyes meet mine from the window chair, steady and assessing, like he’s reading every flicker of emotion on my face. Jack stirs at the table, his breathing even in sleep, but I know he’s not fully out, Alphas like him snap awake at the slightest shift. And I hear Tristan approaching from the hallway, his footsteps soft, carrying a tray that smells of herbal tea and something sweet, like fresh-baked cupcakes.
He sets it down on the coffee table, his soft voice cutting through the quiet. “Thought you might need this, Lola. To settle your nerves.” His eyes are kind, that caretaker instinct shining through, but there’s heat there too, unspoken.
I sit up a little, the blanket slipping to my waist. I’m in loose pajamas—borrowed from one of them, oversized and comfortable—but suddenly, they feel too confining. “Nerves? Who says I’m nervous?”
Tristan smiles, kneeling beside the couch to pour acup. The steam rises, carrying notes of chamomile and honey, mixing with his scent: warm vanilla and cinnamon, like a cozy kitchen on a rainy day. It’s soothing, but tonight it stirs something else in me, making my Omega core clench with unexpected want. “We all are, a bit. This… us… it’s new.”
Ryan shifts in his chair, his strategic mind always a step ahead. “Lola, we’ve talked about this. The bond with Jack opened the door, but we won’t push. This is your call.”
I glance around at them. Archer’s intense gaze, now softened with something vulnerable. Jack lifting his head, blinking awake with that playful grin. Tristan offering the tea like it’s a lifeline. Ryan, the anchor, waiting for my word.
They’ve been supportive through everything, never demanding more than I give. But the pull is definitely there, the Omega in me craving the pack’s claim, even as my bold, furious side wants to seize it on my terms.
“Damn talking,” I say, my voice low but steady. I set the tea aside and reach for Tristan’s hand, pulling him closer. “I want this. All of you. Tonight.”
The room stills, then erupts in subtle motion. Jack’s grin widens, chaotic energy sparking. “About damn time, chaos queen.” But his tone is gentle, eyes checking mine for any hesitation.
Archer slides closer on the couch, his hand resting on my ankle. “We’re here for you, Lola. Whatever you need.”
Ryan stands, moving to the couch with purposeful grace. “If this is what you want, we’ll go slow.” His words are a promise, and the way they all nod, aligning around me, makes my heart race, not with fear, but anticipation. This isn’t like with Jack, all wild banter and impulsiveness, or Archer’s controlled intensity. This is shared, supportive, a symphony of touches and scents building around me.
