Violet clawed at the ground as a violent tremble ran through her, making her rut back against Skye.
“Shelovesit,” I purred, pistoning into Skye.
Violet shook her head harder.
“Go ahead, come. I know you both want to,” I rasped, the muscles in my stomach beginning to contract.
Skye shattered first, pulling Violet upright and clutching her to his chest. He choked on his moan as her lips parted in a silent scream, her chest flushed rose-pink.
The shift in position angled the toy perfectly, sending sparks of heat through me. I buried my face in Skye’s shoulder as my own release tore through me.
And just like that, the sounds filling the small room vanished, replaced only by the sound of heavy breathing.
Skye loosened his grip on Violet, letting her slump into the nest, then collapsed behind her, draping an arm over her waist. I switched the vibrator off and tossed it into the corner before settling beside them, brushing Violet’s hair away from her damp cheek.
Together, the three of us lay in a sweaty heap until Violet tapped on Skye’s chest three times.
“Hmm?” His eyes were still half-lidded as he tried to nuzzle her.
Want. Skye.
“Skye’s right there, Princess,” I yawned.
Violet shook her head, then tapped his chest again. Skye blinked fully awake just to stare at her.
“What?” he asked.
Violet pointed to his hand.
“You want to hold hands?”
She nodded.
Skye smiled shyly and twined his fingers with hers, brushing a kiss across her knuckles before settling back in.
Violet’s dark eyes flicked to mine as she looked at their hands. Slowly, she brought Skye’s fingers to her lips and repeated the gesture, a soft, sweet little kiss.
But the sweetness lasted all of three seconds. Because right after, Violet tugged Skye’s hand closer and sank her teeth straight into his wrist.
Skye yelped, Violet cackled, and I swear to God—I fell in love with that little gremlin just a little bit more.
Having two omegas was the fucking best.
Chapter 7
Violet
Far off voices drifted into my ears, stirring me awake and making me painfully aware of the fact that I was laying in a puddle of my own drool. My eyes remained closed as I forced myself upright and rubbed my palm against the corner of my lip. My neck ached and my cheek throbbed where it’d been pressed to a hard surface.
A low hum of conversation floated around me, muffled like it had to pass through water before reaching my head. I tried to blink, to focus, but my lashes felt glued together, my face puffy from sleep. The chair beneath me dug sharply into my tailbone, too hard, too narrow, too familiar.
No.
No no no.
A cool draft brushed my ankles, and the scent hit next, pine cleaner, citrus polish, and sharp musky cologne.
Logan’s cologne.
