17
Selene's Show
The lounge had been transformed.
I noticed it the moment Selene led me through the door, her hand warm and steady on the small of my back. The familiar space—the one I'd redecorated with colorful blankets and pastel pillows, the one where we'd gathered for countless evenings of quiet companionship—had been stripped of its usual clutter. The sofas and armchairs were pushed against the walls, creating a clear, open space in the center of the room. And in that space, draped in soft white linen and surrounded by flickering candles, stood a massage table.
It was elegant—polished wood and plush padding, the kind of thing you'd find in a high-end spa. Arranged on a small side table beside it were glass bottles of oil, their contents shimmering with faint, magical luminescence. The air smelled of jasmine and sandalwood and something else, something that made my skin prickle with anticipation.
The men were already there.
Darius sat in a high-backed armchair positioned at the foot of the table, his posture impeccable, his silver eyes dark and watchful. Lucien sprawled in a leather chair to the left, his arms crossed, his amber eyes still carrying traces of the wolf—softer now, after the rut, but no less intense. Azrael perched on a velvet ottoman to the right, his golden gaze luminous and reverent, his hands resting palms-up on his knees.
They were the audience. And I was about to be the show.
"Selene," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. "What is this?"
She stepped around me, her emerald eyes sparkling with wicked delight. She was dressed simply—a flowing silk robe in deep forest green, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her feet bare against the polished floor. She looked like a goddess. She looked liketrouble.
"After everything you've been through," she said, her voice carrying that melodic lilt that made my knees weak, "I thought you deserved something... restorative. A release of tension." Her lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile. "And I thought the boys might enjoy watching."
My face flushed. "Watching."
"Just watching." She guided me toward the table, her hands settling on my shoulders. "They've been so good, haven't they? Taking care of you during Lucien's rut. Keeping their distance when they wanted nothing more than to join in." She glanced over her shoulder at the three men, her smile sharpening. "I think they've earned a reward. Don't you?"
I looked at them—Darius's controlled intensity, Lucien's barely restrained hunger, Azrael's reverent devotion—and felt heat pool low in my belly. They had been good. They'd given Lucien space, monitored from a distance, made sure we had everything we needed without interfering. They'd put his needs before their own desires.
And now Selene was going to make them watch while she took me apart.
"Yes," I whispered. "They've earned it."
Selene's smile widened. "Good girl."
She helped me onto the table, positioning me on my stomach with my face cradled in the padded headrest. The linen was soft against my bare skin—she'd insisted I undress completely, and the cool air of the lounge raised goosebumps on my exposed flesh. I heard the soft rustle of her robe falling away, and then her hands were on me, warm and slick with oil.
"Relax," she murmured, her palms gliding down my spine with practiced ease. "Let go of everything. The tension. The worry. The lingering ache from Lucien's claiming." Her fingers found a knot of muscle between my shoulder blades and pressed firmly, and I groaned as the tension dissolved. "That's it. Just feel."
She worked in silence for a while, her hands moving over my body with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. She found every knot, every tight spot, every place where stress had settled into my muscles, and she smoothed them away with patient, deliberate strokes. The oil warmed beneath her touch, releasing the scent of jasmine and something magical that seeped into my skin and loosened something deeper than muscle.
I was floating. Drifting. Completely and utterly relaxed.
And then her hands slid lower.
"Don't tense up," she warned, her voice a low purr. "This is part of the massage. Part of the release."
Her fingers traced the curve of my ass, spreading oil across the sensitive skin. I gasped, my hips pressing into the table, and behind me, I heard a low growl—Lucien, straining against his restraints.
"Quiet," Selene commanded, not looking up. "You're here to watch. Nothing more."
The growl subsided, replaced by tense, controlled breathing. I could feel their eyes on me—three sets of supernatural gazes, devouring every inch of my exposed body. The knowledge made me flush with heat, made me hyperaware of every sensation. The cool air on my oiled skin. The soft linen beneath my breasts. The growing ache between my legs, slick and empty and desperate for attention.
Selene's hands moved to my inner thighs, spreading them slightly. The oil made her fingers glide effortlessly, and I felt her trace the sensitive crease where thigh met hip, coming so close to my aching center without quite touching it.
"Please," I breathed, not sure what I was asking for. "Selene—"
"Shh." Her lips brushed my ear, her body pressing against my back. "I know what you need. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"
"Yes. Yes, I trust you."
