Page 68 of Sweet Torment

Freddie and Tristan nod their agreement.

I want to believe them. God, I want to believe them so badly it hurts. But I've been burned before. Trust doesn't come easy anymore. Tomorrow, we continue playing this fucked-up game. I'll have to be strong again, sharp again, ready for whatever new hell is coming.

But tonight? Tonight, I let myself drift off in their arms, surrounded by their scents, their warmth, their promises.

I'm not dead yet. Neither are they. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now.

22

TRISTAN

I always wake up first. It’s just how I’m wired.

The rest of me is heavy, sunk into the mattress and cocooned in a tangle of bodies and sheets, but my mind is already working. She’s right there, nestled between Owen and Freddie, Weller facing the door like he’s a bodyguard. The first thing that hits me? Her scent. Fuck, it’s perfect. Sweetness and sin, now all mixed up with the four of us. I spent years picturing this, and now that it’s real, I’m so hard it’s almost painful.

The nest we put together last night is ridiculous. Too many pillows, mattresses dragged together, every blanket we could find. It shouldn’t feel this good, this right, in this house. But it does. For the first time in years, I didn’t wake up miserable. This must be what home is supposed to feel like. I’ve never felt anything like it, and it’s not the place. It’s her.

Only one thing could make it better—getting a taste of her.

I let my gaze drift over her face, slack with sleep. The dark circles under her eyes don’t lie. She’s been running on fumes for years. Even dreaming, she still looks like she’s bracing for impact. A part of me wants to smooth the worry from her brow, to promise her she’ll never have to run again. The other, much larger part, wants to wake her up by eating her out.

Navigating this pile of limbs is a fucking nightmare. Owen’s got her locked in with both arms, like he thinks someone’s going to sneak in and take her. Freddie’s leg is knotted with hers, his face lost in her hair.

I push Owen’s arm aside, slow and steady. He grunts, low and pissed off, but doesn’t wake up. He just shifts enough to clear my path. Freddie mumbles something about pancakes and rolls over, yanking more blanket to his side. Weller doesn’t move, but I catch the change in his breathing. He’s always listening.

I slide under the covers with all the stealth of a kid sneaking in after curfew. Her scent is a trail, getting stronger as I move closer, thick and dizzying. The bond thrums between us, still new, still raw—a constant awareness of her.

I pause at her hips, just hovering, my fingers ghosting over the waistband of her leggings. Is this too much? She’s asleep. But the fresh bite on my neck answers for me, the bond yanking at me like a hook buried deep.

Slowly, I start peeling her leggings down. If she wants to stop me, she can. It’s Bianca. She’ll stab me in the throat if she objects. She doesn’t. Instead, she lifts her hips in her sleep, making it easier for me. I pull the fabric down, inch by inch, and then I see she’s not wearing underwear. Fuck. We should just ban her from ever wearing them. My cock throbs with hunger.

I’m the only one who hasn’t knotted her yet. Having her ass first was totally worth the sacrifice, but now all I can think about is this tight pussy locked around me, claiming me as thoroughly as I want to claim her.

I bury my face between her thighs and inhale. Pure sweetness. The first flick of my tongue nearly undoes me. I rut against the mattress, biting back a groan that would definitely wake these other fuckers up. Not in the mood to share.

She’s so wet already. Her scent is layered, though. Beneath her sweetness, I taste someone else. Weller. He must have been inside her last night at some point, and the proof of it is right here on my tongue. The thought of him sneaking her while we were all sleeping should make me jealous. Instead, it just makes me harder. He tastes good on her.

We taste good on her.

Even asleep, her hand finds my hair, twining through it and pulling me closer. The slight sting against my scalp sends a jolt straight to my cock. Well, who am I to deny my omega?

I lean in and run my tongue along her center. I groan against her, the sound muffled by her body. I think I might blow just from this.

“Fuck,” I whisper against her skin. “Prettiest pussy ever.”

I feast on her. There’s no other word for it. I lick and suck and kiss her like I’m possessed, which is the damn truth. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head, and she’s trying so hard to be quiet, these little gasps and whimpers escaping despite her best efforts.

She tastes like heaven and sin mixed together, sweet and salty and absolutely fucking addictive. I could do this for hours and would happily die here, suffocated between her thighs.

I part her folds with my thumbs, exposing the glistening pink flesh underneath before pushing my tongue inside her along with two fingers. She gasps, her thighs falling open for me. She’s giving herself up, and I love this side of her. I slide my hands under her ass, lifting her so I can get my tongue even deeper.

She’d deny it, but she’s a natural submissive. A defiant little brat, but still. The way she yields when she finally trusts you enough—it’s like watching a fortress crumble.

The hot, wet feel of her against my mouth, the way she twitches when I hit just the right spot, the little sounds she tries to swallow.

The pleasure ricochets between us through the bond until my head spins. Forget food, water, air. Just let me die here.

Her breathing changes, growing ragged. She’s close, her thighs clamping tight.