Page 70 of Savage Surrender

My body clamps around Weller as my skin flushes hot and my scent floods my mouth, sweeter and heavier than it was a breath ago.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” I say against Tristan’s mouth, as I feel Weller grow more hesitant.

“Your scent changed.” His voice remains maddeningly measured. “If we keep pushing your body this hard, we may bring on your heat before we can get what we need.”

“I need your cock.”

His grip bites into my hips. I press my forehead to his and breathe until I can form words that are not fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

“Fine, Grandpa.” I lift carefully, and Weller’s fingers tighten as his cock slips free. “You can all just watch me fuck myself, I guess.”

17

BIANCA

Iwalk ahead of them up the boardwalk, resisting the urge to run, sand gritting between my toes, dress plastered to my thighs, and I let four sets of footsteps bunch closer and closer behind me.

At the double doors, I stop so suddenly Freddie walks into my back.

“None of you are getting in my nest like this.”

Four pairs of eyes drop to my wet dress, then lower. Sand has dried in streaks along my calves. More falls from the hem every time the fabric knocks against my legs, leaving a trail across the floor that offends me on a deeply territorial level.

I spent half the afternoon arranging those blankets.

Owen catches my hips and presses close behind me. He’s hot even through two layers of wet clothing, his mouth already finding the side of my neck and skirting the cut from the tracker. “We can clean it later.”

“I think not.”

His teeth stop against my skin.

“Showers,” I tell all of them. “And not with me.”

The protest moves through the hallway without anyone managing to put words to it. Tristan checks the outdoor shower, then me, already hunting for a loophole. Weller alone avoids looking personally betrayed, although the hand braced on the wall tightens.

I peel Owen’s hand from my hip and turn around. Four tragically handsome and hilariously dressed alphas stare back at me. Nobody mentions that I called it my nest or points out that I built it this afternoon in a house I only learned existed yesterday.

I claimed a nest. Out loud.

All mine.

The house. The nest. The impatient men blocking the hallway.

And I can’t lie. I’m eager to enjoy them without an audience that’s logging data points.

“Go.”

Owen looks down at the front of his shorts, his erection pointed right at me. “This is cruel and unusual, Princess.”

“I can be crueler.”

I slip inside the bathroom attached to the room I’ve claimed as mine. It’s enormous, with large skylights and a tub in the corner large enough for several questionable decisions. Reds and pinks fill the sky overhead. This place carries none of Emerald Hills’ memories, none of the refuge’s familiar emptiness.

The shower takes less time than getting out of the dress. Wet fabric clings everywhere and requires several undignified twists before I can kick it into the corner. Sand collects around my feet, rinses from my hair and breasts, then disappears down the drain with the last traces of salt while the water turns my skin pink.

I wash properly because I meant what I said about getting the nest dirty, at least from the outdoors. I wash quickly because there are limits to my principles.

My body isn’t calming down and the beach keeps intruding: Weller’s cock punching inside me, and the four scents burned into my brain since I was thirteen.