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I can’t stop picturing the Orion who made those moans. Are all four of them up there, working him over on the pack bed?
Can he take all their knots in one session?
Orion must look like a blond god when he’s spread out underneath them. Atlas looming over him, dominating him…
My clit swells, aching to join the threesome in my mind.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
Arousal means I’m deep in pre-awakening. My body’s waking up and it won’t be long before it demands more than just glances from the alphas I can’t stop obsessing over.
The best thing to do would be to flip the water to glacial and think unsexy thoughts like sandpaper and toenails until the ache disappears.
But am I a saint?
No, I’m fucking not.
I tease my nipples, run my hands down my belly, then brace against the shower wall as I tease my clit in slow circles, imagining what it would be like to ride Orion’s face, to have him pressed under me, with those blue eyes alight between my thighs.
My slick flows, but the water hides the damning scent, washing it down the drain.
My fantasy is so real I can taste green apples.
The alphas would let Orion and I kiss and play, exploring each other's bodies, letting us tease ourselves higher and higher until we’re begging for their knots. Then they’d share us. Between them, all of them, Atlas barking out who and where to fucking take me.
Hunter hugging me from behind, fucking me into Finn’s mouth. Or Jett, making sweet, slow love to me, showing me his soul through his dark, galactic eyes while I watch Atlas drive Orion to insanity on his cock.
My cunt aches, my clit singing, but I crave more. The big alpha knots I’ve only seen in porn. My insides clench, craving the fullness I know the Wyverns could give me sooooo good.
Atlas pulling me onto his lap, letting me sink slowly down his cock, stretching so wide to swallow his knot.
His teeth in my neck, his bite claiming me for the pack forever…
My fingers slip inside my entrance, one, then two, then three, but they’re not enough, even as I pump harder and faster, chasing the pleasure that sinks me deeper and deeper into my body.
“Mine,” Atlas growls in my dreams, biting my neck as Orion whispers in my ear, “ours.”
I come, biting my forearm, strangling the desperate yelp that echoes in the bathroom.
Weak-kneed, I pant against the wall.
As the edge of my hunger fades, the post-nut clarity reminds me that I’m seriously fucking deluded.
There’s no scent on my body when I finally step out of the shower looking like a cooked lobster with a third-degree sunburn. My arm stings like a bitch.
Because oh yeah, gunshot.
I towel off, replace my bandage, then slather with the de-scenting lotion that I’m going to run out of way too soon. I need more. More bleach and pads and lies if I’m going to keep this truth hidden.
The truth that I want them.
The truth that I can never have them.
I want to enjoy the fantasy while I can, to hover near them and play pretend before I have to run back to the hole where I belong.
So, shower quickie aside, I can’t let down my guard. I can’t relax. Between healing and the huge meal I couldn’t stop myself from eating as Orion tempted me with sauces like my personal Tabasco angel, I’m not just drowsy.
