Adrian leans in, claiming her mouth in a slow, thorough kiss that has her sighing against his lips. “No rush,” he agrees when he pulls back, eyes dark with intention.
The atmosphere shifts, morning drowsiness giving way to something more deliberate, more focused. Elle stretches between us, her body arching like a cat seeking contact. “In that case,” she says, reaching for Adrian’s hand and guiding it to her breast, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”
What follows is unhurried, almost reverent—so different from the frantic need of her heat or the passionate claiming of our first nights after. Adrian’s mouth maps the curve of her neck while Caleb’s hands explore the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. I content myself with watching at first, observing the play of pleasure across her features as they touch her, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her eyes flutter closed.
When she reaches for me, I go willingly, allowing her to guide me until I’m kneeling between her spread thighs. Adrian shifts toaccommodate me, his mouth never leaving her skin as he moves to her breast, taking a nipple between his lips. Caleb props himself on one elbow, watching with heated eyes as his free hand continues its exploration of her body.
“Please,” Elle whispers, her dark eyes holding mine as she reaches to guide me inside her. “I want to feel you, Miles.”
I enter her slowly, savoring the tight, wet heat of her body welcoming me. Her legs wrap around my waist, urging me deeper, and I comply, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth thrust that has her gasping my name. The sensation is exquisite—her warmth surrounding me, Adrian’s shoulder pressed against mine as he continues to worship her breasts, Caleb’s hand occasionally brushing mine as we both seek to pleasure her.
I establish a measured pace, each thrust deep and deliberate. Elle responds beautifully, her body rising to meet mine, her pleasure evident in every soft moan, every tightening of her fingers against my shoulders. Caleb captures her mouth in a kiss that swallows her sounds, while Adrian’s attention shifts to her other breast, ensuring no part of her goes untouched.
The dynamic between us has evolved from those first desperate couplings during her heat. We move together now with practiced coordination, each knowing his role in Elle’s pleasure, each finding satisfaction in the collective effort to unravel her completely. I watch her face as the tension builds within her, cataloging each flutter of her eyelashes, each hitch in her breath.
“Close,” she whispers against Caleb’s mouth. “So close.”
Adrian’s hand slides between our bodies, finding the spot where she needs him most, circling with precise pressure that hasher arching off the bed. The sight of her coming apart beneath our combined attention pushes me toward my own release. I maintain control, waiting, wanting to feel her climax around me before I allow myself to follow.
When it happens, it’s beautiful—her eyes wide and locked on mine, her body tensing then pulsing around me, her lips parting on a silent cry that Caleb captures with his mouth. The rippling sensation of her inner muscles triggers my own orgasm, pleasure cascading through me as I empty myself inside her, marking her with my scent one final time before we return to the real world.
We lie tangled together afterward, catching our breath, no one willing to be the first to break contact. Eventually, practicality prevails—the flight awaits, responsibilities can only be deferred so long. We shower in pairs to save time, Elle with Adrian first, then Caleb, while I order breakfast and check that our luggage is prepared for departure.
The transition from lovers back to professionals happens gradually—Elle’s hair twisted into its severe bun, Adrian’s tie knotted with perfect precision, Caleb’s casual charm reset to its default setting, my own composed exterior reasserted. Yet beneath these familiar facades, something fundamental has shifted. The masks fit differently now, sitting atop identities that have been irrevocably altered by what we’ve shared.
The private jet waits on the tarmac, sleek and gleaming in the midday sun. We board in our established order—Adrian first, then Elle, Caleb, and finally me. The interior is familiar, the layout unchanged from our outbound flight, yet the atmosphere feels entirely different. This time, Adrian takes the seat beside Elle, while Caleb and I position ourselves across from them. Thearrangement feels natural, balanced, like pieces finding their proper alignment.
As the jet taxis for takeoff, Elle reviews notes on her tablet, the consummate professional once more. Yet her scent betrays her—beneath the blockers and designer perfume lingers the unmistakable evidence of our morning activities, our combined markers intertwined with her natural vanilla and coconut notes.
Adrian notices it too, his nostrils flaring slightly as he leans toward her to view something on her screen. The movement brings him close enough that his shoulder brushes mine where I’ve leaned forward ostensibly to retrieve a water bottle. The contact is brief but deliberate, his scent mingling with Elle’s, with mine, a subtle exchange that continues as Caleb joins the pretense, leaning across to ask about the summit follow-up schedule.
We orbit around her like this, finding excuses for proximity, for the sharing of space and scent that reinforces our unusual bond. If the flight attendant notices the unusual dynamics, she gives no indication, professional discretion masking any curiosity.
“It’s strange,” Elle says once we’re at cruising altitude, her voice pitched low for our ears only. “Before all this, I had such strict rules about scent.”
“Rules?” Caleb prompts, genuine interest in his tone.
She nods, a slight smile touching her lips. “Never let an Alpha stand close enough to scent you. Always wear blockers, even during off hours. No personal products with Omega-forward notes. Maintain physical distance in all professional interactions.” She ticks them off like items on a checklist. “I had a whole system designed to keep Alphas at arm’s length.”
“Effective strategies,” I observe, understanding the necessity of such boundaries in our Alpha-dominated industry.
“They were,” she agrees. “Until the storm. Until you three.”
Adrian studies her, his gaze thoughtful. “And now? What are your rules now, Elle?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with significance beyond the simple words. Elle looks at each of us in turn, something considering in her expression.
“Some rules,” she says finally, “are meant to be rewritten.”
The simple statement sends warmth spreading through my chest, a satisfaction deeper than any business success could provide. Across from me, Caleb’s mouth curves in a genuine smile, while Adrian’s posture relaxes almost imperceptibly.
As the jet carries us homeward, I observe the subtle ways we’ve rearranged ourselves around Elle, the invisible threads connecting us even when physically separated. The realization settles over me with calm certainty: we’re not rivals anymore, Adrian, Caleb, and I. We’re hers. Completely and without reservation.
And judging by the contentment radiating from her as she works between us, surrounded by our protective presence, she is equally, unquestionably ours.
epilogue
. . .
