And for the next hour, as the pre-heat builds and her scent drives us slowly insane with need, we build her the nest she deserves.
Not because we're trying to manipulate her.
Not because we're forcing anything.
But because she's ours, and we're hers, and I finally—finally—stopped being a coward long enough to prove it.
forty
Vespera
Thenesthelps.
I don't want it to. Don't want to admit that something so simple like soft fabrics arranged right, saturated with their scents, can make the burning ease even slightly. But it does.
The cashmere is softer than anything I've ever touched. The silk cool against my overheated skin. The weighted blanket grounds me when everything else feels like I'm floating away. And their scents—sandalwood and cedar and mint all woven together—make my body relax in ways I can't control.
"Better?" Oakley asks softly.
I nod, unable to form words. The heat is building again, that brief clarity from our conversation already fading. My skin feels too tight. Every nerve ending is screaming. The ache between my legs is becoming unbearable.
I shift in the nest, trying to find relief. Slick is coating my thighs, soaking into the expensive fabrics. I should beembarrassed. Should care that I'm making a mess of Dorian's bed, of these materials that probably cost more than my entire scholarship.
I don't.
All I can focus on is the need. The empty, aching need that no amount of fabric or scent can fill.
"Hurts," I manage, the word coming out broken. "It hurts so much."
"I know, baby." Dorian's voice is rough. "We're going to help. But you need to tell us what you need. We're not—" He cuts off, jaw clenching. "We're not going to assume. Not this time."
The reference to the pack house claiming makes something twist in my chest. That first heat when they'd taken me without really asking, when the bonds had formed whether I wanted them or not.
This is different. They're trying to make it different.
"Touch me." The words tumble out desperate and needy. "Please. I need—I can't—"
Another wave hits and I'm curling in on myself, whimpering. The nest isn't enough anymore. Their scents aren't enough. I need skin. Need contact. Need them inside me filling the awful emptiness.
"Okay." Dorian climbs onto the bed, moving slowly like I'm something fragile. "Okay, sweetheart. We've got you."
His hands are on me—one cupping my face, the other sliding down my side. Touch, simple contact, but it feels like lightning. My body arches into it, craving more.
"Tell me," he says, thumb brushing my lower lip. "Tell me exactly what you need."
"You." I turn my head, catching his thumb between my teeth. Bite down hard enough to make him growl. "All of you. Need to be full. Need—" A sob chokes me. "Please."
"Christ," Oakley breathes from somewhere behind me. "She's so fucking perfect like this."
Corvus is unnaturally still, watching with those calculating eyes. But his arousal is sharp mint cutting through everything else. The bulge straining his slacks is obvious.
They're all barely holding on.
Good. I don't want control right now. Don't want careful or gentle. I want them as desperate as I am.
"Clothes off," I demand, finding some authority even through the heat haze. "All of you. Now."
Dorian's eyes flash—surprised, aroused. "Bossy little omega."
