Because that's what this is really about, isn't it? Not the blankets or the tea or the perfect thread count. They're asking ifI'll let them help. If I'll choose them during my heat instead of suffering alone.
After everything they've done.
After yesterday's movie night where I fell asleep on Dorian's chest.
After this morning when I set my terms and they agreed.
The next wave crashes over me. Harder. The ache between my legs intensifies into something demanding. Slick coats my thighs.
My body has already decided.
Now my mind needs to catch up.
"Okay," I breathe. "Okay. But my rules still stand. I'm in control. What happens, when it happens—my choice. All of it."
"Understood," all three say in unison.
"And—" I swallow hard. "And if I say stop, you stop. Immediately. No matter what."
"Of course," Oakley says.
"Always," from Corvus.
Dorian nods. "You have my word."
The heat is building faster now. Minutes, maybe. Not the hour I predicted.
"Then help me," I say.
And for the first time since they claimed me in that study room, I make the choice to let them.
Not because biology demands it.
Not because I'm trapped.
Because yesterday showed me they're capable of being better. And today, they proved they're willing to try.
It's not forgiveness.
But maybe it's enough to survive this heat together instead of burning through it alone.
Dorian helps me into the nest. The cashmere is as soft as it looks. The weighted blanket grounds me immediately. Theirscents surround me—sandalwood and cedar and mint all woven together—and instead of fighting it, I let myself sink into it.
"Better?" Oakley asks.
"Yes," I admit.
Because it is.
And that terrifies me almost as much as the heat building in my blood.
nineteen
Vespera
Thestormarrivesafterlunch.
My skin starts tingling. The fabric of my shirt dragging across my nipples makes me gasp. Between my thighs, warmth builds. Slickness.
