Emery steps closer, placing a hand on Beau’s shoulder again—then reaches for me too, fingers brushing my forearm.
The contact is light.
The effect is not.
“Then stay,” she says softly. “Both of you.”
I do.
Something in the way she says it hits somewhere deeper than logic, and maybe I’m not thinking clearly, but it feels like it's not just a command, it’s aninvitation.
And fuck if I don’t want to be the kind of alpha who answers when she calls.
Beau’s still planted on that bench, his arms flexing like it’s taking everything he’s got not to throw a punch—or fuck me up in some other way, and maybe I’d let him. Maybe I want him to.
My instincts are all over the place, burning up under my skin.
Fight or fuck.
Ruin or claim.
But then she moves between us again, drawing all that heat and static toward her.
“You can both stay.”
The gravity of that offer weighs down on me, and she looks at me first. Her lashes are thick, her lips slightly parted, and her scent is all over this room now. It’s not just that it’s slick, or heat, or omega; it’shers: sweet and demanding and absolutely drenched in want.
For both of us.
“Are you going to kiss me,” she murmurs, “or do I have to kiss you?”
I don’t even think; I justmove.
My hand finds the back of her neck and I lower my mouth to hers, brushing first in a barely-there touch just to feel that first jolt of contact. Then harder, more insistent, mouth slanting as my fingers tighten against her throat. She opens for me, her lips soft and tongue teasing mine, and I fall into it like a man starved.
She whimpers against me, and I swear I could come from that alone.
I pull back because I have to; because if I don’t, I’m going to lose whatever grip on control I’ve got left, and she doesn’t even pause for breath. Her lips are still wet from our kiss as she turns to Beau, and then she kisses him.
And I know deep down that I should look away, that I should feel something ugly twist in my chest, but I don’t.
Iwatch.
Beau’s hands are possessive from the start, fisting on her waist and holding her still as he leans down into her. His mouth is rougher,hungrier, even; not just kissing her, but staking a claim.
And I get it. I feel the same.
When she pulls back, her lips are shiny and swollen, her chest rising fast with every breath. She looks between the two of us, and I swear it’s almost as though she’s deciding whether she should command us again, or just strip us both where we stand.
"Clothes off,” she says, breathless but sure. “Now.”
Eager to please, I yank my hoodie over my head and toss it to the floor. My shirt comes next, damp with sweat.
I’m vaguely aware of Beau doing the same, peeling off his joggers and standing proud and broad and hard like this is some kind of faceoff, butshesteals the air out of my lungs.
She undresses too—her top first, then the tight sports bra, peeled up over flushed skin. Her tits bounce free, nipples tight, and my mouth waters at the sight. Then, it’s her leggings: one hip at a time until she’s bare in front of us, her thighs slick and shining with arousal, the inside of them already sticky with the evidence of how badly she needs us.
I don’t even feel jealous when she turns to Beau first. I’m too fucking lust-drunk on the sight of her, now bare and kneeling on the treatment bench, to care about anything but how fast I can get inside her next.
