“Food first,” Stefano agreed, guiding me back down to sit on the sleeping bags. “But you need to wash up before eating. You’re still carrying yesterday’s stress sweat.”
Right. Like that’s the only thing I’m carrying from yesterday. I probably smell like arousal and alpha scent and poor life choices.
“We should wash up before breaking camp,” Matteo announced. “The pond water will be refreshing.”
I stared at him in disbelief, my brain struggling to process what he was suggesting. “You expect me to take a communalbath with you three? After last night? Absolutely not. I’ll stay dirty, thanks. Consider it my new aesthetic—eau de post-sexual-trauma.”
“Not an option,” Stefano said, in that tone that suggested further argument was pointless. “Especially not in your current condition. You can barely stand, let alone handle bathing alone safely.”
“I can handle a bath,” I protested, even as my hands trembled slightly from the effort of staying upright. “I’ve been bathing successfully for twenty-one years without alpha supervision. It’s soap and water, not rocket science.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Marco said with obvious amusement, already gathering his own supplies. “Remember yesterday’s swimming lesson? Nearly drowned while trying to escape.”
Like nearly drowning while being molested by a naked alpha constitutes education. Though the memory of being pressed against Stefano’s wet, naked body is making heat curl in my stomach despite my best efforts.
“That was different,” I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest in what I hoped was a defiant gesture rather than an attempt to hold myself together. “That was a tactical retreat that went wrong. This is just… hygiene.”
“Hygiene that you can’t manage alone right now,” Stefano pointed out with infuriating logic. “What happens if you get dizzy in the water? If you lose your footing?”
The thought of another near-drowning experience sent a chill down my spine, but admitting that felt like surrendering ground I couldn’t afford to lose.
“Then I’ll die clean,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster while swaying slightly. “At least my corpse will smell better than my current situation.”
“Not happening,” Marco said with finality, moving toward the tent entrance. “Besides, after last night, modesty seems a bit… redundant, don’t you think?”
Right. Because having my mouth thoroughly claimed and coming apart in their hands means I’ve somehow forfeited the right to privacy. Alpha logic at its finest.
“Last night was…” I struggled for words that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete hypocrite. “That was different. That was biological necessity. This is just you three being perverts who want to see me naked again.”
“We are definitely perverts who want to see you naked again,” Marco agreed with shameless honesty that somehow made it worse. “But you also genuinely need help right now, and we’re not letting you drown because of wounded pride.”
Like my dignity hasn’t been systematically demolished over the past twenty-four hours. Though he’s not wrong about needing help—I can barely stand without swaying.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, seeing no way around the situation that didn’t involve further humiliation. “But if any of you try anything inappropriate, I’m drowning myself out of spite.”
“Noted,” Stefano said, rising smoothly to gather his own bathing supplies. “Though I should point out that after last night, our definition of ‘appropriate’ might have… evolved.”
The way he said it—like last night had fundamentally changed the rules between us—sent both anticipation and dread spiraling through my exhausted system.
Evolved. Right. Like they needed any more excuses to push boundaries I’m apparently incapable of maintaining.
Before I could formulate a response that wouldn’t reveal how much his words affected me, Stefano scooped me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weighed nothing.
“Put me down!” I protested automatically, though part of me was secretly relieved not to have to navigate walking to the pond on unsteady legs. “I can walk! This carrying fetish of yours is getting out of hand.”
“You tried walking,” he reminded me, heading toward the tent entrance with the others following. “It didn’t go well. Consider this damage control.”
Damage control. Like I’m some kind of disaster waiting to happen. Which, given recent events, might not be entirely inaccurate.
The morning air hit my face as we emerged from the tent, and I had to admit it felt good after the close confines of sleeping surrounded by alpha body heat. The dogs bounded ahead with obvious excitement about the prospect of water, their tails wagging like furry flags of betrayal.
Even the dogs are looking forward to this. Probably hoping for another entertaining display of omega panic and poor decision-making.
As we approached the pond, I could see the water sparkling in the morning sunlight, looking deceptively peaceful and definitely not like the scene of yesterday’s humiliation. But all I could think about was what was about to happen—being naked and vulnerable with three alphas who had already proven they could turn my brain to mush with a single touch.
This is going to be a disaster. An absolute, unmitigated disaster. And the worst part? Some traitorous part of me is looking forward to it.
Stefano set me down at the water’s edge but kept both hands on my shoulders as my legs immediately protested the transfer of weight. The world swayed slightly, and I had to grab on to his forearms for balance.
