“I woke up missing you,” I say. “I’m falling so damn hard for you, Bayleigh Lennox.”
Her breath catches, and her shoulders drop. She melts under my hands like frost in sunlight. She closes her eyes for a second and leans into my touch, trusting me to hold her steady.
When she opens them again, they shine with something fragile and hopeful.
“I was worried being intimate with Milton would change things with us,” she admits.
“You don’t have to choose, Baby. We’re a pack.”
Then I ask the question that has been sitting heavy on my tongue.
“Do you want Korbin, too?”
Her eyes go wide. Her cheeks burn a deep pink. She looks down, then looks up again, then signs one small word.
Yes.
Her fingers shape the word so softly it almost breaks me. That tiny yes hits with the force of something much bigger. Something inevitable. Something that has been waiting patiently beneath every look she’s given him, every time her scent sharpened when he entered a room, every moment she feigned she didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked her.
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in the answer she just gave me. Her scent flickers, blooming bright and sweet between us, and I feel the pack bond pull tight like it just clicked into place. But it won’t be complete until she’s part of our pack as our omega.
I grab the drink carrier, then take her hand and guide her inside. Milton is already hovering near the hallway, acting like he isn’t waiting to see how she looks, how she smells, how she’s holding herself after last night. Korbin plays like he doesn’t notice her scent harder than he should, arms crossed, jaw tense, but his eyes betray him. They track her like magnets.
She stops just inside the doorway, caught suddenly between all three of us. The bag shifts in her hands as nerves settle over her shoulders. She looks between us, and the air thickens again, the same way it did in her bedroom yesterday, the same way it always does when instinct takes the wheel.
I squeeze her hand once. She looks up at me.
She signs as she speaks, fingers trembling. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to ruin anything. You three could have any omega. One without any defects.”
I shake my head and pull her close enough her chest brushes mine. “You won’t. You couldn’t. The only thing that hurts is when you think you need to pull away. And you’re not defective, you’re fucking perfect. And if you say some shit like that again I might consider spanking your ass.”
She blushes, and the smell of her slick fills the air at my words. I don’t care how many times I have to remind her or reiterate that she is ours. I want no one else and never will.
Milton steps in first. Not touching her, just close enough that she can probably feel the heat coming off him. His scent lifts, soft grapefruit curling around her like a low hum. His eyes are warm in a way I’ve rarely seen on him.
“You okay, Baby?” he asks, voice low.
She nods, cheeks warming. Her shoulders loosen.
Korbin stands behind her, just far enough for her to move but close enough she knows exactly where he is without turning around. His peach scent sharpens, instinct flaring even though he keeps his expression controlled.
I gesture toward the living room. “Come sit with us.”
She follows, steps light, sleeves slipping over her hands as she hugs her arms close like she’s bracing against something only she can feel.
I settle on the couch and pull her gently onto my lap. She comes willingly, knees bracketing my hips, thighs closing around me like her body already knows that this is where she belongs. Her breath fans across my jaw as she leans in, her fingers tracing the corner of my mouth like she’s memorizing it.
She murmurs, voice barely there, “You mean it? All of you?”
My hands slide up her spine, thumbs brushing the soft dip of her waist. “Every word. We told you we wanted to court you. Milton just took you out first. Hell, your parents gave their approval. Were you not there, Pretty Omega? Or did Milton just make you forget all that happened?”
That earns a tiny breath of a laugh from her, but it flickers out as quickly as it appeared. Her shoulders draw inward, her fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. When she finally lifts her gaze to mine, there’s something raw in it. Not doubt in me. Doubt in herself.
“I didn’t forget. Not any of it. You were my first. That meant something to me. I just… I don’t want you to think I’m choosing wrong or choosing too fast. I don’t want you to think last night changes what we said about courting.”
She swallows hard, breath trembling. “I guess it’s my past talking. I’ve been rejected before. I’ve been easy to walk away from. And I know this is new, and a lot, and maybe I’m too much. I just needed to hear you say you still want this. That you still want me.”
The confession fractures something in my chest. Not anger. Not jealousy. A deep ache that she even has to wonder.
