Dinner was delicious.
We ate, talked and laughed. They practiced signing, and when they got something wrong, I’d show them the correct way. Even Korbin attempted to sign basic words.
“Korbin has dishes tonight!” Lincoln announces, and Korbin rolls his eyes.
Milton takes my hand in his, helping me to stand as he guides me to the living room. I sit down on the couch, and Milton takes a seat beside me, but leaves some space between us.
My whole body feels warm, loose, and strangely soft, like my instincts have decided something before my brain can catch up.
Their giant sectional could easily fit six people without touching. I last about thirty seconds sitting where I am before Milton crooks a finger, motioning me to move closer to him.
I do.
He pulls me against his side, arm snug against mine, as he rests his hand beside my thigh. Warmth rushes through me immediately, instinctively. Lincoln settles down on the other side of me, arm resting along the back of the couch behind me—close enough that I feel the heat of him along my spine.
A few minutes later, Korbin steps into the room, pulls an oversized bean bag over, and sits on it in front of my legs.
I’m surrounded.
Their scents—stronger now, calmer somehow—wrap around me until I’m cocooned in them. Safe in them.
My omega instincts purr in happiness.
A low vibration thrums in my chest before I can stop it.
Milton’s eyebrows shoot up as his hand grips my thigh. My eyes turn to him at the same time he speaks. “Was that?—?”
No,I sign immediately, face hot.
My head shoots to Lincoln, who’s grinning, wicked and delighted.You sure?
Korbin's hand touches my knee as he looks at me smugly. “It was.”
I groan and try to hide my face with my hands, but Lincoln pulls them away.
I hate all of you.I pout.
Milton presses a kiss to the top of my head, laughing softly. “No, you don’t.”
Korbin shifts just enough that his knee brushes my leg. “Go ahead,” he says. “You’re safe.”
The purr rumbles again, louder this time. The air changes instantly. Sandalwood deepens, citrus sharpens and honeydew unfurls slow and steady, wrapping around me like a promise.
No one teases me for it.
They look at me with pride, approval, and lust. No, not lust, it’s love.
“Movie,” I change the subject. “You promised me a movie.”
Lincoln smiles at me, then picks up the remote from the end table and turns the television on. He flicks through the streaming apps and picks a television series for us to watch. I’ve seen it before, but I don’t tell them. I actually love the series. Too bad it’s over.
We sit there, content in our little group. Each of them take turns giving me small touches. Lincoln pulls a blanket over us,and I reposition so that my head rests on his shoulder as his fingers weave through my hair.
We don’t speak. Don’t sign. Just enjoy each others’ company as we watch Lost Girl.
At some point my eyes become heavy, and I start losing the battle to keep them open.
Someone—Lincoln, judging by the movement on the side he’s sitting on—tucks the blanket around me from where it fell down. Someone else runs a thumb along the back of my hand in languid, reassuring circles. And Milton puts a pillow behind my head.
