"You just took an Alpha load and a knot, love. You’re a bit more than alive."
"System upgrade," Kit corrected, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I tried to move, but Alfie was still locked inside me. The panic should have hit then. The claustrophobia. Thetrappedfeeling.
But it didn't come.
Instead, I felt... anchored.
I closed my eyes, letting the darkness and the scent of the pack wash over me.
"Kiss me, Euan," I murmured as another wave of heat began to crest.
The kiss was a contract seal, cool lips against the fever-hot mess of mine, tasting of control and toasted tea.
But below the waist, the dynamic was shifting. Alfie let out a shattered, what-sounding groan against my neck as his knot finally began to deflate. The pressure inside me, that feelingof being completely filled and pinned to the mattress, started to recede. It didn't release all at once; it was a slow, sliding withdrawal of mass that left my nerves screaming at the loss of signal.
"Staying close," Alfie mumbled, his voice thick and slurring with the drop. He pulled back, the friction slick and heavy, and finally slipped free.
The emptiness hit me like a kick drum to the gut. A hollow ache that demanded to be filled immediately. My hips jerked up, chasing him on instinct, searching for the weight that had just vanished.
"Easy, love," Kit rumbled from behind me. His grip on my waist tightened, not to restrain, but to anchor. His chest was a solid wall of espresso-scented heat against my back, absorbing my tremors. "We're rotating. Signal chain is re-routing. Don't panic."
Alfie collapsed to the side, sprawling into the pile of clothes that made up the nest, panting like he’d just run a marathon. He reached out blindly, his hand landing on my thigh, tapping a chaotic rhythm of reassurance.
"Euan," I gasped, head falling back against Kit’s shoulder. The colors in my vision were shifting from Alfie’s velvet indigo to a sharp, clean slate-grey. "Now. Please. The void is... it’s too loud."
Euan was already there. He moved into the space Alfie had vacated with a terrifying, predator-like fluidity. He didn't scramble. He adjusted his position, knees sinking into the duvet, lining himself up with the precision of someone calibrating a laser.
He loomed over me, blocking out the dim lights of the bus. His silhouette was sharp, defined. His scent—roasted green tea and the snap of sesame brittle—flooded my intake, calming the frantic edge of the heat just enough to let me focus.
"Assess," he commanded, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it, the Scots burr heavy on the vowels. He placed his hands on my knees, pushing them wider, exposing me to the cool air and his intense gaze. "Are you injured? Is there soreness?"
"Data later," I snapped, reaching for him. "Input now."
"Confirming input," he whispered.
He didn't surge forward like Alfie. He leaned in, his hands sliding up my thighs with agonizing slowness, his thumbs pressing into the muscle, mapping the terrain. He looked down at me, at the slick mess on my thighs, at the swollen, aching center of me, and his pupils were so wide his eyes looked black.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "Absolute structural perfection."
Then he entered me.
It was a study in calculated devastation. He pushed inside slowly, stretching me open again, filling the void inch by agonizing inch. He was thicker than Alfie, or maybe it just felt that way because of the speed. He let me feel every millimeter of the invasion, forcing my body to adjust, to accommodate, to accept.
"Euan," I cried out, my nails digging into his forearms. "Faster."
"Negative," he gritted out, holding himself still buried deep inside me. He was shaking, the vibration traveling straight into my core. "We establish the baseline. We verify the connection."
He withdrew almost all the way, leaving me gasping at the loss, then slid back in with a heavy, steady stroke that hit the exact center of my pleasure.
Thump.
"There," he noted, watching my face contort.
Thump.
"And there."
