Dane’s large hand wraps around my throat. He holds me there, gaze locking with mine, possessing me. His growl vibrates through me, making me shudder. “Ours,” he says, the single word carrying the weight of an oath.
I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out. My skin is too tight, too hot, too sensitive. Every touch, every breath feels amplified a thousand times. This isn’t how it was before. This is... more. Different.
“Please,” I whimper.
“She needs it,” Tristan says, his fingers joining Rett’s between my legs. “Look how wet she is.”
I should be embarrassed by his words, by how eagerly my body is responding, but all I feel is desperate hunger. I need more. I need all of them.
“Turn her over,” Rett commands, and suddenly I’m being flipped onto my stomach, four pairs of hands positioning me exactly how they want me.
I feel the first bite at the junction of my neck and shoulder. But unlike before, the sensation isn’t just intense; it’s overwhelming. Pleasure explodes through my body, making me cry out and buck against the mattress.
Before I can recover, Diego’s teeth find their spot on my neck, renewing his claim. Another wave of pleasure crashes over me, even stronger than the first. I’m trembling uncontrollably now, caught in a storm of sensation I can’t escape.
Tristan is next, and the pleasure builds to a point that’s almost unbearable, my entire body strung tight like a bow about to snap.
Then Dane’s teeth sink into the nape of my neck, his claiming mark completing the circle, and I feel something inside me shift. Change. Break open.
I’m not just being claimed. I’m being transformed.
The pleasure crests, and I feel Rett’s knot pressing against me, impossibly large, demanding entrance. I should tell him it won’t fit, but my body seems to know better. I’m opening for him, wanting more even though I know I’m not built to take it.
“Mine,” they growl in unison, the sound primal and possessive and perfect. “Ours.”
The wave breaks. Pleasure crashes through me with such force that it tears a scream from my throat, my entire body convulsing as the most intense orgasm of my life rips through me from head to toe.
I wake with a start, the scream still echoing in my ears.
For a moment, I’m completely disoriented. The dark bedroom, the unfamiliar shadows, the silken sheets tangled around my legs. None of it makes sense until I remember. The gallery break-in. Moving into the penthouse. The guest suite.
I’m alone in my bed, not surrounded by four alphas. There are no teeth at my neck, no hands on my body. Just me, breathing hard, my pajamas damp with sweat, and my underwear soaked through.
Holy shit.
I just had a sex dream so intense it made me orgasm in my sleep. About the four alphas whose penthouse I’m currently living in. The four alphas who will probably be able to smell every single thing that just happened to my body.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper to the empty room, pressing my hands to my burning cheeks.
I’ve had sex dreams before. Good ones, even. But nothing like this. Nothing so visceral, so real that I can still feel phantom hands on my skin, phantom teeth at my neck.
Before I can even begin to process what just happened, I hear it. The thundering of footsteps in the hallway, moving fast and getting closer.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
I barely have time to yank the sheets up to my chin before my bedroom door flies open, banging against the wall with enough force to make me jump.
Three alphas burst into the room like they’re storming a hostage situation. Rett bursts into the room first, his face a mask of cold fury, wielding a ridiculously heavy-looking floor lamp like a club. Tristan is right behind him, a heavy glass paperweight clutched in his hand. Diego follows, brandishing a... is that a cast-iron skillet?
All three of them are in various states of undress. Rett’s in boxers and an unbuttoned shirt, like he fell asleep in the middle of undressing. Diego’s wearing sleep pants and nothing else, his chest bare and surprisingly muscular. Tristan’s in what appears to be novelty boxers covered in tiny... are those tacos?
Under literally any other circumstances, I might have laughed. But right now, as they take in the scene of me, sitting up in bed, flushed, panting, and very obviously post-orgasmic, laughter is the last thing on my mind.
Their combined scents hit me like a Febreze ad. I don’t need a sensitive nose to sense the alarm, aggression, confusion, and underneath it all, something darker that makes the claiming marks on my neck pulse with renewed heat.
For what feels like an eternity, no one speaks. We just stare at each other in stunned, horrified silence. Me, clutching the sheet to my chest like it’s the last shred of my dignity.
Then Dane appears in the doorway. He’s not panicked. He’snot holding a weapon. He’s just standing there, in nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants, one hand braced against the doorframe. He takes one look at his brothers, who are still scanning my room for an intruder, and lets out a long-suffering sigh that is somehow the loudest thing in the room.
