“That’s it,” Theo murmurs. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work inside me. “Come for us, sweetheart. Take the edge off.”
I’m close already—pre-heat makes everything more intense, every touch magnified. Nate’s hand on my breast, Lucas’s mouth on mine, Theo’s fingers buried inside me. Their scents surrounding me, earth and honeysuckle and pine and something clean going dark with arousal.
“Please,” I whimper against Lucas’s lips. “Please, I need?—”
Theo crooks his fingers and presses hard on my clit, and I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me, pleasure crashing in waves. Theo works me through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing it out until I’m shaking and oversensitive and making sounds I’d be embarrassed about if I could think straight.
“Good girl,” Nate rumbles against my neck. Through the bond, his satisfaction pulses into me, warm and possessive. “That’s our omega.”
I come down slowly, Theo’s fingers still moving in gentle circles. The cramp that had been building is gone—for now.
“Better?” Lucas asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is wrecked. “But it won’t last.”
“We know.” Theo withdraws his fingers and I whimper at the loss. He brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, his eyes locked on mine. “We’ll do it again. As many times as you need.”
“Until the heat breaks,” Lucas adds. His hand is still under my shirt, stroking my skin. “Then you choose who you want first.”
Another cramp is already building, slower this time but inevitable. I press back into Nate, feeling his hard length against my ass—he’s been hard this whole time, I realize, but he hasn’t asked for anything. Just held me. Let the others take care of me.
“Your turn,” I say, reaching back for him.
“Not yet.” He catches my hand, brings it to his lips. “This is about you.”
“Nate—”
“When you’re in heat. When you’re ready.” He presses a kiss to my palm. “Right now, we take care of you.”
God. These men.
The next few hours blur together. They take turns—Theo with his clever fingers, Lucas with his mouth (and god, the sounds he makes when he’s between my thighs, like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted), Nate holding me through every orgasm, his purr vibrating against my back.
They talk too, between rounds. About the garden Theo’s been tending. About the paint colors they argued over when they built this room. About how Nate once threatened to throw a can of “dusty rose” through a window.
“It was mauve,” he mutters.
“Same thing.”
“They’re completely different colors.”
I laugh, even with Lucas’s head between my legs and another orgasm building. This is what pack is supposed to be. Taking care of each other. Pleasure and comfort and bickering about paint.
Then a cramp hits that’s different.
Sharper. Deeper. Like something inside me finally snapping.
I cry out. My scent explodes—honey and citrus going sharp and desperate and unmistakably omega-in-heat. Slick gushes between my thighs, so much of it, soaking through everything.
“Full heat,” Lucas breathes. “It’s starting.”
All three of them go rigid.
Their scents flood the air—pine and woodsmoke, earth and honeysuckle, something sharp and clinical—all going dark and thick with want. I can taste their arousal on my tongue. Feel Nate’s control straining through the bond. See the way Theo’s hands shake where they’re still tangled in my hair.
But they’re waiting.
