I open my mouth without hesitation, giving him everything he silently asks for—and the look on his face as I do is something I’ll never forget.
His eyes flutter for a second, jaw clenched as he exhales a sharp curse. “Jesus... Berk.”
And in that moment, I’ve never felt more powerful. More adored. Moretheirs.
I may not have experience, but I’ve read enough to know what Iwant. And the moment I hum around him in pleasure, Ronan curses under his breath—low and ragged. The sound sends a chain reaction through all of them, their bodies tightening, their breathing turning to growls and gasps as tension climbs faster.
Emerson pulls me tighter against him, holding me firmly, his muscles locked as he shifts beneath me—just enough to grind upward at the perfect angle. The pressure hits a spot that sends my vision spinning, a spark striking deep in my core.
Rowen’s hands grip my hips, then glide lower, squeezing and molding me like he’s desperate to feel every part of me. He pulls me back into him, adding pressure that only intensifies the friction building between us.
Ronan senses everything—every twitch, every breath—and gently guides me deeper, not out of control, but out of instinct. Because he knows I can take it. Because Iwantto.
Emerson shifts again, his hips tilting just right, and the second his body presses against that aching spot with purpose, it detonates something inside me.
My release hits hard and fast, stars flashing behind my eyes. If Ronan weren’t so deeply anchored, muffling my cry, the entire neighborhood might’ve heard me come undone.
Emerson groans against my skin, burying his face in my neck as his own body shudders with release, the heat spreading between us, shared and shameless.
Behind me, Rowen presses forward, breath stuttering, hips moving in a desperate rhythm until a broken sound escapes him. The warmth of his release lands across my lower back, hot and lingering.
He doesn’t rush. Instead, one hand traces over the mess he’s left behind, dragging his fingers slowly through it like he’s branding me—marking the moment, the connection, theclaim.
Then, gently, reverently, he leans forward and presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. A silent promise. A quiet,I’m yours.
Ronan’s grip tightens gently in my hair, grounding us both with the intensity of the moment. I’m grateful I can breathe through my nose, because the need—mine and his—is thick in the air between us. I want to give him everything, and from the way he groans, I am.
A shocked gasp escapes him when my tongue drags slowly along the underside, a tremor rolling through his body. The moment I add pressure, he’s gone—his breath catches, and then he’s unraveling, low curses spilling from his lips.
“Berk...fuuuck...” he rasps, his voice frayed at the edges. His fingers flex in my hair, not harsh—just holding on as he falls apart, his body jerking once before he finally lets go completely.
When it’s over, his touch softens, trailing through my hair like a thank you. He exhales hard, like I just pulled the air straight from his lungs, and leans back with a look that makes my heart ache in the best way.
“You almost killed me,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, heavy with satisfaction. “Seriously, you’re dangerous.”
I grin up at him, flushed and breathless, and his gaze softens even more, like I’ve hung the stars just for him.
Behind me, Rowen is still close, steady and quiet, his presence constant. His hands are warm as he guides me back onto the couch, helping me settle among them. My body is spent, my skin still buzzing, and every part of me feels held—touched, loved,claimed.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and soft laughter, breathless and flushed, recovering from the most intense moment of my life.
And as I lie there, cocooned in warmth and the steady rhythm of their heartbeats, I know one thing for sure:
If this is what being theirs feels like... I never want to leave.
Chapter Five
Ronan
Blissed out.
That’s the only way to describe what’s taken over my entire system. It’s like every fuse in my body has short-circuited, and I’m just lying here, floating somewhere between euphoria and disbelief.
Berkley Monroe is curled against my side, all flushed cheeks and sleepy smiles, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. Her hair’s a little wild, her lips kiss-bitten, and her skin still humming with the heat of everything we just did. And all I can think is:Mine.
No. Ours.
But if I’m being honest? I’ve always claimed her. Long before this. Long before any of us had the guts to say it out loud.
