“I’m going to use my mouth until you forget how to say anything but my name. And then? I’m going to take you.” My hand slides down her hip, grip tightening possessively. “You give me your submission, little omega, and I’ll give you everything else.”
She trembles, and fuck—I feel it in my blood.
I glance at Carson. “Restrain her.”
His eyes flare with heat. “With pleasure.”
Willow gasps as Carson moves behind her, his hands slow but firm as he brings her wrists together—not behind her back, but in front, cradling them loosely in a silk tie he grabs off the couch. “You good, peaches?” he murmurs, voice warm against her ear.
“Yes,” she breathes.
Hunter steps in from the side, silent and predatory.
I point to the center of the couch. “Sit back. Pull her into your lap. Keep her steady.”
He obeys, sinking into the cushions with calculated ease. Carson gently guides Willow down into Hunter’s lap, her wrists still loosely bound in front of her. Hunter wraps one strong arm around her waist, his other hand spreading over her thigh.
The position is perfect—supportive, open, controlled. She's cradled against one alpha, restrained by another, and utterly exposed to me. Or she will be.
I flick my gaze to Carson. “Help her out of her jeans.”
He kneels in front of her, his hands resting lightly on herknees, his eyes searching hers with a lazy, cocky warmth. “You look like a dream, peaches,” he says. “You feel it? That hum under your skin?”
She swallows hard, nodding once.
Hunter shifts beneath her, tightening his grip, his mouth brushing her temple. “Let him in, princess. Let us in.”
The sight of the three of them makes my cock pulse inside my pants. Need settling low in my spine. I watch as Carson tugs first one leg, then the other, out of the tight jeans, leaving her lace panties in place.
Slick darkens the fabric telling me exactly how much she wants this. Her thighs press together as her scent spikes, rich and heady and sweet.
I move closer.
Predator slow.
Her eyes track to me, wide and dark and glittering. I settle into the couch beside them, one arm draped over the back, my other hand trailing down the line of her thigh until I reach the bend of her knee.
She jerks slightly beneath my touch—hyperaware. Her breath stutters.
“I want your eyes on me,” I say softly.
She looks.
“I want your body open.”
She shivers.
“And I want your permission.”
That’s the thing, always the thing. Control means nothing if it’s taken. I only want what she’s willing to give. But when she does give it—fuck, there’s no high like it.
“Yes,” she whispers.
My hand moves upward, over soft skin, between her thighs, parting her gently until I feel just how wet she is. Hunter holds her steady, and Carson leans in, his mouthbrushing her bound wrists with reverence, worshipping the way she lets herself be held in this way.
I press two fingers against her panties, and she moans, sharp and breathless. I slip her underwear to the side and slip my finger into her warmth. She gasps.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur. “Made to be unraveled.”
