It’s overwhelming—intense, primal—but safe. So safe.
Hunter holds me gently as Graham slumps forward, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
And Carson’s right there, pressing his lips to my temple. “Good girl, peaches.”
CHAPTER 51
Willow
I don’t knowhow long I lie there, cradled by the weight and warmth of their hands, but eventually we move. My body hums like a plucked string, overplayed and breathless but… whole. Soothed.
Graham carries me—carries me—into the bedroom. Still knotted and full, each step reminding me of the pleasure I just experienced.
The lights are dim. Carson unties my arms, releasing them. The sheets are cool against my back. Someone, Hunter, brushes my hair back from my forehead as if he can’t stop touching me. Carson’s hand smooths along my calf as he settles beside me, and Graham’s arms are braced on each side of me as he hovers above me.
I’m surrounded.
And when Graham finally pulls out, it’s slow. Careful. There’s no pain. Only warmth.
Only this strange sense of completion curling inside of me. It feels like how I’d think being stitched back together would feel.
I think I sigh. Or maybe I melt. Hard to tell.
“Color?” Carson murmurs from beside me.
“Still green.”
Hunter huffs out a breath. “Omega,” he mutters under his breath. Then he shifts, eyes scanning the room, looking for something.
I blink up at him. “What are you doing?”
He meets my eyes. “You need a nest.”
I blink again, surprised at how that hits me. How it lands. The words wrap around me, gentle and unexpected, pulling free an ache I can’t name.
“I—what?”
Hunter shrugs, but there’s something warm in his expression. “All omegas do. Might not need it every day, but after something like that?” He nods to the bed, to the bruises on my thighs I didn’t even realize happened in the moment, and the dazed look still swimming in my eyes. “You’re gonna want one. Even if you don’t realize it.”
“Softest thing I’ve ever heard him say,” Carson drawls, sliding down the bed until his head rests on my stomach. “Should’ve recorded it.”
“I’ll make one,” Graham says quietly. “You won’t have to lift a finger.”
Something clutches deep in my chest. And this time, it isn’t desire. It’s something heavier. Something that feels dangerously close to tears.
Loved. This is what loved feels like.
Not sweet or gentle—not with them. But safe. Grounded. Kept.
I’m not sure I can breathe around it.
Graham's hand strokes down my arm, anchoring me there, his lips brushing the crown of my head.
“You’re ours now, omega,” he whispers. “Let us take care of you.”
And somehow, for once, I don’t want to run.
I thinkI fell asleep for a few minutes because when I stir again, the bed is a little emptier. The room is dim, soft shadows dancing along the walls, but there’s movement—quiet and careful. I blink, lifting my head off Graham’s shoulder, and watch as Carson drags an armload of blankets from the linen closet. Hunter is pulling extra pillows from the couch, muttering something under his breath about "too firm" and "she likes the soft ones."
