I nod.
Then Carson is beside me, tilting my chin to him and kissing me. He hums with pleasure and licks into my mouth. Hunter drops down close behind me, warm and steady, his breath against the back of my neck. Graham’s hands never leave my waist.
Their movements are slow, unrushed. As if we have all the time in the world.
And in this nest, right now—we do.
Carson’s mouth moves down my neck, his fingers toying with the hem of my shirt, waiting for a signal. I give it to him by lifting my arms. The shirt slips away, and the tension shifts—heavier, hotter.
Hunter kneels behind me, his chest brushing my back ashis hands trail slowly up my spine. Carson shifts closer at my side, his touch light but deliberate.
Graham dips his head, brushing a kiss against my shoulder, his voice low. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I want this.”
That’s all he needs.
Hunter’s fingers slide beneath the band of my bra, unfastening it with ease. Carson leans in and drags his nose along my stomach, his breath warm against my skin. I tremble before they even finish undressing me.
It’s not rushed.
It’s worship.
They touch me as if I’m everything. As if every inch of my skin is a story they’ve been waiting their whole lives to learn.
Lips trail down my hips, over the hollow of my collarbone, along the curve of my ribs. Each kiss is deliberate, almost greedy, leaving heat in its wake.
Hands roam, rough and careful all at once. Mapping scars. Counting freckles. Memorizing the places no one else ever bothered to notice. Their palms drag over the soft of my stomach, the dip of my waist, the swell of my thighs—every touch a vow that nothing will be forgotten, nothing overlooked.
My breath shudders out. I’m trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of being seen this way—held, studied, claimed. Their attention is relentless. Worship tangled up with hunger.
Fingers curl against my skin, grounding me while their mouths keep moving, exploring. A kiss to the inside of my wrist, hot breath against the pulse in my neck.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. They’re pulling me apart piece by piece, and I don’t want them to stop.
The nest shifts beneath us as we move—pillows collapsing, blankets tangling, heat and skin pressing closer withevery second. My body melts into theirs, surrounded, caged, loved.
And then I catch it. Their musk.
It’s everywhere, thick in the air, already soaked into the fabric of this space. Graham’s steadiness. Hunter’s raw edge. Carson’s sharp sweetness. Woven into the pillows, pressed into the blankets, clinging to the walls until it feels impossible to breathe without drowning in them. This isn’t just a room anymore—it’s theirs. Claimed long before I ever crawled in.
My perfume hasn’t had the chance to mix, to settle. To say I belong here, too.
Until now.
Graham’s mouth crashes into mine, deep and possessive, stealing my breath and leaving me trembling. Hunter’s musk surges around me, primal and unrelenting, wrapping tight as if he’s sealing me into the circle of them. Carson’s fingers slip between my thighs, skilled and merciless, dragging a moan from me so raw it feels like I’ll shatter apart in their hands.
I arch, nails digging into shoulders, ribs, anything I can hold onto as they close in tighter. Graham devours my mouth, Hunter’s chest cages me from behind, and Carson’s touch pushes me higher, relentless.
The nest is no longer just a space. It’s a battlefield and a sanctuary, torn between the feral and the tender. Every breath I take is them. Every inch of me is theirs.
The room changes.
The air changes.
The nest soaks in my scent—my arousal, my pleasure, my bond—and blends it with theirs until it’s not theirs anymore.
It’s ours.
