“This nest will never smell the same again,” Carson murmurs, dragging his nose along my jaw, kissing the corner of my mouth.
“Good,” I whisper, already breathless.
Graham’s hand curls around the back of my neck, his lips skimming my collarbone. “It shouldn’t,” he growls. “This is your home now. Our home. Our omega. Our scent.”
My name falls from their lips in groans and whispers, tender and wrecked.
And when I finally come apart, shaking, gasping, held in their arms, I feel myself settle into the space..
I’m here.
I’m theirs.
I’m not broken.
Not claimed like some prize.
I am whole.
I am home.
Time slips away.
The nest is a blur of warmth, kisses, soft moans, tangled limbs, and whispered names. I lose count of how many times I fall apart, how many times their hands bring me back together.
Eventually, my body gives out. Sated. Spent. Safe.
I curl between them, chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. Carson rubs lazy circles into my hip while Graham traces the curve of my spine with his knuckles. Hunter hasn’t said much—he rarely does—but I feel his gaze on me. Watching. Thinking.
Always thinking.
When I glance up at him, he’s already shifting to his feet.
He leans over, presses a kiss to my forehead, and says, “I’ll be back.”
I blink after him, dazed.
The nest rustles with his absence, and I almost protest—until I hear water running down the hall.
He’s drawing me a bath. Of course he is.
Carson chuckles softly next to me. “He pretends he’s not soft. But you? You turn him into a marshmallow.”
I crack one eye open. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he grins, reaching over to trail his fingers down my thigh. “You should’ve seen him after the first time you smiled at him. Full-on meltdown. He tried to rearrange the entire house just to make sure you’d be comfortable if you ever visited.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile gives me away.
A few minutes later, Hunter returns. He doesn’t speak, just scoops me into his arms as if I’m weightless. My head falls against his shoulder, and I let myself be carried.
The hallway is quiet.
The world feels slower here. Softer.
He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot.
Inside, the light is dim. The deep clawfoot tub is nearly full, steam curling from the surface. The water is tinted soft pink from rose salts. The same type I have in my apartment. It makes my stomach flip over. He’s really been paying attention. A towel is laid out on the bench nearby. Another is folded perfectly for my hair. There’s even a little cup with raspberries next to the tub just in case I want something sweet.
