“Please,” Geoffrey added. “Oh, please, I need… I need …”
“Oui, oui,” Matthieu chanted. “C’est parfait.” One of his hands gripped Geoffrey’s hips with deceptive strength while the other worked busily, jerking Geoffrey off. “Come,mes dragons.Come in me. Come for me.”
Geoffrey wasn’t sure which one of them came first because, in addition to his own pleasure, he felt that of the other two mirrored over and over into seemingly infinite joy that threatened to tear him apart.
“Non, non. We have you. We have you.” Matthieu pulled out of Geoffrey, then rubbed his seed into Geoffrey’s skin. “So pretty,” he murmured. “And mine.”
Ian, half-sprawled and half-collapsed onto the bed, took the knotted Matthieu with him. “Ours,” he said.
Geoffrey let his wobbly limbs carry him down to the soft sheets. He smelled of Ian and Matthieu, and it was, indeed, perfect.
“Ours,” Matthieu agreed, sounding sleepy. “Always ours.”
Over an undefined period of time, they slept, fucked, cuddled, talked, and made love all over again. Grace brought them water, lemon wedges, and wet wipes, and they drank what seemed like gallons, then bathed, and fucked, and napped. When Matthieu was tender and sore, Geoffrey healed him with his touch. They took turns with him, and each other, over and over and over, until none of the three of them knew where one man ended and another began.
They melded more than just their bodies, Geoffrey knew. Together, they had melded their souls.
“I want your eggs inside me,” Matthieu said at one point. “I never thought I’d think that, much less say it, butc’est vrai.”
“Or babies,” Ian said. “Pretty omegas, just like you.”
Geoffrey felt a bit of Matthieu that still had niggling doubts thaw, then melt entirely. “Oui,” he said, with just the suggestion of a catch to his voice. “I want your children. I want them very much.”
And Geoffrey, who had told himself for centuries that he was happy to always be an uncle and never a sire, found himself agreeing. Egg or omega, he wanted whatever children Matthieu would bear them.
“Me, too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than anything.”
23
Matthieu
Three days after Matthieu’s seventeenth birthday, while tending to the gardens outside his cloister, a bead of sweat had plummeted from his forehead and landed on the petals of a marigold. Frowning, he’d sat back on his haunches, wiped his brow, and looked across the grounds to where Chloe and Juliette were weeding. Chloe, cheeks pink with delight, lifted the neckline of her sweater to cover her nose. An hour before, Matthieu wouldn’t have blamed her—it had been a cool morning, and he’d thought several times about going back inside to put on a second layer. But in that second? He hadn’t understood how Chloe could be cold.
It was hot. So impossibly hot.
Half an hour later, entirely nude, ass slick with his first heat, Matthieu had slid down the side of one of the cloister’s stone bathtubs into ice-cold water and wept while he waited for his suppressants to kick in. It had been one of the most miserable moments of his life—worse even than whenmonsieur dragon grincheuxhad come to deliver him to America—and it had convinced him that heat could never be an enjoyable experience.
Geoffrey and Ian had proved him wrong.
With a yawn, Matthieu turned onto his side, knocking a fat emerald-cut sapphire from his hip. It landed on the bed with a satisfying thud that disturbed neither Geoffrey nor Ian, who slept soundly beside each other. Ian slept on his back, one arm bent at the elbow and wedged beneath his head, and held Geoffrey to him with one arm. Geoffrey, who slept on his side, dozed on Ian’s chest. His hair had dried pushed back from his face and pinned between his head and Ian’s body, and without product to hold it in place, it looked soft and full.
Matthieu watched them for a while, memorizing the shape of Geoffrey’s lean figure and the subtle musculature of Ian’s torso. It felt absurd to him, in retrospect, that he had once believed being mated to a dragon would be a prison sentence. As Matthieu contemplated his change of heart, Geoffrey stirred only enough to snuggle Ian tighter before falling still again. Matthieu smiled. Perhaps being mated to one dragon would have been a prison sentence. He couldn’t say. After all, he wasn’t mated to a single dragon—he was mated to two.
And soon, he would make them fathers.
It didn’t escape Matthieu that his heat, which had come prematurely, had ended prematurely as well. What should have been a week of mind-melting lust and primal pleasure hadn’t lasted long. Twelve hours, maybe? Less? Matthieu had lost track of time somewhere between Geoffrey and Ian knotting his ass simultaneously and Ian pinning Matthieu to the shower wall, Geoffrey sandwiched between them, while Ian fucked Geoffrey as Geoffrey fucked Matthieu.
Snorre hadn’t lied—two alphas made quick work of an omega’s heat.
Matthieu ran an exploratory hand over his flat stomach. It didn’tfeeldifferent to be pregnant. Superintendent Durand had made such a fuss over it that Matthieu had assumed the moment conception occurred, his entire life would change. That wasn’t the case. All he felt was contentment—which wasn’t hard when he was with his dragons, whether pregnant or not—and…
Thirst.
He was thirsty.
All that was left of the refreshments Grace had brought them were a few shriveled lemon wedges and a singular, crusty wet wipe.
As much as Matthieu would have liked to laze in bed all day, it was probably a good idea to get up, dress, and see if he couldn’t find something better than disappointing citrus to eat and drink.
