“I choose you,” I say, the words steady, certain—like a vow spoken into flame.
Surprise flashes across Ash’s face, a flicker quickly masked—but not fast enough. Before doubt can take root, I cut in, my voice low but sure.
“But don’t think that means I won’t ask for the rest of you to touch me while this happens,” I say. “If we’re doing this—we’redoingit.”
My gaze sweeps across the room, unflinching, every bit of truth and challenge laid bare. One by one, they meet it, silent acknowledgement passing between them like current.
It’s Vale who finally breaks the quiet. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Wraith growls his approval, low and rough enough to vibrate in my chest. Saint only smiles—that faint, knowing curve that feels like both blessing and sin.
Ash’s hands come up to cradle my face, his touch unexpectedly gentle. His thumbs trace the corners of my mouth before his lips find mine again, softer this time, slower, even more reverent than before. The kiss isn’t about hunger or conquest… It’s about connection, about trust.
And as his breath mingles with mine, I know—without a shred of doubt—that I made the right call.
The kiss builds quickly, sweeping through me like a tidal wave. Ash is gentle but unyielding—like a man who’s spent too long denying what he wants and finally lets himself have it. When he moves behind me, the atmosphere changes. Heat, breath, heartbeat—all of it merges into one pulse. He claims me in one swift stroke. He moves slowly, finding his stride, and Mateo quickly steps in to fill his place. He kisses me while Ash unravels every last bit of composure I have—his hands mapping me, claiming and worshipping in the same breath. Every touch sparks another tremor, each movement building heat until it curls through me, tightening, cresting.
The sensation gathers, unstoppable. The air hums with it; my body ripples with it. The world collapses to pulse and breath, to the rhythm of their hands and the shudder of my own heartbeat.
I cry out, the sound torn from somewhere deep, wild, and unguarded—but they aren’t finished with me yet.
Ash presses a final kiss to my forehead before stepping back, breath still unsteady. Then Rook steps forward, his gaze fixed on me—half reverence, half ruin. The room seems to hold its breath with him.
He tilts his head, voice low, almost broken.
“You’ve ruined us, my disobedience.”
The words land like a vow, heavy and holy, and I feel it in my bones—the moment everything changes.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up—every muscle tightening, need and desire winding sharp through me.
“Wraith,” Rook says, his tone smooth and dark with command, “I believe it’s our turn.”
He steps forward, deliberate and slow, wicked intent gleaming in his eyes like a promise I’m not sure I’ll survive—but already know I’ll crave.
The others step back, content to watch—predators momentarily leashed. Vale lingers closest, a grin curving his mouth, dark and unapologetic. I catch the subtle shift of his stance, the way hunger flickers in his pitch-black eyes, and it sends a shiver straight through me.
Rook moves in behind me, his hands hovering just above my shoulders—close enough for the heat of his skin to tease mine, never quite touching. The nearness is intoxicating, dizzying, and it reignites the ache I thought had finally eased.
Wraith takes his place in front of me, his dark eyes molten, heavy with want and something deeper that makes my pulse falter.
His hands move slowly—hesitant, almost careful. Rook wastes no time, taking exactly what he wants. His hand wraps around my throat, steady and commanding, and then he moves. He’s bigger than Ash, and I’m not fully prepared for the way he fills me—utterly, completely, until breath itself feels optional.
It’s exquisite—and until Wraith’s fingers find my swollen clit, it’s still not enough. When his touch moves in slow circles, and Rook moves behind me, I almost cry out from the sheer pleasure flooding through me.
Wraith kisses me then, teeth catching my lower lip, a low growl rumbling into my mouth as Rook quickens his rhythm behind me.
I moan into Wraith’s mouth, the sound muffled, need winding tight through me—hot, consuming, coursing through every vein.
“We need to hear you, my disobedience,” Rook growls, his voice rougher, lower than I’ve ever heard it. A pause—then, darker, commanding—“Raise thebloodyroof.”
The scream that tears through me is so raw, so consuming, it leaves my whole body trembling. When it fades, I collapse against them—boneless, floating, the world reduced to heat and breath and the shimmer of starlight behind my eyes.
Wraith catches me before I can fall. His arms are solid and sure as he gathers me up against his chest. “She’s spent,” he mutters to the room, voice low and hoarse.
“I am not,” I manage, though my words are slurred and defiant, and even I don’t believe them.
A dark chuckle sounds nearby—Vale, amused and unrepentant. “Youwillbe,” he says, his tone full of wicked promise. “But not tonight, sweetheart. You’ll need your strength.”
