Their knots prod more at my openings; they're both close to wanting to lock.
Theo groans against my skin, his teeth scraping my shoulder as he feels the shift. I can't even speak, my breath hitching as they swell more.
The pressure inside builds. It’s immense. My inner muscles clamp down, milking them, trying to get closer. The knots catch, locking into place. I'm completely full, stretched to my absolute limit. I'm climbing the edge of something final.
"I'm close," I sob. "I'm so close."
Their breathing snaps into the same rhythm as mine, a collective surge that has them shifting in one fluid movement. They don't need a signal. Their bodies follow the same frantic pulse, bracing as the air in the room thickens with the weight of what’s coming.
Reid scrapes his teeth against the nape of my neck. Micah sits up from the rug, his teeth dragging along the left side of my throat. Dameon is set on the right side, his teeth grazing my pulse point. Theo grips my left shoulder, his teeth already scraping the skin there.
They find their spots. As the orgasm rips through me, shattering my control, they strike. Reid bites down on my nape. Micah sinks his teeth into the left side of my neck. Dameon claims the right. Theo bites down on my left shoulder. The bond snaps into place as wave after wave of ecstasy runs through my body. I scream as I come, a full-body convulsion as my walls clamp down on their knots, milking them dry.
Micah’s hips jerk, a thick, hot pulse hits my cervix as he bottoms out. Right behind him, Reid stiffens, his release slamming into my back wall. Dameon stays locked onto the rightside of my neck, his cum hitting my outer right thigh and. Theo remains clamped to my shoulder, as he coats my left side.
The bond hums, vibrating with the aftershocks. It feels like golden light knitting my soul to theirs. They let go of me and the bite marks tingle but don’t hurt.
I slump forward onto Micah’s chest, exhausted, the weight of Reid behind me keeping us pinned to the rug. We stay like that for a long time; the knots keeping us locked together. I'm sandwiched between them. The office is silent except for our ragged breathing.
Eventually, the swelling goes down. Reid pulls out first, pressing a kiss to my spine. Micah helps me off him, easing me onto the rug.
Dameon pulls a throw blanket from the couch and drapes it over us. We tangle together on the floor, a mess of limbs and cooling skin.
I look down at my shoulder. The skin is already smooth; the bite mark healed instantly into a permanent, dark claim against my brown skin. I close my eyes and just breathe, feeling the heat coming off them in the quiet. I’m not standing alone anymore.
"Goodnight my Alphas."
"Goodnight our Omega."
This must be what true inner-peace feels like.
Themorningsunhitsthe polished floors of the main lobby, casting long rectangles of light across the open space. It’s been exactly a year since we opened the doors, and the Sunflower Center has finally found its rhythm. The air smells like fresh coffee from the staff lounge and the lemon-scented cleaner the janitorial crew uses every morning. It’s a busy, productive atmosphere.
I stand by the large front windows, checking the intake schedule on my tablet. We’re at capacity, but an emergency case came through last night that I couldn’t turn down. A dark sedan pulls into the circular driveway, and I recognize the driver before she even cuts the engine.
Martha has been a social worker since before I could walk. I’d know that thick braid of graying hair anywhere; she always wears it the same way, pinned tight and professional. She’s one of the few people who didn't roll their eyes when I first pitched this project.
Martha steps out of the car, stretching her back before walking around to the passenger side. She leans in to talk to someone,her expression patient. After a minute, a small girl climbs out.
She’s tiny for an eight-year-old, with pale, fair skin that makes the dark circles under her eyes look even deeper. Her hair is a tangled mess of dark brown curls, almost black, that looks like it hasn't seen a brush in a week. She grips the straps of a faded purple backpack like her life depends on it. Her eyes are a stormy, haunted gray, scanning the building fast for exits or threats. I recognize that vibrating readiness in her shoulders. It’s the same way I used to stand.
I walk toward the entrance, keeping my movements loose and my pace steady. I push open the glass door and step out into the crisp air.
"Good to see you, Martha." I offer a quick nod.
Martha adjusts her glasses and nudges the girl forward. "You too, Zora. This is Lily. Lily, this is Miss Zora. She’s the boss around here."
I drop to a crouch, making sure I’m not towering over her. I keep a few feet of space between us. "It’s nice to meet you, Lily. It's a big place, but it's pretty easy to navigate once you get the hang of it. You hungry? The kitchen just put out some fresh muffins."
Lily just stares at my golden hair, then looks back at Martha. She isn't crying, which is almost worse. She’s just bracing herself.
"I’ll take it from here, Martha. Jules is over in the nursery wing if you want to grab a coffee before you head back to the city."
Martha gives the girl’s shoulder a final, encouraging squeeze. "I think I’ll do that. I saw your last update on the sensory room and wanted to talk to Jules about the layout."
I watch Martha head toward the staff lounge. Jules has been a lifesaver this past year. She spent years as my camerawoman and editor back whenRadiantLifewas just us two and a dream, but now she runs our nursery and toddler department.
We still do updates for the followers—they're our biggest source of funding—but Jules is the one who handles the filming now while I handle the advocacy. We’re both fiercely protective; we show off the new garden or the high-end medical cribs, but we never put the kids on camera. Jules has traded her editing software for nap schedules and sensory play, and she’s never looked happier.
