"Easy," Harper murmured against my ear, his lips brushing the shell of it, making me shiver. "We've got you."
They did.
They had me surrounded, their scents wrapping around me like a physical embrace, their hands and mouths worshipping every inch of skin they could reach. Harper nuzzled into my hair, rumbling constantly—a deep, soothing vibration that seemed to sync with my heartbeat, slowing it even as it raced. Remy's fingers found the hem of my shirt, slipping beneath to trace patterns on my feverish skin, each touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. Silas had worked his way up from my ankles to my calves now, his scarred hands kneading the tight muscles there, finding knots I didn't know I had and working them loose with devastating patience.
The pre-heat fever spiked, my body responding to their proximity, their attention, their scents filling my lungs with every breath. Slick gathered between my thighs, soaking through my underwear, and I knew they could smell it—the way all three of them went tense, the way their rumbles deepened into something closer to growls, the way the air seemed to thicken with want.
"Fuck," Remy breathed against my neck, his accent nearly incomprehensible now, the words slurring together in thick Cajun. "Chere, you smell like heaven. You smell like everything I've ever wanted. You smell like?—"
"Mine," Harper growled, the word vibrating through my spine, settling low in my belly.
"Ours," Silas corrected quietly, and Harper's growl shifted to something that might have been agreement, a low rumble of acknowledgment.
"Ours," Harper amended, his hand pressing more firmly against my stomach, possessive and claiming even as he held himself back. "You smell like ours."
I should have corrected them. Should have reminded them that I wasn't claimed, wasn't bonded, wasn't theirs yet. But the word felt right settling into my bones, fitting into spaces I hadn't known were empty, and I didn't want to fight it.
"Please," I heard myself whisper, the word torn from somewhere deep. "Please, I need?—"
I didn't even know what I needed. Everything. Nothing. Their hands, their mouths, their bodies pressed against mine until I couldn't tell where I ended and they began. I needed them inside me, around me, over me. I needed to drown in them.
They gave it to me.
Harper's fingers found the hem of my tank top, the rough pads of his fingertips dragging against the feverish skin of my stomach as he gathered the fabric. He tugged it upward slowly, inch by torturous inch, giving me time to stop him. I didn't. Couldn't. Every brush of his knuckles against my ribs made my muscles jump, made goosebumps race across my skin despite the heat flooding through me. I raised my arms over my head, trembling, and he pulled the fabric away, baring me to the warm air of the nest.
Three pairs of eyes tracked down my body with undisguised hunger—Harper's storm-gray darkening to slate, Remy's warm amber burning like whiskey held up to firelight, Silas's pale ice somehow blazing hot. I felt the weight of their gazes, trailing heat across my collarbone, the swell of my breasts still confined in simple white cotton, the soft plane of my stomach that quivered with each shallow breath.
My bra was nothing fancy—just a simple cotton thing, functional and plain—but the way they looked at me, you'd think I was wearing silk and lace spun by angels. Their combined attention made my skin prickle with awareness, made my nipples tighten further until they ached against the fabric, two hard peaks straining toward them.
Remy's fingers traced the straps of my bra, following the thin lines of cotton down over my shoulders, across the swell of my chest, down to the cups. His touch was feather-light but electric, leaving trails of sensation in his wake like he was drawing fire across my skin. When his thumbs finally brushed over my nipples through the fabric, just the barest graze of pressure, I cried out—the sound sharp and startled, my whole body jerking like I'd been shocked.
"Responsive," Harper rumbled approvingly against my shoulder, his beard scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin as he pressed open-mouthed kisses there. The combination of soft lips and rough bristle was maddening—contrast that made every nerve ending sing. I could feel the vibration of his voice through my back, through my bones. "So fucking responsive. Feel how she trembles for us."
"Please," I gasped again, not even sure what I was begging for anymore. My hands were shaking, my thighs pressing together desperately, seeking friction that wasn't there. The ache between my legs had become a living thing, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Remy's fingers found the clasp of my bra—a front clasp, but he reached around anyway, his lean arms circling me, his chest pressing warm and solid against my side. I could feel his heart pounding through his shirt, nearly as fast as mine. The intimacy of the embrace made my breath catch, made something flutter in my chest that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the tenderness in his touch.
Then the clasp gave way with a soft click, and the bra was loose, the straps sliding down my arms, and I was bare from the waist up. The sound Remy made was nearly inhuman—a groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest, primal and wanting and almost pained. His golden eyes had gone dark, pupils blown so wide I could barely see the amber at the edges.
"Mon Dieu," he breathed, staring at my breasts like he'd never seen anything so beautiful, like I was a work of art, a miracle, something sacred. His voice came out cracked and reverent. "Chere, you're... you're..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed to fail him entirely.
Instead, his mouth descended. The first touch of his lips against my nipple was soft—almost chaste, just a brush of warmth. Then his mouth opened, closing over the sensitive peak, and the wet heat of it made my vision white out at the edges.
I cried out, my back bowing off the nest so hard that only Harper's arm around my waist kept me from launching myself into the air. My fingers scrabbled desperately against the blankets, nails catching in the soft fabric, searching for something to anchor myself to as sensation overwhelmed everything else.
Remy's mouth was devastating. His tongue circled my nipple slowly, learning its shape, before flicking across the tip with devastating precision. His stubble scraped against the sensitive underside of my breast—rough texture against soft skin—and the contrast made me whimper. Then he sucked, gentle at first, then harder, pulling at my nipple with a rhythmic pressure that seemed directly connected to my core. Lightning arced from my breast straight down to my center—a bright, sharp line of pleasure that made me clench around nothing, made my inner walls flutter desperately, made slick pulse between my thighsin a hot rush that I could feel soaking through my underwear. The empty ache intensified until it was almost painful, my body screaming to be filled.
"That's it," Harper murmured against the shell of my ear, his breath hot and damp, making me shiver. His voice was a low rumble that I felt more than heard, resonating through my skull, settling deep in my belly. "Let us hear you. Let us know how good it feels. Don't hold anything back."
His massive hand slid up from my stomach, calloused palm dragging across my oversensitized skin until he cupped my other breast. The weight of it in his hand made me gasp—his palm was so big, so warm, slightly rough from years of work at the distillery. His thumb found my neglected nipple, circling the tight peak slowly, spreading the wetness that had gathered there from my own sweat and want.
Then he pinched—gently, but firmly—rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and I keened. The sound was high and desperate, almost inhuman, echoing off the walls of the nest and making all three of them growl in response. The vibration of Harper's growl went straight through me, and Remy's answering rumble buzzed against my breast, adding another layer of sensation to the assault on my senses.
"There she is," Remy said against my breast, his lips curved in a smile I could feel pressed into my skin, his words muffled and warm. "There's our omega. Let us hear more of those pretty sounds."
Silas had been working his way up from my ankles with patient, methodical attention—his scarred hands mapping every inch of my calves, the backs of my knees, the sensitive skin of my lower thighs. Now those hands slid beneath the hem of my shorts, his fingers curling around the soft flesh of my upper thighs, kneading gently.
