The texture of his hands was different from the others—the ridges of scar tissue creating an uneven landscape against my skin, rough in some places, smooth in others. Something about that imperfection made the touch feel more real, more intimate. Every press of his fingers sent sparks shooting through my nerve endings, building a fire in my belly that threatened to consume me whole.
When his thumbs brushed against the crease where my thighs met my hips—that sensitive hollow where the skin was thin and the nerves clustered close to the surface—I nearly came off the bed entirely. The sensation was electric, shooting straight to my core, making my hips jerk involuntarily upward.
"Silas," I gasped, my voice breaking on his name, my hips rolling in helpless circles as I sought friction that wasn't there. My body had taken over, operating on pure instinct now, chasing pleasure wherever it could find it. "Please—please?—"
"Shh." His voice was rough, strained with the effort of holding himself back, but his touch remained gentle, reverent, almost worshipful. His pale eyes looked up at me from between my thighs, burning with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I've got you. We've got you."
His fingers hooked in the waistband of my shorts, the tips of his fingers brushing against the soft skin of my lower belly and making the muscles there jump and flutter. He paused, looking up at me, pale eyes burning with want but still asking permission. Still making sure. Even with my scent filling the room so thick and sweet it was almost visible. Even with slick soaking through my underwear and probably through my shorts too. Even with me writhing and begging and falling apart. He still asked.
The tenderness of it—the care—made my eyes sting with sudden tears.
"Yes," I breathed, my voice cracking. "God, yes, please—" He tugged the shorts down my hips slowly, so slowly, his gaze tracking every inch of skin he revealed with reverent attention. The fabric dragged across my oversensitized skin, catching slightly on the curve of my hips before sliding free. Cool air hit my thighs, my hips, the damp heat between my legs, and I shivered despite the fever burning through me.
The cotton of my underwear was dark with slick—soaked through completely, clinging to the shape of me obscenely, leaving nothing to the imagination. I could see the outline of my swollen folds through the wet fabric, could feel how the cotton clung to every curve and hollow.
All three of them groaned at the sight—a harmony of want that made my core clench hard.
"Fuck," Harper breathed against my hair, his voice cracked and raw. "Artemis. Look at you. So wet for us. So ready. I can see it—can see how much you need us."
"I need—" I started, but the words dissolved into a moan as Silas's mouth found my inner thigh.
His lips were soft at first, pressing gentle kisses to the sensitive skin, but then his mouth opened and his tongue traced a hot, wet path upward. The scrape of his stubble followed—rough texture against skin so sensitive it felt almost raw—and I could feel his breath hot and damp against my center even through the soaked cotton of my underwear.
He was so close. So close to where I needed him. Close enough that every exhale fanned across my covered folds, making me twitch, making my hips try to roll toward his mouth without my permission. The anticipation was killing me—pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my belly, desperate for release.
"Please," I whimpered, the word coming out broken and desperate. "Silas, please—I need—I can't—" He pressed a kissdirectly over my center, through the wet cotton, and I nearly screamed.
The pressure was perfect and not enough—the barrier of fabric both maddening and exquisite. I could feel the shape of his lips through the cotton, the heat of his breath, the gentle suction as he mouthed at me. My clit throbbed against the attention, swollen and aching, desperate for direct contact. I could feel slick pulse out of me in response, soaking the fabric further, and I heard him groan at the taste of me even through the barrier.
He smiled against me—I could feel the curve of his lips—and something about that, about him being pleased, made heat flood through me even hotter.
"Not yet," Harper rumbled in my ear, and I could hear the massive strain in his voice, the effort it cost him to hold back. His whole body was tense against my back, coiled tight like a spring about to release, and I could feel his cock pressing against my lower back through his jeans, thick and hard and straining. "We've got time. Let us take care of you properly."
"I don't want to wait," I panted, my fingers fisting in the blankets hard enough that my knuckles ached. My whole body was trembling now, wound so tight I thought I might shatter from the tension alone. "I want—I need?—"
"Soon." Harper's hand slid down my stomach, his rough palm dragging across my quivering muscles, leaving fire in its wake. His fingers teased at the waistband of my underwear, dipping just beneath the elastic to brush against the soft curls there before retreating. The tease was exquisite torture—promising relief and then snatching it away. "Soon. But not tonight. Tonight we just... ease the edge. Help you sleep."
Remy released my nipple with a wet pop, the sudden absence of his mouth making me whimper. My nipple was swollen and flushed, glistening with his saliva, achingly sensitive to everybreath of air. He looked up at me with dark amber eyes, his lips swollen and shiny, his chin wet with his own spit and probably my sweat.
"He's right, chere." His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable as the smooth charmer he usually was. Raw Cajun honey, stripped of all performance. He managed a smile that was equal parts tenderness and want. "You need rest before the heat really hits. Let us help you. Let us give you this."
"I don't want to rest," I protested weakly, even as my body relaxed into their holds against my will, my omega instincts purring at being surrounded, being cared for, being wanted by three Alphas who looked at me like I was everything. "I want?—"
"We know what you want." Silas's breath was hot against my thigh, his pale eyes burning up at me from between my legs, his face inches from my soaked center. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked black. "We want it too. So badly it hurts. But you set the rules. And the rules say we take care of you. So let us."
I opened my mouth to argue—to tell them I didn't need rest, I needed them, all of them, inside me—but Harper's hand slipped inside my underwear, his thick fingers sliding through the slick gathered there, and every thought I'd ever had evaporated.
He groaned against my ear, the sound vibrating through my skull and down my spine, settling between my legs. "Jesus Christ, Artemis." His voice came out strangled, wrecked. "You're soaking. You're absolutely drenched. Dripping for us."
His fingers explored gently at first—learning the shape of me, the folds and hollows, the places that made me gasp. Two fingers slid through my wetness, gathering slick, spreading it up and around. I could hear the obscene wet sounds of his touch, could feel how easily his fingers glided through the mess I'd made.
Then those fingers found my clit.
The first touch was electric—a bolt of pure sensation that made my whole body jerk. My clit was so swollen, so sensitive,that even the gentlest pressure felt like too much and not enough simultaneously. Harper circled it slowly, learning the rhythm that made me moan, adjusting the pressure until he found exactly the right spot, exactly the right speed.
I saw stars. Actual stars, bursting behind my eyelids, and I hadn't even realized I'd closed my eyes.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low growl that made my toes curl, made my walls clench around nothing. His other arm was wrapped around my waist, holding me against his broad chest, keeping me grounded when the pleasure threatened to send me flying. "There you go, sweetheart. Let go. We've got you."
