"He's not wrong." I shift carefully, adjusting our position without breaking the connection. "You need to eat."
"Fine." She accepts the sandwich Carlos holds out. "But only because I'm hungry."
She eats while the pressure slowly eases, my body gradually releasing its claim on hers. Carlos keeps up a steady stream of chatter, telling her about the time Nacho got his head stuck in a fence when they were kids, about Sergio's secret fear of squirrels, about the summer I accidentally set my college dorm on fire trying to boil water.
She laughs between bites, color returning to her cheeks, the desperate edge of the heat temporarily satisfied.
This is what pack is supposed to be. Not just the physical connection, but this. The easy intimacy. The shared history. The way we fit together like pieces of a puzzle.
Callum tried to suppress this part of her. Tried to convince her that her needs were too much, her desires inappropriate, her biology something to be ashamed of.
He was wrong. He was so incredibly wrong.
The pressure releases, and I slip out of her with a mutual sigh, her body reluctantly letting me go. She immediately reaches for Carlos, who's been hovering at the edge of the bed with barely concealed impatience.
"Your turn." She sets down the half-eaten sandwich. "I can feel it building again."
"Music to my ears." Carlos strips off his sweatpants and climbs onto the bed, all lean muscle and golden skin. "How do you want me?"
"Surprise me."
"Oh, that's dangerous." His grin turns wicked. "I'm very creative."
I move to the armchair, giving them space, and watch as Carlos positions her on her hands and knees. He enters her from behind with a groan, and she drops her head, blonde hair over her shoulders.
"God, you feel amazing." Carlos's hands grip her hips. "Like you were made for this."
"I was made for this." Her voice is breathless. "Made for all of you."
He sets a punishing pace, and she takes it beautifully. I watch, cataloging her responses, the sounds she makes, the way her body moves.
She comes twice before he swells inside her, locking them together with a pressure that makes her gasp and arch. Then they collapse together, laughing and gasping, and Carlos says something about her being the best thing that's ever happened to him, and she threatens to cry if he keeps being sweet, and he tells her crying is allowed but only if it's happy crying.
I love them. Both of them. All of them.
The realization settles into my bones like warmth from a fire.
Nacho takes over when Carlos finishes. He's intense in a way that's different from the rest of us. Silent and focused, every movement deliberate, every touch designed to drive her higher.
He doesn't speak while he takes her. Just holds her gaze, as he thrusts into her. She falls apart three times before he finally lets himself go, and when he does, the sound he makes is almost pained.
"Mine." The word tears out of him, guttural and possessive. "Ours. Always."
"Always." She pulls him down for a kiss. "I promise."
Sergio returns for the next wave. Then me again. Then Carlos.
The day passes in a blur of pleasure and connection and moments of tenderness that make my chest ache.
We feed her between cycles. Hold her while she sleeps. Take turns cleaning up, bringing fresh water, changing the sweat-soaked sheets.
By evening, the intervals between waves have stretched longer. Her body is learning. Adapting. The frantic desperation of the first day has become manageable.
I find her curled against Nacho's chest, both of them dozing, while Carlos plays cards with Sergio in the corner of the room. The domestic normalcy of it hits me like a punch to the gut.
This is my life now. Our life. A pack built around one extraordinary woman who somehow chose all four of us.
Jessica opens her eyes and catches me watching.
