"Hey." Her voice is sleepy. Satisfied.
"Hey yourself." I move to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck made of orgasms." She smiles. "In the best way."
"Medically speaking, that's not a thing."
"Medically speaking, you should kiss me and stop being a nerd."
I kiss her. It's soft and sweet and nothing like the desperate encounters of the past twenty-four hours.
"What's wrong?" I cup her face, immediately concerned. "Are you in pain? Do you need..."
"I'm not in pain." She shakes her head. "I'm so happy it scares me."
"Why does it scare you?"
"Because I've never had this." She glances around the room, at Nacho still sleeping beside her, at Carlos and Sergio in the corner. "Never had people who put me first. Who take care of me without expecting anything in return. Callum made me feel like my needs were a burden. Like wanting things made me difficult."
"You're not difficult." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "You're easy. The easiest thing in the world."
"That's sweet."
"It's the truth." I lean down and press my forehead to hers. "You deserve everything we're giving you."
She sniffles. "Now I'm crying."
Carlos abandons his card game to join us on the bed. "Happy tears only, though. Sad tears get you unlimited chocolate."
"What do happy tears get me?"
He grins. "We're very generous with the chocolate."
She laughs, watery and bright, and the sound fills the room like sunshine.
Day two of heat, and she's already becoming the center of our universe.
By day three, I know there's no going back.
None of us would want to.
35
JESSICA
Day three of heat, and I've officially lost track of which way is up.
The guest room has been transformed. Blankets piled everywhere, a fortress of soft fabric that smells like sex and sweat and four distinct alpha scents so thoroughly mingled I can't tell where one ends and another begins. Morning light filters through curtains someone partially opened, painting golden stripes across rumpled sheets and discarded pillows.
I'm sprawled across Carlos's chest, my cheek pressed against the steady thump of his heart. His hand traces lazy patterns on my bare back, fingertips brushing along my spine in a rhythm that's half soothing, half arousing.
The line between those two sensations stopped existing about thirty-six hours ago.
"You're thinking too loud." Carlos's voice rumbles beneath my ear. "I can hear your brain from here."
"My brain is mush." I lift my head to look at him. His curly hair is a disaster, sticking up in seventeen different directions. Stubble shadows his jaw, darker than I expected, turning his boyish face rougher. Handsomer. "There's nothing in there except elevator music and the faint memory of my own name."
"Your name is Jessica." He grins, and even exhausted, even wrecked, that smile makes my stomach flip. "In case you forgot."
