I tugged at the hem of my shirt, a frown creasing my forehead as I wished desperately for something lacy, something worthy of this moment. Something that wouldn't remind them of how broken I'd been, how fragile I still was.
"What's wrong, Lucy?" Xander's warm voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I looked up to meet his intense brown eyes, finding concern there rather than the disappointment I'd feared. The others paused in their movements; five sets of eyes now focused entirely on me.
"Sort of wish I was wearing something nicer," I admitted, heat rising to my cheeks. "I know that's stupid," I added quickly, trying to brush away my insecurity with a nervous laugh that sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"The nicest thing you could wear right now, Lucy, is nothing," Nitro said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
He moved with deliberate intent, pushing my legs slightly apart to kneel between them. The heat of his body was a tangible force, radiating against my skin even through the thin fabric of my shorts. His large hands, capable of controlling motorcycles at breakneck speeds, now rested with unexpected gentleness on my thighs.
Slowly, purposefully, Nitro hooked two fingers into the waistband of my pajama shorts, catching the edge of my underwear in the same motion. His eyes never left mine, seeking permission that I granted with a small nod. I pushed my feet flat against the mattress and lifted my lower body ever so sightly.
With agonizing slowness, Nitro began to pull the fabric down, revealing inch by inch the pale skin of my hips, then my thighs. I lowered myself, my bare ass now hitting soft sheets. The air felt cool against my newly exposed flesh, raising goosebumps in its wake. I lifted my hips to help him, aware of five sets of eyes tracking the motion with hunger that made my breath catch.
The shorts and underwear slid past my knees next, down my calves. I raised one foot, then the next, so he could slip the items off entirely. Nitro tossed them carelessly to the floor, his attention already returning to what he'd uncovered.
My skin was alabaster white, so pale that the network of blue-purple veins beneath showed clearly, like roads on a map leading to my heart. And there, across my lower abdomen, the scar—a jagged line where doctors had cut me open to save me after the tent collapse. It was still dark pink, slightly raised and puffy against the surrounding porcelain of my skin. It barely hurt now, unless I moved too quickly, or in just the wrong way. It itched like crazy sometimes though, never letting me forget its existence.
Self-consciousness hit me like a physical blow. I resisted the urge to cover myself with my hands, to hide the evidence of my weakness from these men who embodied strength in every sinew and muscle. That was stupid. They knew it was there. They all knew. They’d witness the trauma that led to this newest imperfection. But it wasn’t just the scar. It was the years of needles. The medications that left me forever changed. My skin held history I hated exposing. Marks that had long faded, marks you couldn’t even see unless you were looking for them. But…
The cuts and punctures and pinches and endless poking still stuck to me. To my body, mind, heart.
Being completely naked wasn’t like wearing tank tops and shorts, no matter how skimpy the clothing might be. I’d always had something on around my men, something to give me false security. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take my top off. I wasn’t sure I could handle being completely unveiled in front of them, with no way to hide. I waited, biting my lip and watching Nitro's face, bracing for pity or, worst, a loss of interest.
What I saw instead stole my breath away.
Nitro leaned forward, his movement almost reverential, and pressed his lips to one end of my scar. The touch was feather-light, careful, as though kissing something infinitely precious. Slowly, he traced the entire length of the mark with his mouth, his breath warm against my skin, his hands cradling my hips with a tenderness that made my throat tight with emotion.
When he finally pulled back, the expression on his face wasn't disgust or even acceptance—it was worship. Pure, unadulterated worship, as though he'd been granted access to something sacred.
"Beautiful," he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a prayer.
My gaze darted to the others, expecting to find at least one of them looking away, uncomfortable with the reminder ofhow close they'd come to losing me before they'd even found me. Instead, I saw Nitro’s same look of amazement mirrored on every face. I saw desire, reverence, fascination. I saw men looking at me like I was the answer to a question they’d been asking their entire lives.
A warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading outward until it reached every part of me. For the first time since leaving the sterile walls of Brightfield, I didn't feel like a medical anomaly, a curiosity, a survivor who'd beaten the odds but carried so many scars. I felt desirable and whole.
In their eyes, I wasn't damaged goods anymore. I was perfect.
The cool air of the bedroom continued to caress my exposed skin, pebbling it further. The feelings of self-consciousness and vulnerability were erased by the hunger in my Alpha’s eyes. How could I hate myself when they looked at me like this? How could I see ugliness where they saw beauty?
I felt a power I'd never experienced before. Here I was, commanding their attention simply by being alive. This was what it meant to be an Omega surrounded by her Alphas, I realized. This was what it meant to be treasured.
Strong arms slid beneath me. I looked over my shoulder, finding Xander’s face. He supported my back, his glorious, mind-fogging Alpha cologne washing over me, and he helped me to sit up. He moved behind me, and I leaned back so that his chest pressed against my spine. Other hands—Fallon's elegant fingers—snaked beneath the hem of my sleep shirt, skimming upward from my waist to my shoulder blades. The cotton bunched as his hands gathered the material, his knuckles trailing fire along my skin. I had a moment when I froze, when nerves tried to penetrate the bliss, but I fought them back.
"Lift your arms, Lucy," Xander murmured, his breath hot against my ear.
I complied without hesitation now, raising my arms above my head. The shirt slipped upward, momentarily blinding me as it passed over my face, before it was gone completely, tossed somewhere to join my discarded bottoms on the floor.
Then I was bare. Completely exposed before the five of them, my pale skin nearly luminescent in the soft lamplight. My breasts were small, high on my chest, the nipples hard and pert from the air and arousal. My ribs were visible beneath my skin—a reminder of my illness, of the weight I was still struggling to gain back. But the way they looked at me made me feel like a goddess.
I sat there, back pressed against Xander’s wonderful, muscular ridges, uncertain what to do next, where to place my hands, how to move. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, seemed to have abandoned me entirely, leaving me with nothing but instinct and need.
My body, however, knew exactly what was happening. Between my thighs, I felt the sudden rush of wetness. Slick, the distinct sign of an Omega's arousal, spilled forth, coating my inner legs. The scent of it rose immediately, sweet and inviting, mingling with the muskier, heavier scents of the five aroused Alphas surrounding me. This was all so new. So damn wonderful.
The combination of smells was intoxicating, like stepping into a perfumery where every bottle had been uncorked simultaneously. Earthy and sweet, dark and light, a chemistry experiment where the resulting compound was greater than the sum of its parts. I inhaled deeply, feeling almost light-headed as the pheromones flooded my system, making my body feel weightless and heavy simultaneously.
Asher moved first, crawling to position himself at my left side. His eyes, blue as a summer sky, had darkened to midnight, pupils blown wide with desire. He placed a warm hand on myankle, the touch so light it might have been accidental if not for the deliberate way he held my gaze.
