Rowan
"Clothes," Juno gasped, his head falling back against the dusty leather. "Off. All of them. Now."
He looked at us through half-lidded, golden eyes that were swimming in a haze of pure biological demand. Sweat beaded on his collarbone, catching the harsh light of the single bulb.
"If you don't take them off," he warned, his voice a jagged rasp, "I will rip them off. And unlike Stephen, I don't care about the replacement cost of Italian silk."
I didn't doubt him. The air in the room was thick enough to chew on, heavy with the scent of burnt sugar and the electric crackle of his distress. He was burning up from the inside out.
"Understood," Mateo said.
He didn't hesitate. Mateo shed his jacket and his shirt in a series of efficient movements that spoke of doing this many times before. When he kicked off his boots and shoved his jeans down, the sheer size of him in the small cabin felt like a geological event. I had seen him before when we'd been together, but it had only been a brief glimpse. This time I was able to stare, to observe, and my god, the man was a work of art.
Stephen was slower, but no less deliberate. He unknotted his tie, folded his glasses and set them on the mantle, and unbuttoned his shirt with steady fingers. When he was naked, he looked like a runner, all lean, defined, and precise.
I fumbled with the zipper of my dress. My hands were shaking. Group sex was a new experience for me, assuming they wanted me that involved. If they didn't that was fine, but I wasn't about to risk ruining my dress either way. It was one of my favorites.
"Let me," Juno said.
He scrambled off the couch. He moved like a creature made of fever and wire. He was in front of me before I could protest, his fingers parting the silk from my skin, making me gasp from the heat in his touch. He stripped me not with romance, but with a desperate need for skin contact.
When the dress pooled at my feet, he didn't step back. He pressed his naked body against mine.
"Hot," I mumbled. My brain was short circuiting from the overwhelming amount of information it was taking in. I knew that Omegas had temperature spikes during their heats but I hadn'tknownit the same way I did now.
He was searing. It was like hugging a radiator. His skin was slick with sweat, and the contact sent a jolt through my nervous system that nearly buckled my knees.
"I'm dying, Rowan," he whispered into my neck, nipping at the skin. "Fix it."
He pushed away and looked at the two Alphas standing like statues in the gloom.
"Stephen," Juno commanded. "First."
Mateo didn't flinch at being passed over. He understood the hierarchy of needs. Mateo was the sledgehammer; Stephen was the scalpel. Right now, Juno needed precision before he needed impact.
Stephen stepped forward. He grabbed a bottle of lube from the emergency supply kit had appeared from somewhere in the small cottage.
Juno turned around, bracing his hands on the arm of the sofa, presenting himself. The curve of his spine was elegant, almost feminine in its arch, but the muscle definition was strictly masculine.
"Prep him," Mateo rumbled, watching with dark, hungry eyes.
Stephen coated his fingers. He moved in behind Juno. He didn't rush. He pressed a thumb against Juno, checking the resistance.
"Relax," Stephen ordered, his voice cool and authoritative.
"I can't," Juno whined, his hips twitching. "It hurts. Just shove it in."
"If I shove it in, you'll tear," Stephen corrected calmly. "Breathe."
Stephen slid one finger in. Juno cried out, a sharp, broken sound. Stephen began to work him, stretching the tight muscle, adding a second finger, then a third. He was methodical, his face a mask of concentration as he prepared Juno to take what he was begging for.
"Rowan," Juno gasped, looking over his shoulder at me. His eyes were blown wide, desperate. "Front. I need... I need eyes."
I moved. I stepped around the sofa until I was sitting on the cushion in front of Juno. I was face to face with him, inches away.
"I'm here," I said.
"Touch me," he begged.
