Hendrix’s hand rubs small circles over the splash of pink on her skin before he strikes. Then again. One final time before he’s rubbing his palm against the pretty glow.
“Do you remember whose you are yet, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“Whose, Simona? Let me hear who.”
“You. And them. I’m yours.”
“Correct. You are.”
He smiles down at her—not that she’d see, she’s drifting in a place where only the two of them exist. But the way Hendrix does look at her only confirms how true her words are. She is very much ours, in every sense of the word.
His hand moves slowly, and he keeps praising her as his good girl while his fingers dip between her thighs. He pulls them out to show us. “Look at this mess, sweetheart. I couldn’t have asked for a better mate.” He buries his fingers in her pussy, and she turns to jelly on his lap with each thrust of his hand.
I think she’s going to ride his hand, but she raises her head. With Hendrix’s fingers still inside her body, she standsand rolls her shoulders back. Her eyes stay down low, but it’s not from yesterday’s memories, it’s from giving Hendrix another sample of her absolute submission.
“She’s going to fucking decimate us before rewriting the Alpha definition of control,” Ryder murmurs quickly before stepping away. “Dominic, you might have to lead the way. Hen’s busy lending a hand to our Omega.”
With her eyes stuck on the floor, her mouth tips up into a soft smile which is like holding a microphone to my ear; she’s very happy.
Simona raises her hand slowly, lifting her finger to catch our attention. It isn’t necessary. We freeze, holding still and silent as we wait for her. Her eyes rise up, and when she finds both of us, her eyes flutter once more. She exhales a long, steady breath before gripping Hen’s wrist and standing up onto her tippy toes.
There’s a pinch of pain that mars her pretty face; she grits her teeth, talking breathlessly. “Heat spasms are not fun. Being here with you is the stuff that makes me believe in fairytales. Please don’t let me forget any of this. Any of it.”
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
SIMONA
Their home is stunning. Certainly not what I’d immediately think of when looking at them, but the more I discover the more I realise how truly representative of them it is. Aesthetics aside, every room, furnishing, and small keepsake I find reaffirms that I’ve found where I’m meant to be… with them.
I wish I had more time to enjoy looking around their home, but I can barely walk a step without my heat cramping my insides. But I have to keep moving because every time I do the air moves like sweet kisses on my stinging butt cheeks, and my throbbing pussy. It’s something I’ve never experienced, the heightened sensations left after their touch.
Being spanked by Hendrix felt…right. I trust him and that feeling multiplied tenfold because of the way he trusted me. He didn’t treat me like a victim. He had complete faith in my decision, and that’s as much of a turn on as being spanked.
“Can we go to Noire one night? As a pack?” I ask, stopping in front of a large moody landscape painting.
Silence engulfs the room, and I have to twist around,suddenly worried I’ve put my foot in it and messed everything up.
I assumed wrong.
The three Alphas are looking at me like I can walk on water. Perhaps I can. I’m starting to believe I can do anything around them.
Turning, running with the rush in my blood, I sway my hips with each step I take. “Do you like my idea?”
Three growls make me think perhaps I’ve stumbled into a wolf den, which should scare the bejesus out of me. Instead, my body, my mind, and my soul are so on board with the idea of being forever packed with them that I have to cup my pussy so my slick doesn’t ruin their carpet.
“Go!” Hendrix snarls.
“Where am I going, sir?” I tease. Emboldened by the way they keep looking at me.
“Simona...” He snarls in warning.
I nearly run. My feet itch to. One day I want him to chase me down, brutally. But not today. Instead of doing what he said, I purposely slow each step and take my time to look at everything I can find on my exploration of their home. I meander past paintings hanging on the wall, photos of them and places they’ve visited. Vases, artwork, music awards, and Law Degrees are put together in ways that make it clear each item means something. I keep walking through the proof of their lives and the tokens of their love until I’m near their bedrooms. Their scent is like nitrogen in my veins, and I stagger under its influence, reaching out my hand so I don’t crash to the floor. I latch on to Dominic’s arm, holding on to it for dear life while I breathe through the onslaught until I can walk without whimpering.
The atmosphere is heavy with concern and thick with lust. A few more steps and the air becomes saturated with our collective needs. Isqueeze my eyes shut, my hand trailingalong the wall. But even without looking, I know when I come to my nest. And it is my nest. I feel the surety of that statement burning my hand. Maybe because there’s an undeniable pull and growing awareness that I am meant to be with them.
