Sting lowers her onto the bed gently. She sinks into the mattress with a soft sound, eyes fluttering open just enough to take in the room.
“Where...” she starts, voice hoarse.
“Your room,” I say, stepping inside. “No one else comes in here unless you say.”
She blinks slowly, trying to process. Her gaze travels over the tapestries, the lights, the blankets. “This is... mine? How many rooms do you have?”
“You’ve seen them all. But yes, this is yours.”
“Why?”
Sting crouches beside the bed, brushing damp hair back from her face. “Because you’re not just a Runt anymore.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Then what am I?”
“Ours,” Rogue says simply, leaning against the doorframe. “And we take care of what’s ours.”
She stares at the ceiling for a long moment, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Not sad tears. Something else. Relief, maybe. Or grief for what she lost, mixed with something she didn’t expect to find.
“I don’t deserve this,” she whispers.
“You’re here,” I say. “That’s enough.”
She closes her eyes. A single tear slides down her cheek.
I strip off my shirt, then my pants, and climb onto the bed beside her. Sting does the same on her other side. Rogue stays at the door for a moment longer, then shuts it and crosses to the bed, shedding clothes as he goes.
Vi’s eyes open when she feels us settle around her. “What are you doing?”
“Staying,” Sting says.
“You’re exhausted,” Rogue adds. “We’re not leaving you alone tonight.”
She looks between us, something fragile and raw in her expression. “I’m filthy.”
“We’ll clean you up in a minute,” I say. “Right now, just breathe.”
She does. Her body relaxes incrementally, sinking deeper into the mattress.
But even exhausted, even wrecked, I can feel the tension still coiled in her. The need that hasn’t fully left. We gave her three orgasms in the Skylight Room, but her body is still humming with it, the denial from last night and this morning, the teasing, the ache that’s been building for days.
My hand slides down her stomach. She tenses.
“Armen—”
“One more,” I murmur. “Just one more and then you sleep.”
Her eyes widen. “I can’t?—”
“You can.”
Sting’s hand joins mine, both of us touching her now, slow, deliberate. Rogue’s mouth finds her throat, teeth scraping gently.
She whimpers, hips lifting involuntarily.
I slide two fingers inside her, she’s still slick, still open from before, and curl them. Sting’s thumb finds her clit, circling slow.
“Please,” she gasps. “I can’t, it’s too much?—”
