"Oliver." Nicholas speaks my name with a voice rough and strained against the scent flooding his senses. "Tell me what you need."
My body trembles as I look up at him. "Inside. Now. Knot me, Nicholas, please, I can't—"
Nicholas fucks me hard and fast, that beautiful fat knot stretching me out and easing the desperate need. But it’s not enough. I need all of my men, including the shy Beta I basically stole out of a booth several weeks ago.
"Your turn." My voice comes out raw as my eyes find Wilson's face where he's lying against Lorenzo's chest at the edge of the nest. Nicholas hasn’t finished knotting me but they’re too far away. "Come here."
Wilson shifts toward me and Lorenzo's hand catches his arm. "Baby, the knot ring only works during your spikes. Outside of that, it's just—"
My nose turns up with frustration as I scratch at the sheets, wiggling on Nicholas’ knot. The word I wanted to say turns into a moan as I come again, Nicholas slowly pulling out of me. I roll onto my stomach and weakly sit up, looking between the three of them. "I don't need the ring." My hand pulls Wilson closer by his wrist. "I want my Betas. Both of them. Please." Another wave immediately crests, slick pouring between my thighs as my hips roll against the blankets. "I need Wilson. Zo, please, I need him."
Lorenzo's gaze moves to Wilson. The check-in is silent, Lorenzo's eyebrow lifting a fraction. Nicholas shifts to Wilson's other side, his hand finding the back of Wilson's neck.
"You good?" Nicholas's voice is quiet against Wilson's ear.
Wilson's eyes move from me to Lorenzo to Nicholas. His cock is hard against his thigh, his breathing uneven, his pupils blown from the scent saturating the nest. "Yeah." His voice is rough. "Yeah, I think I'm good."
"You think or you know, gorgeous?" Lorenzo's thumb presses against Wilson's pulse point.
"I know." Wilson's jaw sets. "I want this."
I don't wait for Wilson to come to me. My body moves before the decision finishes forming, climbing across the tangled blankets, pushing Wilson onto his back, and swinging my leg over his hips. Wilson's eyes go wide beneath me, his hands catching my thighs, his mouth parting around a breath that carries my name.
I sink down onto him in one long drop. No pause, no adjustment, just his cock filling me in a single slide that makes laughter bubble up from my chest and twist into a groan halfway out of my mouth. Wilson's hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise and the sound he makes beneath me is strangled, his head pressing back into the blankets, his abs clenching.
"Oliver, fuck, you can't just—"
"I absolutely can." My hips roll and the groan that follows comes from both of us, his cock shifting inside me at an angle that makes my toes curl against the blankets.
32
Wilson
The heat has been rolling for sixteen hours, and my body has stopped pretending it belongs to me.
Our nest lies in a wreck of blankets and sweat, the scent so thick the air feels heavy. Oliver’s sweetness saturates every surface, mingling with Lorenzo’s rain, Nicholas’s amber, and the coffee-leather I could no longer tell apart from my own around hour ten. The lamp casts an amber glow over our tangled bodies and sheets, and the noises filling the room have long since shed any trace of restraint.
Oliver lies beneath me, his legs locked around my waist, arching off the blankets with every thrust. His fingers rake through my hair, and his mouth pours words against my jaw that feel equal parts praise and demand. I roll my hips into him, the knot-ring swollen inside him, binding us while his musclesclench around me in rhythmic pulses that draw from my throat sounds I barely recognize as my own.
Behind him, Lorenzo braces his legs around Oliver’s shoulders, his hands tangling in Oliver’s hair as Oliver tips his head back against Lorenzo’s thigh and moans. Lorenzo’s eyes sweep over the three of us with the focused assessment of a conductor orchestrating something precise. His gaze lands on me above Oliver.
“Wilson,” Lorenzo murmurs, my name in his mouth an order. “Let Oliver come, then lie back.”
On my next thrust, Oliver’s orgasm crashes over us—his body clamping so tight around the ring that I follow instantly, my vision whitening at the edges as I spill inside him. He cries out, filling our nest with his voice, and his hands clamp around my shoulders, yanking me down against his chest where his heartbeat thumps against mine through the slick skin separating us.
The ring deflates. I slide out of Oliver, and his soft whimper at the sudden empty space tugs at my chest. Lorenzo’s hands sweep around Oliver, cradling him back into his lap, pressing kisses to his temple. Oliver’s eyes flutter, his body limp, the spike momentarily sated.
I hear Lorenzo’s voice again: “Lie back, Wilson.” The register that dissolves all my resistance.
I let my back settle into the blankets. The nest is warm beneath me; every scent clings to the fabric as I sink into the layers Oliver has built around us over the past sixteen hours. The ceiling above me—the same one I’ve stared at since the heat began—looks different from here, through this exhaustion, this raw vulnerability pressing against my skin.
Nicholas moves into my field of vision.
He’s been at the edge of the nest for the last hour, catching his breath between cycles, his body recovering from the knotthat locked him inside Oliver earlier. His chest is bare, tattoos dark against sweat-slick skin, a sheen of moisture across his collarbones. He’s had his glasses off since the first hour; without them, his face is open, unguarded, his brown eyes holding something that makes my ribs tighten.
He kneels beside me. One hand finds my face—palm warm against my jaw, thumb tracing my cheekbone. His amber scent presses in from every direction, woven into the blankets, rising from his skin, flooding each breath I take.
“Will,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from hours of use and pheromone haze. “Look at me.”
