Every time I kiss her, a piece of my deadened heart breaks loose and soars. It’s not just lust or heat—it’s deeper, older, like my soul remembers what it feels like to be whole. Berk tastes like defiance and fire, like home after too many years in the dark. I used to think survival meant keeping my head down, burying the pain until it stopped mattering, but now I know better. Survival was her. It always was.
With her back in our lives, I can’t figure out how we ever managed those years thinking she was gone. The hole she left nearly swallowed us entirely. Emerson went quiet, too careful with every word; Rowan started carrying his anger like a second skin. And me—I became someone I barely recognized, a blade looking for someone to cut. But she came back, and with her came light, chaos, and a reason to breathe again.
Now, standing here with the war still raging around us—fathers to dismantle, debts to repay—I realize I don’t care about any of it for a moment. I just need her. We all do. She’s the one thing that pulls us out of the madness long enough to remember we’re still human.
I break our kiss and reach out, palm open, an unspoken invitation that hangs between us. Her eyes meet mine, curious, wary, but she knows. She always knows. The air thickens as I glance at mybrothers. They’re already watching, and I don’t have to say a word. They see it in my expression, sense it in the charged space between us—the pull to reach for her, to hold her, to release the strain that’s been tearing at us since this began.
“Come with me,” I murmur, my voice frayed at the edges, the words less a command than a quiet plea—weighted with all I’m not ready to say.
Rowan’s mouth curves into the barest hint of a smirk, understanding steady in his eyes. Emerson answers with a quiet nod, solid and certain, the tension easing from his frame.
Berk’s gaze moves between the three of us, her breath catching as a soft, almost disbelieving smile touches her lips. She steps in without hesitation, slipping her hand into mine—fingers warm, sure, and anchoring against my callused skin.
“Where are we going?” She asks, though she already knows the answer.
I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “To our room,” I tell her, voice low, the promise hanging heavy in the air.
This isn’t about vengeance or plans or blood. It’s about her—the anchor, the chaos, the reason I still know what it feels like to have a heart.
The moment we step into our room, the air changes. The weight of the outside world—the war, the blood, the ghosts—stays behind the door. In here, it’s only us, the space humming with a heat that’s been building all day.
I move before I can think, my hands finding Berk’s hips as easily as breathing. She lets out a small squeak when I toss her onto the bed, the sound catching between us like a spark. Her body hits the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her, and she looks up at me with those wide, knowing eyes that always undo me.
“Don’t move,” I growl, rough around the edges. It’s not a shout—it doesn’t need to be. The sound of it alone makes her shiver, a flush creeping up her throat as goosebumps rise along her skin.
The bed is enormous—built that way long before we knew she’d return, though now it feels like it was waiting for us all along. I stay at the foot of the bed, watching her breathe, memorizing the way her chest rises and falls, the tremor in her hands as she grips the sheets.
Rowan moves to the right, his expression unreadable but his eyes full of the same quiet fire I feel burning in my chest. Emerson steps to the other side, his movements slower, deliberate, like he’s grounding all of us by being steady. Together, we close in around her, silent and sure—and for the first time in hours, it feels right.
Then I give her the first command, my voice steady and intentional, pitched gruff enough to leave no doubt. “Strip.”
She hesitates for only a heartbeat before her hands move, slowly at first, then faster, her breath catching with every motion. The air thickens as fabric falls away, one layer after another, until she’s bare before us, trembling and beautiful in the dim light. Her breasts rise and fall in quick, uneven rhythms, nipples peaking into kissable cherry buds. Each breath a visible echo of her racing heart. The room goes quiet, not out of restraint, but reverence—becausewatching her like this feels less like possession and more like worship.
“Now, open up for us, and let us see what’s ours. Let us worship that pretty pink pussy.” My words are barely distinguishable with the growl rolling through them.
She does without hesitation, opening herself to show us her wet center. The shift in the room is immediate. Heat gathers, dense and focused. We’re not wild men, but the low growls that vibrate our chests gives us away—restrained, controlled, edged with an unmistakable claim.
The air grows heavy, almost fluid, each breath drawn tight with want. The room settles into the uneven rhythm of our breathing and the faint creak of the bed as Berk moves. When her lashes flutter, her gaze sliding between the three of us, the sight hits hard enough that I have to fight for my next breath.
Rowan moves first, brushing his knuckles along her jaw, slow and reverent. “You have no idea what you do to us,” he whispers, his tone tender despite the edge beneath it. She tilts her chin, granting him silent permission, and he leans down to kiss her—deep, consuming, the kind that makes time stop.
I can’t help myself. My hand slides slowly up her thigh, the motion confident and teasing.
“Careful, brother,” Rowan murmurs against her lips. “She’s shaking.” His voice is rough with hunger, edged and deliberate, and the sound of it rolls through the room, tight and heavy, stirring a dark response in my chest.
Emerson stays still at first, watching—his restraint sharper than anything the rest of us are doing. It feels dangerous in its own right. Then he reaches out, catches a loose strand of Berk’s hair, and winds it slowly around his finger.
“You’re trembling for us, baby,” he breathes. Not a question. An assessment. His gaze never leaves her as he adds, “You like being on display for us, teasing us?”
She whimpers a soft yes, breath hitching on the sound—barely there, almost nothing at all, yet it’s enough to send my pulse skidding hard against my ribs.
Rowan trails kisses down her throat, each one slower than the last, tasting her skin like he’s memorizing it. My hand drifts higher, my touch firm but careful, claiming without cruelty. Emerson leans in close, his lips brushing her ear as he murmurs words we can’t hear, something that makes her back arch and her hands clutch the sheets.
My patience is gone by the time my knees hit the mattress. Hands slide up her thighs, unhurried but intent, until they reach the apex of her heat. Then I spread her wide, pussy on display, wet and dripping. My mouth waters.
“Fuck, I’ve got to eat this pussy.” When I catch her gaze again, she’s breathless. I smirk. “You going to let me feast, baby?”
“Yes—please, Ro. Please—” Her plea breaks apart as I lean in and swipe my tongue through her glistening folds, stealing the rest of her words.
