Page 81 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Sloane feels that too. His hand slides over my stomach, possessive and slow, and his voice drops until it is for me alone. “He wants you so bad. Needy for all of us, and he still keeps looking at you.”

My breath catches.

Idris hears it. His gaze moves from Theo’s face to mine, and the heat in his eyes is nothing like correction. It is approval, hunger, and satisfaction held so carefully it almost looks calm. “Don’t look away, Calliope.”

I couldn’t if I tried.

Garrett pulls Theo closer, and that is when I see his face clearly. I have seen Sloane want, open and greedy and loud evenwhen his voice goes soft, and I have seen Idris want with that controlled intensity that makes every inch of me listen before he touches me.

Garrett’s want looks different.

His eyes on Theo are dark and fixed and almost reverent, but my stomach tightens before I understand why. It is too deep, maybe, too still, something shadowed moving under the surface while his hand stays gentle at Theo’s neck.

Theo makes a broken sound, and Garrett’s expression shifts again, so exposed for half a second that I feel like I have seen something private. Then Theo tugs my hand, and the little chill under my ribs slips beneath the heat.

Sloane kisses the edge of my jaw. “God, I can’t wait to watch you two together someday.”

Theo hears that. His gaze snaps to Sloane, then back to me, and the blush that rises in his face is so beautiful I forget the shadow in Garrett’s eyes entirely.

Idris makes a low sound, amused and pleased, and reaches across the nest to touch Theo’s wrist where he's holding me. “Greedy thought,” he says, and his voice slides warm through the room. “Good one, though.”

Sloane’s laugh rumbles into my shoulder. “Thank you for your approval.”

“I didn’t say approved.” Idris’ eyes stay on me when he answers, and his thumb moves once against Theo’s wrist. “I said good.”

That shouldn't make me shiver, but it does. Sloane’s arm tightens around me, and his smile presses hot against my neck.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

The spike rolls through Theo harder on the next breath. His head drops back against Garrett’s shoulder, and the sound he makes is raw enough that my hand jerks toward him before I stop myself with our fingers still joined.

The memory of Garrett’s table growl flashes through me with Sloane rut-thick behind my back and Theo trembling between us. I don’t pull away, but I keep my hand where Theo already has it and watch his face.

Theo clutches me harder.

Garrett sees it. Sloane feels it. Idris’ gaze goes sharp with heat, and his command lands with a quietness that makes my bones listen. “Hold him, Calliope.”

Relief hits so fast it almost makes me dizzy. I fold my hand around Theo’s and lift our joined fingers to my mouth.

Theo whimpers when I kiss his knuckles, and Sloane swears against my neck like the sound has reached into him and twisted. Garrett’s eyes flick to mine over Theo’s shoulder, unreadable for a heartbeat, then he bends his head to Theo again.

Theo’s spike rolls through the nest in a thick, sweet wave of cardamom and peach blossom, sharp enough that my own body answers before I can think. His fingers lock tighter around mine. Garrett answers first, the strongest pull of Alpha to Omega, drawing Theo fully against him with firm, steady hands. He eases Theo onto his back in the center of the nest, one of Idris’ throws still under them, and settles between his thighs. Theo’s legs open for him without hesitation. Garrett pushes inside him in one long, controlled thrust, deep and sure, and Theo’s mouth falls open on a broken sound that vibrates straight through our joined hands.

“Color,” Idris says, voice low and clear across the nest.

“Green,” Theo answers, already breathless, eyes glassy and fixed on me even as Garrett begins to move.

Garrett fucks him with deliberate, anchoring strokes, hips rolling deep and steady, one hand braced beside Theo’s shoulder and the other holding his hip open. Theo takes every inch of him, body arching, the wet sound of it filling the quiet room. His freehand clutches at Garrett’s forearm, but the one holding mine never lets go. Every time the intensity climbs he turns his face toward me, seeking my voice, my eyes, the press of my mouth when he can reach it.

Sloane is already moving behind me.

His mouth is at the side of my throat, open and hungry, while his hands slide under the hem of my sleep shirt and push it up. “Look at him,” he murmurs against my skin, voice rough with the rut-edge. “Taking it so well. Still holding onto you.” His palms cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they tighten, and I arch back into him with a soft sound I can’t hold in. Idris’ hand stays at my ankle, grounding, then slides higher along my calf as he shifts closer.

“Color, Calliope,” Idris says.

“Green.”

Sloane’s hands move lower, pushing my pants and underwear down my hips. I lift for him without thinking. The cool air of the room touches my bare skin for only a second before Sloane’s body covers me again, hot and solid, his cock already hard against the small of my back. He kisses the hinge of my jaw, the edge of my ear, the place where my pulse jumps.