Page 11 of Knot The Nanny We Planned

"She's sweet," Knox murmurs against my flesh. "So fucking sweet. I want to feel her come on my tongue."

"Make her come," JD orders, and the Alpha command in his voice makes my body clench.

Knox doubles his efforts. Two fingers slide inside me, long and dexterous, curling against the front wall of my channel while his tongue works my clit in rapid, fluttering strokes. The pleasure builds like a storm, lightning crackling along my nerve endings, and I'm thrashing between them, JD's iron grip behind me, Knox's wicked mouth below, and the sensation is so overwhelming that tears stream down my cheeks.

"Please," I sob. "Please, please...”

"Please what?" a third voice says. Deklan.

He appears to my left, leaning against nothing, arms crossed, that familiar scowl on his face. But his eyes, God, his eyes, are molten. Dark and burning, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. He's wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, and somehow that makes it worse, makes it dirtier, like the buttoned-up Beta is watching me fall apart and cataloging every detail.

"Please what?" he repeats, and his voice is low, controlled, but there's a crack in it. A hairline fracture where the want bleeds through. "Tell them what you need, Willow."

"I need, " I gasp as Knox's fingers curl harder. "I need… I need all of you."

Deklan's jaw tightens. He uncrosses his arms and steps closer. His hand, steady and precise, the hand of a man who deals in numbers and strategies, reaches out and cups my face. His thumb traces my lower lip, pulling it down, and his dark eyes track the motion.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he says quietly.

"Then show me."

Something shifts in his expression and the scowl cracks. The wall crumbles. And what's underneath is raw, aching hunger, the kind that's been suppressed so long it's turned volatile.

He kisses me.

Deklan kisses me, and it's nothing like what I expected from the grumpy, controlled Beta. His mouth is demanding, his tongue pushing past my lips, tasting me, claiming me. He swallows my moans as Knox's tongue pushes me closer to the edge, as JD's hands map every inch of my body from behind.

Three men. Three scents, pine, smoke, and cedar, wrapping around me until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. Three sets of hands. Three mouths. And me, suspended between them, trembling, pleading, desperate.

"Come for us," JD growls in my ear. "Come for us, omega, and we'll give you everything."

Knox's teeth graze my clit, Deklan's tongue strokes mine, and JD's fingers pinch my nipple, hard, perfect, exactly right, and the orgasm detonates.

I come so hard the dream shatters and I wake up screaming.

Not a scream of fear, a scream of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. My body is convulsing, my inner walls clenching around nothing, my back arched off the bed. Slick is gushing between my thighs, soaking through the sheets, and my clit is throbbing in time with my heartbeat. The aftershocks roll through me in waves, each one smaller than the last, but the heat doesn't fade. If anything, it's worse. The dream intensified everything, and now I'm lying in the dark, shaking, drenched, and more aroused than I've ever been in my life.

My hand is between my legs, but I don't remember putting it there. My fingers are buried inside myself, two of them, and my hips are still rolling, still chasing the phantom sensation of Knox's mouth. I yank them away like I've been burned.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

But it wasn't. Not really. Scent-matched dreams aren't just fantasies, they're connections. Biological links forged by compatible pheromones that allow matched partners to share sensations across distances. The dream was real. The pleasure was real. And if I felt it...

Shoot! They felt it too.

I squeeze my thighs together and bite down on my knuckle. The taste of blood blooms on my tongue, I've bitten too hard and broken skin, but I don't care. I need something to hold onto, some anchor to keep me from flying apart.

The room is dark, and the digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:47 AM. I've been asleep for less than an hour.

I need to calm down. I need to think about something else, anything else. Tax returns. Wet paint. The molecular structure of…

A floorboard creaks in the hallway, and I go rigid.

Someone is out there. Standing in the dark hallway, feet from my door. I can hear breathing, ragged and uneven, the sound of someone trying very hard to control themselves.

Then a second set of footsteps. Lighter and more deliberate, a second body joining the first.

Silence and then, so quiet I almost miss it, a voice. Knox's voice, threadbare and raw: