Page 81 of Heat Unscripted

“Please,” I managed, my voice breaking on the word.

Bram’s hands were on my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing. Tuck’s grip shifted, helping him, and then I was on the bed, surrounded by them, the nest of blankets and scents enveloping me. Bram knelt between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, his breath hot through the fabric of my jeans. Tuck was at my side, his mouth on mine, his tongue sweeping in with a possessive growl. Cillian was at my other side, his fingers tracing the line of my neck.

Tuck pulled away for a moment and Bram asked, “You’re sure?” His voice was rough and went straight to my core.

I nodded as I reached up for him, my fingers tangling in his hair. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His mouth crashed into mine again, and this time, there was no holding back. His hands were everywhere, my waist, my ribs, the swell of my breasts, and when Tuck’s fingers joined his, slipping beneath my shirt to tease my nipples, I gasped into Bram’s mouth, my back arching off the bed.

Cillian’s lips found my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured, his voice a low hum against my pulse.

His words sent a shiver through me, and Bram’s hands stilled for a second before his fingers found the button of my jeans. The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet room, and then his hands were sliding the denim down my hips, his breath hot against the damp fabric of my underwear.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers tracing the lace. “You’resoaked, Isobel.”

I whimpered, my hips lifting into his touch. Tuck’s mouth was on my breast now, his tongue swirling over my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, and Cillian’s fingers were tangled in my hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss me deeper.

Bram’s fingers slipped beneath the lace, and the first touch of his skin against mine was electric. I gasped, my body jerking, and he groaned, his fingers circling my clit with slow, deliberate strokes.

“You’redripping,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. “All for us.”

Tuck’s hand joined his, his fingers sliding inside me, and I cried out, my nails digging into Bram’s shoulders. Cillian’s mouth was on mine again, swallowing the sound, his tongue tangling with mine as Tuck and Bram worked me together, their fingers moving in perfect, devastating rhythm.

“Come for us,” Bram commanded, his voice a rough growl. “Let us hear you.”

And I did. The orgasm crashed over me, my body arching, my voice breaking on a cry that was something wordless and wild. Bram’s mouth was on mine again, swallowing the sound, and Tuck’s growl vibrated against my skin as he kissed his way down my body.

Cillian’s fingers found my chin, tilting my face to his. “You’rebeautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe. “I’ve been waiting years to see you like this.”

And then his mouth was on mine, his kiss slow and deep, his hands cradling my face like I was something precious.

Bram’s fingers were still moving, drawing out the last waves of my orgasm, and when I finally came back to myself, I found all three of them watching me, their eyes dark with hunger.

“Our turn,” Tuck growled, his voice rough with need.

The words were a promise. He moved with the economy of a man who understood bodies. His clothes came off in a series of efficient, powerful movements, each one revealing more of the broad, scarred landscape of him. The cedarwood and bourbon scent of him bloomed, wilder now, stripped of social restraint. Bram followed, his motions more deliberate. He folded his shirt. Placed it on the chair by the window. A final, vestigial act of order before he surrendered to the chaos he’d been fighting for years. Cillian was already there, his wiry frame unfolding from the shadows. His clothes already peeled away to show the intricate sound-wave tattoos coiling up his forearms, the lean, hard lines of a body built for stillness but tuned for response.

Before I realized it I was naked in the center of the nest, the lingering electricity of my orgasm making my skin hum. The air was a dizzying blend of their scents, cedar, peppercorn, sandalwood, all sharpened by a primal, Alpha need.

Tuck knelt between my legs. He didn’t ask. He took my ankles, his calloused hands a familiar, grounding weight, and lifted my legs over his broad shoulders. The position was absolute. A total, physical surrender I gave freely. His hazel eyes burned into mine, and the hunger there was years deep.

“Look at me, Iz. Tell me you want this.”

"I want you. All of you." And I did. I watched him as he settled, the thick, heavy weight of him pressing against me, hot and ready. He entered me with a single, smooth thrust that filled me completely.

A guttural groan tore from his throat, and the sound resonated through the point of contact, vibrating deep inside me. He was home. We were home.

Bram was beside my head, his body a line of heat against mine. He didn’t kiss me. He took my face in his hands, his grip firm, the Game Master demanding his audience.

“Watch him,” he commanded, his voice a raw rasp. “Feel him. I want to see it on your face.”

His peppercorn scent was intoxicating, sharp with a possessiveness that had finally broken its leash. He was directing, even now, but he was also a participant, his own control fracturing with every thrust of Tuck’s hips.

Cillian’s mouth found my breast. Not a hungry kiss like Tuck’s had been, but a precise, knowing one. His tongue traced the circle of my areola with an engineer’s focus, and then his teeth grazed my nipple, sending a fresh shockwave of pleasure through me. I cried out.

“That’s it,” Cillian murmured against my skin, his tenor a low counterpoint to Tuck’s guttural rhythm. “Pure signal. No distortion.”

Tuck’s pace was relentless. He moved with the power and stamina of a man who had spent a decade conditioning his body. Each drive of his hips was a claim.Mine. Mine. Mine.The cedar scent of him was everywhere, soaking into the blankets, into my skin, marking me.