Page 118 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

Dash gives him a brief explanation. “It started quickly. He stayed clear enough to ask for them and for Callie.”

Idris' eyes move to mine. “Are you still clear enough to answer me?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you want us?”

I tighten my arm around Callie’s waist. “I want her touching me.”

Callie’s breath catches against my hair. Idris nods once, accepting the answer without making it larger than it needs to be. “She’s not going anywhere, Theo. I promise.”

Sloane climbs into the nest on my other side. His body brings heat and pressure, the broad shape of him settling close without covering me, and when he bends to scent my neck, my whole body softens toward him.

He kisses the skin near the temporary bite. The contact is careful, almost reverent, and his hand stays wrapped around Callie’s ankle where it rests across my legs.

Idris kneels at the foot of the nest and removes his watch. He places it beside Dash’s book, then reaches for me with both hands.

“Come here,” he says, the words shaped as an invitation rather than a command.

I move toward him because I want to. Callie moves with me, refusing to let the connection between us break, and Idris' hand comes to the back of my neck while Sloane steadies my hip.

The Alpha contact begins easing the sharpest edge. Idris checks my breathing, asks where the ache sits, and waits through every broken answer. Sloane scents me again while maintaining contact with Callie, his thumb moving over the inside of her ankle whenever my body tightens.

Dash remains near the nest. He watches Callie’s face, then touches her shoulder when she looks toward him. She reaches back without taking her hand from me, and he closes his fingers around hers.

Callie turns my face toward hers and kisses me. I feel Sloane’s hand tighten around my hip and Idris' palm remain firm at my neck, holding the room steady while her mouth opens beneath mine.

I reach for her again. The spike climbs hard and fast, a deep, liquid heat rolling from the base of my spine through my stomach and into my chest until every breath feels too shallow. My skin is too tight. My cock is already hard and leaking against Callie’s thigh. The need for Alpha scent and weight and voice presses in from every side, but I keep one arm locked around her waist so the heat can't push her even an inch away from me.

“Sloane,” I say against her mouth, the word rough. “I need you closer. All the way.”

He moves at once. His body curves fully along my back, bare chest to bare skin, one heavy thigh sliding between mine from behind. Smoked cedar and brown sugar flood the air around us, thick enough to taste. His mouth opens against the side of my neck, kissing, then sucking lightly, while both of his hands stroke down my sides in long, grounding passes.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Right here, sweetheart. Color?”

“Green.” I push back into him and forward into Callie at the same time. “Don’t go quiet on me. Talk. Touch. Please.”

Idris shifts in front of me until his knees bracket mine. One hand stays at the nape of my neck, thumb pressing firmly into the tense muscle there. The other rests over my sternum so he can feel every rise and fall of my breathing. Black tea and rain cut through the heavier scents, giving the heat a clean edge to lean against.

“Eyes on me for a second,” Idris says. When I look at him he studies my pupils, the flush across my cheeks, the way my hands keep moving. “Still lucid? Still choosing?”

“Yes. Green. I want both of you. And her. All of it.”

Callie is already answering the last part. She kisses me again, deeper, her tongue sliding against mine while one hand cups the side of my face. My free hand finds the soft heat between her legs. She is wet, open, ready. I stroke two fingers along her folds, then press them inside her slowly, feeling her clench around the intrusion. She moans into my mouth. The sound goes straight down my spine and makes the spike surge harder.

Dash stays at her back. He does not reach for me. Instead he brushes her hair aside and kisses the nape of her neck, then the place where her shoulder meets her throat. One of his hands slides around to cup her breast, thumb circling the nipple until it tightens. His other hand joins mine between her thighs, two of his fingers settling over my own so that every stroke I give her is doubled. Callie breaks the kiss with a soft, startled cry of pleasure and drops her forehead to mine.

“That’s it,” I whisper to her. “Let him. Let me. Stay with me.”

Sloane’s hand slips between my legs from behind. He coats his fingers with the slick already coating my thighs and eases one inside me, then a second, stretching me open with patient, thorough strokes. The burn is exactly what the heat wants. I rockback onto his hand and forward into Callie’s body at the same time, caught in the dual rhythm.

“More,” I tell Sloane. “Another. I can take it.”

He adds a third finger without hesitation, scissoring carefully, his mouth still moving against my neck. “So good for us. Taking what you need. We’ve got you.”

Idris leans in and kisses me, controlled and deep, while his hand wraps around my cock above the place where Callie’s hip is pressed. He strokes in the same cadence Sloane is using inside me. The combined sensation—Sloane opening me, Idris working my cock, Callie’s wet heat around my fingers, Dash’s hand moving with mine—keeps the spike from turning sharp and lonely. It stays shared, held on every side.

I turn my face out of Idris' kiss and find Callie’s mouth again. “I want you to come first,” I tell her, voice shaking. “I want to feel it while they’re inside me.”