Page 48 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“I’m right here,” I say, and the words come out rough. “I’m not going anywhere, Star.”

Idris undresses Theo gently, not like undressing is an invitation to hurry, but like each layer has become too heavy for our Omega to carry. Shoes first. Socks. Hoodie. Shirt. He pauses at every shift in Theo’s breathing, murmurs when Theo’s hands start shaking too hard to help, and folds every piece of fabric over the chair instead of dropping it. Theo lets him, face wet, purr absent but body leaning toward the care.

“On the bed,” Idris tells him. “Where Sloane can see you.”

Theo obeys because he chooses to, crawling onto the mattress and settling near the pillows with Callie’s sweater still caught in one hand. He watches me with eyes too devastated for words. I stand in the middle of the room because moving requires afuture, and I can't see past the sound of Callie screaming my name.

Idris turns to me.

I look at his hands because looking at his face will undo me before he gets close enough to catch it. He takes my jacket off first, then my shirt, then kneels to unlace my shoes with a reverence that makes shame twist hot under my ribs. I should be helping. I should be checking on Theo. I should be calling another campus, another hospital, another station, another office that will tell me they can't give me information about Calliope Monroe.

Idris rises and cups my face. “Sloane.”

“I was inside.” My voice breaks on the words. “She was outside, and I was inside.”

“I know.” He kisses my forehead, then my temple, then the place beneath my eye where tears have finally started again. “I know, Alpha. Come to bed.”

He finishes undressing me with the same deliberate care he gave Theo. My belt first, then the button and zipper of my pants, his fingers steady even when mine won't stop shaking. He eases the fabric down my legs and helps me step out of it. Socks last. When I'm bare he doesn't look away. He simply rests both hands on my hips and waits until I meet his eyes.

“Color,” he says quietly.

“Green.”

Theo is already on the bed, bare and trembling, Callie’s sweater still clutched in one hand. He reaches for me the moment Idris guides me forward. Idris settles me on my side facing Theo, then stretches out along my back so I'm held between them. The mattress dips under our combined weight. Theo’s free hand finds my chest. Idris' mouth brushes the nape of my neck.

Theo kisses me first.

It is soft at the start, almost hesitant, the press of his mouth careful against mine. I make a low sound, half groan, half broken breath, and something in him answers. The kiss deepens. His purr starts in uneven bursts against my lips, fragile and determined. I answer as best I can, one hand sliding into his hair while the other rests over the soft place where his heart is racing.

Idris' hand strokes down my side, over my hip, then lower. He reaches for the small bottle on the nightstand. The first touch of slick against me is cool. I tense. He stills immediately.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs against my shoulder. “I’m right here. Theo is right here. You don’t have to hold anything up right now.”

I force a breath in. Then another. His fingers return, slow and patient, working me open with careful strokes. Every time my body tightens he pauses. Every time my breath fractures he presses a kiss to the back of my neck and waits. The stretch builds gradually. A low groan leaves me when he adds a second finger. Theo swallows the sound with another kiss, his hand still resting over my heart.

“That’s it,” Idris whispers. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Theo’s mouth moves to the corner of my lips, then my jaw, then the place beneath my ear. His purr catches and restarts, stronger now. I turn my face toward him and find his mouth again, needing the contact. A soft moan slips out of me when Idris' fingers curl just right. Theo answers with a quiet, answering sound of his own.

“I still don’t want to think,” I manage.

Idris' free hand settles over my ribs. “Then don’t. Lie still. Breathe. Take what we’re giving you. Let yourself be held.”

He withdraws his fingers only when I'm open and ready. The blunt head of his cock presses against me. He enters slowly, controlled, giving me every inch with deliberate care until he'sfully seated. The fullness pulls a deep, shaky groan from my chest. Theo’s hand tightens on my face. Idris holds still, his forehead resting against the back of my shoulder, letting me adjust.

“Color,” he asks, voice low.

“Green.”

He begins to move.

The rhythm is steady and deep, built for grounding rather than urgency. Each slow thrust presses me forward into Theo’s body. Theo keeps kissing me through it, soft at first and then hungrier as the sounds leave me. Low grunts. Broken moans. The occasional sharp inhale when Idris' angle finds the place that makes my vision blur. Idris answers every sound with quiet praise against my skin.

“That’s it. Let it out. We’ve got you.”

Theo’s free hand slides down my chest, over my stomach, then wraps carefully around my cock. He strokes in time with Idris' thrusts, gentle and sure. The dual sensation makes my breath stutter. A longer moan escapes me. Theo swallows it with another kiss, his own body pressing closer, the soft sounds he makes vibrating against my mouth.

Idris keeps the pace exact. No rushing. No force. Only steady pressure and the constant reminder of his body behind me, Theo’s in front of me, the two of them surrounding me without trapping me. When the grief tries to rise again he kisses the back of my neck and whispers, “Stay with us. Just this. Just now.”