Page 118 of Taken By the Pack

Jake drags a hand through his sweat-damp hair, his jaw tightening. “It’s worse now.”

It is. We barely took the edge off, and now it’s roaring back, threatening to consume her all over again.

She whimpers, pressing her thighs together, her body caught in the throes of something instinctual, something beyond her control. She turns her face toward me, her glassy eyes pleading, and it nearly undoes me.

“Please,” she whispers. “I can’t?—”

I hush her softly, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, but my own pulse pounds in my ears, my instincts surging forward with violent force.

She needs more. She needs us.

Ash is already moving, his lips pressing to her temple, her jaw, whispering words meant to ground her. “We’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone.”

Jake is at her other side, his hands skimming over her skin, soothing but firm. “Just breathe, sweetheart.”

But breathing isn’t enough. Not for her.

She whimpers again, her body tensing, her fingers digging into the sheets hard enough to tear. The sound that escapes her is raw, aching, full of need.

My control frays at the edges.

We move as one, the three of us, our touches blending together in a seamless rhythm. Hands stroking, guiding, lips brushing over heated skin, grounding her through the unbearable pressure of it all. She writhes beneath us, against us, overwhelmed but reaching, always reaching.

She clings to Jake’s shoulders, her nails biting into his skin, leaving red crescents in their wake. Her teeth catch on Ash’s lower lip when he kisses her, the sharp sting making him groan into her mouth.

My hands bracket her hips, steadying, soothing, while my lips trail over her jaw, down the column of her throat, feeling the erratic pulse hammering beneath her skin.

It’s brutal. Beautiful. A ceremony in itself.

By the time it’s over, none of us are untouched.

Jake collapses beside her, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, a deep scratch marking his shoulder where her nails dug in too hard. Ash slumps against her other side, forehead resting against her shoulder, his lips brushing soft, reverent kisses over her damp skin.

And me?

Scratches line my arms, my back, my chest, faint trails of dried blood marking where she lost herself to the pleasure, to the need.

I sit back on my heels, just looking at her.

She’s wrecked. Completely.

Her body is boneless, her skin glistening with sweat, marked by us in ways no one else ever will be. Bruises bloom along her thighs, and bite marks are scattered across her collarbone and her shoulders, indicating places where our teeth found purchase in the haze of it all.

It smells like devotion. Like permanence.

She curls onto her side, her body still trembling, small whimpers escaping her lips. Not in pain. Just spent.

I move first, pushing up on one elbow, reaching for the damp cloth beside the bed. Carefully, I press it to her skin, wiping away the remnants of what we did. She flinches at first, too sensitive, but then she relaxes, letting me take care of her.

“You did so well,” I murmur, dragging the cloth over her stomach, her thighs, slow and careful. I erase the mess, but not the marks. Not the evidence of us.

Jake presses a glass of water to her lips, his other hand stroking her hair. “Drink, baby. You need it.”

She obeys without question, swallowing greedily, throat working as she drains half the glass before slumping back against the pillows.

Ash is the last to move, shifting closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. He nuzzles her temple, his lips brushing over her damp skin. “You were perfect,” he whispers. “So perfect.”

She sighs, her body melting against his, her breathing finally evening out.

---