Page 150 of Unhinged
She gags once and then moans deep in her throat, body convulsing as the first wave hits her. Her pussy clenches down hard and I lose it.
I thrust up into her, cock swelling fast as my knot forms.
“Gidge—fuck—I’m coming,” I groan, stars dancing behind my eyes. I feel myself spill deep inside her, hot and thick, pulse after pulse.
Acid lets out a growl and slams into her one last time before locking against my knot.
She screams again, full-body shaking as she’s split and stretched, stuffed completely. Her orgasm crashes over her, mouth still working on Arrow.
He groans through clenched teeth and finally spills down her throat. She swallows every drop, her lips sliding off with a loud, wet pop. Her body twitches between us, still clenching, still dripping, and then she falls forward into Arrow’s arms.
We’re all breathing hard. My arms are wrapped around her waist, my knot still locked inside. Acid’s chest is against her back, his hand tangled in her hair. Arrow strokes her cheek gently, brushing the sweat and tears away as she blinks up at him.
No one speaks for a while. Just the sound of panting and the weight of what we just did.
She’s glowing. Ours. And I’ve never seen anything so perfect.
CHAPTER FIFTY
BRYDGETT
I blink my eyes open, lashes sticking together, and I’m hit with a wave of scent so thick it almost makes me dizzy. It’s them. Sandalwood, bergamot and mango, sweat and skin, all tangled up with the sharp citrus and jasmine of my own perfume. It’s clinging to everything, soaked into the blankets, into the mattress, into me. I’m wrapped in it—wrapped inthem.
I realize I’m lying in a nest. Not just some pile of blankets, either. A real one. Built with care. Pillows fluffed and tucked around me, blankets layered soft and low, clothes that still smell like them scattered like scent markers. I don’t remember building it. I barely remember getting here. There are flashes—Gears holding me close, Acid cursing under his breath, Arrow's steady voice in my ear.
Marcus. God, Marcus. He actually saved me.
And then the heat hit full force. After that, everything went foggy. Touches, gasps, lips, voices. A blur of need and instinct and fire that wouldn’t stop burning. And now, everything aches. My thighs. My neck. Between my legs. I shift and feel thesoreness right at the center of my core, deep and dull and entirely earned.
First heat in almost a decade. This one with alphas I actually care about. That thought hits harder than I expect. Knocks the breath out of my chest. I care about them.
Gears. Arrow. Acid.
They’re mine. My alphas.
It scares the hell out of me.
But Earl is dead. And I’m still breathing. So maybe it’s time I stop hiding from things that scare me. Maybe it’s time I start living.
Still, I refuse to stop killing.
That part of me isn’t going away. I’ve spent too long sharpening that skill to let it go dull. There are still alphas out there who deserve to bleed. Men and women who hurt omegas. Alphas who leave kids shaking in closets. I’ll keep tracking them. Hunting them. Ending them. And my alphas? They’re just going to have to learn to love a killer.
I shift gently, careful not to wake the three men tangled around me. Gears is curled against my back, one hand resting possessively on my hip. Arrow’s breath flutters over my collarbone. Acid has an arm slung across my legs like he plans to keep me anchored forever.
It would be easy to stay here.
But my body is stiff. My skin sticky. I need a minute to myself. Just a little space to come back to center.
I slip out from under them slowly, tiptoeing across the wooden floor. I spot the small door I clocked earlier and nudge it open, relieved when I see the sink through the crack. It’s a bathroom. Cramped and ugly, but it’ll do.
I step inside and close the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. We’re past that now. I pee first, sighing at the ache and the release, and then stand, turning on the shower. The pipesrattle a little, but the water runs warm enough when I test it with my hand.
When I step in, I brace both palms against the wall and let the spray hit my back. It feels good.
Blood. Slick. Tears. Scent. Guilt. Relief. Lust.
It runs down the drain, but it doesn’t leave me. Not really.
