Page 61 of Taken By The Wolves
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After dinner, when Ahya is clean, fed, and asleep, I slip into the bathroom for a shower, hoping the water will wash away the confusion clinging to my thoughts. The steam is thick, and I lean my head against the tile, overwhelmed by the weight of it all.
I’m only alone for two minutes, then the door opens, revealing Nixon, Reed, and Finn naked and glorious, powerful and intense. They climb in around me, and I glance up at each of them, overwhelmed by their size and proximity, finding softness in their expressions, but hunger, too. Their eyes rove over my body, lingering on my pale skin and the red curls between my thighs, slick with water. Nixon cups my cheek, his voice a rasp of reverence.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “Let us hold you.”
Then, with a smooth strength that overwhelms me, he lifts me against his chest. My legs wrap around his waist. My arms circle his shoulders. My lips find his without hesitation.
Reed’s hands are at my back, fingers tracing the ridges of my spine. Finn’s body presses into mine, solid and warm. He kisses the curve of my shoulder, his lips reverent.
“Let us show you what it means to be ours,” Finn says softly.
They kiss me all over, their tongues tracing softness beneath each breast, sliding over the curve of my belly, planting tiny claims on my skin. Every action is deliberate and reverent. I’m slick with water, but also with want.
When Reed cups my breast, his thumb circling my peaked nipple, I tilt my head, swamped by sensation. My skin comes alive with every caress. I’m open for this. For whatever they want.
Finn’s lips trail from the bend of my neck to the outside of my thigh as Nixon’s cock presses hard and insistent along the length of my sex. The glass fogs behind us, until nothing exists but the weight of them, the need in their eyes, the truth in their mouths.
I sense the shift in atmosphere as the tension between us turns electric. This is the moment before the claim. My rational mind whispers I’m not ready, but at the same time, every fractured piece of my heart is pounding, wanting so fiercely that fear dissolves into longing.
I want the love and devotion these men are willing to give and the softness of Ahya’s little body to always be close.
I want the security of a life surrounded by love and protection, where I no longer have to hope for a fairytale ending or fear the danger at the door.
I find them in the steam; three faces, three promises, three wolves determined that I belong to them.
I’m uncertain about this world, but I’m already entwined.
I move with them, turning, responding, tasting each one. My resistance softens with every kiss.
Finally, Nixon brushes a towel over my shoulders. I shiver, though I’m burning, and he nudges me forward, hands resting gently as a promise on my hips.
I know this is the path to the claim. I’m not ready, but I can’t step away, either.
Their breath, their heartbeats, and their wild devotion coils around me. Their pack has become my sanctuary, andmore importantly, the only safety Ahya has ever known. And while fear claws at my thoughts, I lean into that promise.
In this moment, my world shifts beneath my skin.
And part of me welcomes it.
Because running back to a world without them now?
I don’t know how to do that anymore.
30
NIXON
For every wolf, the knowledge that there will be a mate in their future is a part of life. One of my earliest memories is of my father telling us about the deep, abiding connection between him and my mother. That connection seemed holy for a long time, until I was older and could see the tiny flaws in their relationship. They never considered parting. That isn’t how the mate bond works, but there was always a lingering sense of resentment at my mother’s lack of choice. I wanted real love, and to be a choice for my mate, rather than a fated inevitability.
Now, here we are, walking Scarlet into our bedroom, and I’m still not sure how she feels. She’s attracted to us, sure. No woman comes as hard as she does if her mind isn’t connected to the men she’s with. Attraction is important, but it isn’t enough.
She sits on the edge of the bed, skin still dewy from the shower, hair tumbling in damp waves over her shoulders. She’s the picture of raw beauty, bared and vulnerable, yetholding herself like a warrior who doesn’t quite trust the battlefield.
Her knuckles are white against the mattress.
I crouch before her, bringing my face close to hers. I lift my hand and cup her cheek. She closes her eyes at the contact, leaning into it like she needs it more than air.
