Page 64 of Pack Me Up
Saint watches, barely restrained, and I know that when he moves again, it will be decisive.
When he does, it’s to pull me upright, into his lap. The world tilts, but his arms are steel around me, keeping me safe. He kisses my temple, then my mouth again, and I melt into him, legs tangled in his, hands clutching at his back like I’ll fall if I let go.
The others crowd around us, a living barricade. I’m the center, the sun, the reason for the orbit, and I love it.
“You’re beautiful,” Fox says, and the sincerity in it nearly makes me cry.
“We’re yours,” Hunter adds, nipping at my shoulder.
Saint doesn’t say anything. He just holds me, letting me shake and pant and claw at him, never letting me tip over into fear.
I lose myself in their touch, their mouths, their hands. The start of this heat isn’t a punishment anymore. It’s a promise.
The rain pounds harder against the window, a drumbeat to the thunder inside my head.
I don’t know how long it lasts. Time is elastic, seconds stretched and snapped and tied back together by the hands on my body.
Saint flips me and lays me on the bed so I’m left facing the twins, who are kneeling below me.
Before I can register the change, I feel the sensation of teeth on my inner thigh.
Not enough to hurt, just a scrape, a warning. There’s a hand splayed on my hip, heavy, almost bruising, and the ghost of breath against the seam of my underwear. Colton’s eyes are glowing half-mad and hungry. He’s naked from the waist up, black hair plastered to his forehead, tattoos stark against salt-damp skin. The look in his eye is predatory, but the way he touches me is… reverent.
Beside him, Cody is propped on his elbow, watching. He’s the mirror image, but the energy is all wrong: where Colton smolders, Cody simmers, holding back as if he’s waiting for permission to devour me.
I try to move, but Colton pins me with one hand, his grip all alpha. The other slides up my thigh, slipping beneath the shirt I’m wearing. He traces slow circles over my core, then presses, just once, testing.
I gasp, and he grins. “Do you want us, dirty girl?”
Cody’s hand finds my cheek, fingers curling under my jaw. “You look wrecked, Britt.”
I should be embarrassed. I should want to hide. But my body’s a live wire, every inch of skin tuned to their touch. I’m shivering with need, teeth chattering, and the only word I can manage is “Please.”
Colton dips his head, mouth pressed hot to my thigh, tongue darting out for a taste. “She’s already slick,” he says to no one in particular, and the words send a new flush to my face.
Cody’s thumb brushes my lower lip. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, and then, to Colton, “Don’t tease.”
“I never tease,” Colton fires back. “I just like to make it last.”
Their banter is a lifeline, keeping me from getting lost in the need. But it’s not enough. I buck my hips, desperate for more, and Colton obliges. He slides two fingers beneath the fabric and curls them, just so, until I cry out.
Cody kisses my neck, gentle and slow. “Let us take care of you.”
Colton crooks his fingers, hitting something deep and bright. “You want us, omega?” His voice is rough, dangerous. He leans in and licks me, pushing my panties aside and using his tongue deep inside to taste every inch of me.
“Yes,” I say, and the word is a prayer.
“Say it again,” Cody murmurs, lips soft against my ear.
“I want you. Both of you. All of you.” I choke on the words, but I mean them. I want every hand, every mouth, every single part.
Colton’s fingers and tongue work in a steady rhythm, but it’s not enough. I need more. I need him to ruin me. “Harder,” I beg, and he laughs, low and pleased.
Cody slides down, replacing Colton’s hand with his own. His touch is different, gentler, more deliberate, but the effect is the same.
Colton uses his free hand to rip my panties off, exposing me to them.
I’m shaking, my body reduced to a single, raw nerve. When Cody’s mouth finds me, it’s worship, not hunger.
