Page 106 of The Knotheads Next Door
Behind her, Theo's kisses trail down her spine, each press of his lips deliberate and reverent. She arches into the touch, and I swallow her soft moan, deepening the kiss until we're both breathing hard.
"My turn," Wells says quietly, and there's a question in it even though he's trying to sound commanding.
She breaks away from me to look at him, her lips swollen and eyes dark. "Come here," she says, reaching for him. "Please."
When Wells joins us properly, his hands immediately find her face, cupping her cheeks with infinite gentleness before kissing her with all the careful control that's so essentially him. But even his control has soft edges now, his usual composure tempered by tenderness.
The dynamics between us shift and flow naturally. Sometimes I'm kissing her while Theo's hands map her body and Wells whispers encouragement. Sometimes it's Theo claiming her mouth while Wells and I work together to drive her higher. Sometimes she's the center of our attention, and sometimes the focus shifts to the connections between us alphas—hands and mouths and whispered words that acknowledge what we've all known but haven't said.
"This is what I want," she gasps during a moment when all three of us are touching her, overwhelming her with sensation in the best possible way. "All of you, together. Please."
Theo's gentle guidance helps coordinate our movements. "Like this," he suggests softly, positioning himself so he can support her while I claim her mouth and Wells's hands work between her legs. "Is this good, sweetheart?"
"Perfect," she breathes, and the trust in her voice is staggering. She's completely vulnerable, surrounded by three alphas who could overpower her without effort, and she's perfectly relaxed, perfectly safe in our hands.
Wells's careful attention ensures that every touch is precisely calibrated to her responses. He watches her face constantly, adjusting pressure and rhythm based on the sounds she makes, the way her body moves. "More?" he asks, and when she nods, his fingers delve deeper, drawing a cry of pleasure that makes all of us groan in response.
My own barely contained intensity feels different in this context. During her heat, I was claiming, possessing, marking her as ours. Now I'm savoring, worshipping, showing her with every touch how precious she is to us.
"So good," I murmur against her throat. "You're so perfect, taking all of us like this."
The coordination between us isn't perfect—it's messy and complicated and occasionally awkward, with too many limbs and moments of confusion about who goes where. At one point, Theo and I nearly knock heads trying to kiss different parts of her neck. Wells accidentally elbows me in the ribs while reaching for something. She giggles when my beard tickles a sensitive spot, and the sound is so perfect, so real, that it makes all of us pause and smile.
"Sorry," Theo says, laughing as he adjusts his position. "This is more complicated than I expected."
"Good complicated," she assures him, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. "Perfect complicated."
The laughter somehow makes it all more perfect, more real. This isn't the polished fantasy of alpha-omega dynamics I grew up hearing about—no choreographed perfection or effortless coordination. This is real people learning each other, figuring out how to fit together, making mistakes and laughing about them and trying again.
It's infinitely better for its imperfections.
When the focus shifts to actual fucking, the decision of who goes first happens naturally. Theo settles between her legs while Wells and I position ourselves on either side, hands and mouths keeping her pleasure building while he claims her slowly, carefully.
"Beautiful," Wells murmurs, watching the place where Theo disappears inside her. "You're taking him so well."
The praise makes her flush and clench, which makes Theo groan and nearly lose his careful rhythm. "Fuck, when you do that—"
"Like this?" she asks innocently, doing it again deliberately. The control she has over us, even in this vulnerable position, is intoxicating.
We take turns, but not in the desperate, heat-driven way from before. This is leisurely, exploratory—each of us claiming her while the others provide support, encouragement, additional sensation. When it's my turn, Wells holds her steady while Theo kisses her breathless, their combined attention making her response even more intense.
"Please," she gasps when I'm buried deep inside her, her body perfectly accommodating my size. "I want—I need—"
"What do you need?" I ask, though I think I know. During her heat, taking our knots was necessity. Now, it it’s her choice.
"Your knot," she whispers. "All of your knots. I want to belong to all of you completely."
The words nearly undo me. "Are you sure? It's a bit different when you're not in heat."
"I'm sure." Her eyes are clear, certain. "I want everything."
So I give her everything, letting my knot swell and lock us together while Theo and Wells continue their gentle assault on her senses. Her climax builds slowly, intensely, and when it finally breaks over her, she cries out all of our names like a prayer.
By the time we've all knotted her, the sun is beginning to set outside our nest. We're all exhausted, sated, covered in each other's scents and completely bonded in ways that go far beyond the physical.
When we finally collapse together, tangled in a mess of limbs, I find myself more at peace than I can ever remember being. This is what a pack feels like—not just shared living space or mutual attraction, but this deep sense of rightness, of completion.
Rowan's head rests on my chest, her breathing already evening out toward sleep. Theo curves against her back, one arm draped over both of us, his face buried in her hair. Wells positions himself so he's touching her —his hand clasped in hers. We're connected in a dozen different ways, physically and emotionally and in ways I don't have words for. The pack bond that's been building for weeks feels solid now, unbreakable.
