Page 55 of Sacrifice

This…fuck, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I can’t recall when Gunnar stripped away his clothes, my vision a blur of flesh and movement as I take in the scene—Nero’s calculating eyes, Oberon’s predatory stance, Luka’s self-satisfied smirk. It’s enough to make anyone feel unsteady, and I’m no exception.

Luka peels off his slacks, muscles flexing under smooth skin as his cock springs free, and then he’s on the bed, kneeling like a man about to worship at the altar of Aisling’s lips. He shuffles forward and she takes him into her mouth, his cock gliding down her throat. His groan vibrates through the room as she welcomes him, her mouth working him with a fervor that borders on religious.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, transfixed by the tableau unfolding before me. It’s like being caught in the eye of a storm—chaotic, wild, and undeniably exhilarating.

And then I’m undressing myself, wanting to be part of this. Shirt hits the floor, pants follow—gravity’s mercy. I’m shedding more than clothes; it’s restraint peeling away with every fiber that tumbles down my legs. The pack’s scent wraps around me, thick as the tension in the air, a mix of musk and something wilder. Aisling’s moans are a siren call, and like a moth to flame, I’m pulled in, helpless but not unwilling.

My hand moves to my cock to jerk myself off in front of all these alphas, a reflex born of raw need. I grip, I stroke—a poor substitute for the warmth I crave but it’s all I’ve got as I watch them, the tableau of pleasure before me. It’s madness, this craving to bite, to mingle my essence with hers on a night meant for unbridled passion.

Aisling’s lips break free from Luka with an audible pop, the sound ricocheting in my chest. Her eyes beckon me, grey pools of stormy lust, and I’m lost to their depths. Suddenly, a firm shove at my back propels me forward—I stumble, catch a glimpse of Oberon’s smug grin or maybe it’s concern, hard to tell—and then it’s her mouth on me, hot and insistent.

“Fuck,” I groan, almost losing my footing as my knees go weak, unable to feel anything but the wet heat of Aisling’s mouth.

“Steady,” comes a whisper at my ear, and I realize Oberon’s beside me, supporting me as Aisling takes me deeper. One hand finds purchase on Luka’s shoulder, rock solid under my palm. They’re both there, part of this dance, and the room spins with the heat of it all.

“Bloody hell,” escapes my lips, barely above a grunt, as the sensation swallows me whole. My knees nearly buckle, but I’m held upright, suspended in a web of hands and lips and shared breaths. This is the edge, the precipice of something monumental, and I’m teetering, ready to fall.

I thrust into Aisling’s welcoming mouth, the slick heat enveloping me as Gunnar drives into her from behind. She’s a vision of debauched beauty—her moans vibrating against me with every move Gunnar makes. Her fingers curl around Luka’s length, her strokes rhythmic and sure.

“Shit,” I grunt, my gaze caught on Nero. He’s got his lips pressed to Gunnar’s neck, the two alphas moving in a synchronized dance of raw desire. Nero’s hips roll in a silent cadence, seeking friction against Gunnar’s back.

And Oberon…his hand is dancing along my spine as he keeps drinking champagne, keeps watching.

Is this what he wanted? Why he urged me to act on my feelings for Aisling?

Was he thinking about inviting me in all those nights when I heard him fucking Aisling senseless?

I realize I like him touching me…like feeling Luka’s skin beneath my hand, like watching Nero drag his tongue up Gunnar’s neck as we all worship Aisling the only way we know how. This is new territory for me—never thought I’d find myself caught up in the gravity of another man’s touch. Yet, Nero’s boldness and Oberon’s touch stir something within me, an unnamed longing that demands contact, any contact. I want hands on me, mouths, the press of skin against mine.

“More,” I rasp out, unsure if I’m speaking to Aisling or the void of craving that’s opened up inside me. This isn’t just lust; it’s a maelstrom of need, pulling me under.

I’m caught in the eye of a storm, a wild tempest of flesh and desire that churns around me. As Gunnar’s rhythm drives Aisling’s cries into the thick air, I realize this isn’t just about her anymore—it’s chaos, it’s madness.

“God, yes,” she gasps, and her voice is the spark that ignites something feral within us all.

It hits me then—this fever pitch isn’t reverence; it’s pandemonium, pure and untamed. We’re not just pack members, we’re elemental forces colliding, and Aisling is the epicenter of our shared hunger.

Nero’s groan is low and guttural as he clings to Gunnar, their bodies slick with the fervor of our collective heat. The sight is savage, beautiful, and my mind reels with the intensity of it all.

“Fuck,” Luka grunts, his voice tight with restraint—or maybe it’s anticipation. One of his hands covers mine, tangling with my fingers. I need to touch someone, and Aisling…there’s only so much of her alabaster skin to caress, only so many erogenous zones to play with. My hand strays down from Oberon’s shoulder, down his torso, finding his cock.

All I want is to move with them, to dive into this sensation.

This is insanity—the kind that sears through your veins, leaving behind a trail of ashes from which something new can rise. I’m not just a participant; I’m an integral thread in this tapestry of lust and connection, woven together by primal bonds stronger than the ruin outside our door.

And as I lose myself to the delirium, I understand what it means to truly belong. This is being a pack: love, ferocity, and an embrace of the wildness within. It’s not just worship of Aisling.

It’s insanity, and it’s exactly where I’m meant to be.

Chapter twenty-four

Gunnar

I pull out of Aisling, and she’s quick to let Rook fall from her lips, shooting me a glare that could start fires if it wasn’t dripping with need. “Gunnar,” she snarls, all omega fire and brimstone, “you better not stop now. Knot me.”

I can’t help the laugh that rumbles through my chest, and I scoop her up into my arms, loving the wildness in her stormy grey eyes. “I’ve got something else in mind, Ais.” She cocks an eyebrow, all challenge. “And what’s that?”

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