Page 56 of All Saints Day
“Dennis,” I can’t help but giggle, giving his knee an encouraging squeeze. “Just spit it out—you don’t have to be embarrassed. We’re fated mates after all—soon we won’t be able to hide anything from one another, even if we want to,” I snort playfully.
This seems to comfort him—because he puffs out his chest and lifts his chin; the proud boy scout that I first met at the bureau. The steadfast soldier I’ve grown to know—to love.
“I know we’re all going to have to do some mental gymnastics and chemical choreography to get properly into the mood in thefirst place, but I was wondering if I could make a humble request regarding our bonding?”
I want to tell himanything—for you, I’ll do anything—but in my healing state, I’m not sure that I could make good on such an offer. So instead, I say:
“All I want is to do this right.” It’s the truth.
Dennis nods sagely, lifting my hand from its place on his knee—clasping it between his hands as if it were a precious jewel.
“I…want to watch you with the other Saints for a bit, if that’s okay?” He flushes bright, hot pink—waiting for my reaction before he continues.
I bob a few tentative nods before Dennis continues to stammer:
“I kind of figured out some of our rhythms when I bonded with the Saints.” He nods to Seb, Caz, and Quentin. “And while I got a little glimpse of how things had been between the four of you at the cabin and on the yacht, and all of us could all feel you on the other side of the connection—there’s still a gap in the space of how you and I used to be and how things will be now and I just—” he finally stops chattering and just fades off into silence, his hand squeezing mine as his beautiful sea-glass eyes search my face.
“We can go as slow as we need to,” I say calmly, to assure myself just as much as Dennis. “I feel like I have to re-learn how to engage with this part of myself, if we’re being honest,” I laugh nervously, pulling my hands away from Dennis to rub over my chest—which aches from all the building anxiety.
“If you want to watch me with the others for a while before you enter the fray,” I scoff a laugh—my skin tingling warmly at the very idea of being with all of them again. “Then that’s just fine with me,” I purr, doing my best to soothe myself along with my fated mates.
All the boys circle in around me—binding me into a tight hug before we all set into the motion of preparation for the bonding.
While I am a sigma and don’t require any sort of nesting conditions to help me to get and stay in the zone, Quentin—the Saint’s resident omega, is going to need one for the pending heat, and took it upon himself to gather the softest and fluffiest blankets and pillows from around the cabin to adorn the massive double king bed.
Caz seems to have successfully found every piece of mood lighting in the house—be it a candle or a softly diffused LED lamp—to help make the nesting area as inviting and sensual as possible.
Seb raided the bathroom for lotions and oils before rolling a bunch of sticky indica from Caz’s backpack into the vestiges of a sweet cognac cigar wrapper, a big jug of sweet red table wine balanced on his hip as he lays out his tools on one of the nightstand.
I crawl into the center of the nest in a clean pair of panties and a camisole, allowing Seb to pass me a quilted crystal jam jar full of wine as I take a seat cross-legged in the sheets and blankets.
Caz—shirtless—wriggles in beside me, taking the blunt and the ashtray from Seb, letting them balance on his knee as he downs his handful of pills with a table wine chaser.
Quentin, in a pair of raw silk boxers and a cropped cotton shirt, slithers in beside me and offers Caz a lighter for the blunt.
Seb kicks off his distressed jeans, his button-down already open to show his beautiful bronze belly—his boxer briefs slung low across his hips; a bottle of scented massage oil tucked into the back waistband in the space his gun typically occupies.
Dennis stands in the doorway in a white t-shirt and his jeans—barefoot on the hardwood floor.
Our eyes lock as Caz passes me the lit blunt, and I inhale—a long ladder of smoke curling up from my lips as I pass to Seb.
Quentin rearranges the pillows at the headboard and motions for Seb to come sit beside him—making a sign of grabby hands for the bottle of scented oil.
I shuffle onto my knees with Caz, both of us allowing Seb and Q to make themselves comfortable as we pass the blunt between us.
Caz offers to Dennis—looming in the doorway—but he just shakes his head, hungry eyes still locked on me as he leans against the frame lazily.
“Come here,chereLoulu.” Seb reaches for me—guiding me so that I lay on a pillow between him and Q—Quentin pouring some oil into his hands to warm it before passing the bottle along to Caz, who hands his smoking accoutrements to Seb for removal to the nightstand.
“Hmm, Cazzy is starting to smell lovely,” Quentin hums as he nods to Sébastien—who helps my camisole up and over my head from my place wriggling on the bed—my nipples hardening in the cool bedroom air as my breasts are exposed.
I hear a little groan from Dennis on the other side of the room and allow my eyes to dart to his place in the doorframe; a hand stroking himself through his jeans.
“Just work on relaxing first,” Caz purrs, starting to massage my aching Achilles, as Quentin smooths oil over my shoulders and down the front of my chest, down my sternum—pointedly avoiding touching my breasts just yet.
I feel my muscles begin to go liquid. Caz’s sweet, spicy poppy and dragon’s blood fill my nose as he works my tight calves in his hands, bending my knee upward as he presses a kiss to my kneecap; a deep sound of pleasure rolling up from my chest as Quentin kneads my shoulders, and Seb massages my scalp.
I let my eyes close as Seb begins to work his thumbs into the place where my neck meets the base of my skull; Quentin’s hands smoothing oil out from my sternum and over my breasts—his fingers delicately tracing my hardened nipples.
