Page 76 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“We were serious,” Tucker says. “And the offer still stands, Hollie. We want you to come live with us. We want it more than you could possibly imagine.”
I smile. A great big gigantic smile that can probably be seen from outer space.
“Okay,” I say. “In that case, claim me, Alphas.”
It’s hard to remember exactly what happens next, except I must be carried up the stairs, through into my apartment, and thrown down onto the bed in my little nest. Three alphas tower over me.
They said I was feral, but the looks in each of their eyes is practically wild. They’re stripping off their clothes, pausing to rip layers from my body too – not that in my hot state I was wearing very much to begin with.
It all takes far too long, and I’m sobbing and squirming and begging by the time the three of them are finally naked in front of me.
“Tell us what you need, Omega,” Clay instructs me.
But I’m far too gone for words. Three alphas in my nest, their scents rich in the air, their cocks bobbing in front of my face. I lose all ability to speak. Instead, I’m rolling up onto my hands and knees and, with shaky little movements, crawling towards them. I find the nearest cock, wrap my lips around it, and suck like it’s my salvation. The taste of salty pre-cum dissolves into my mouth and I moan. But it’s not enough. There’s still an aching great need between my thighs. One that needs filling.
And soon that wish comes true. There’s an alpha cock in my pussy, another alpha mouth at my breasts, fists in my hair, fingers at my waist, grips on my thighs. I lose myself to the heat, to all reason and thought and logic. And soon it’s all just bliss and orgasms that come and come and come, rolling into one another until all I am is a constant state of sexual ecstacy.
Time is meaningless. It’s just me and them in the nest. Fucking and fucking and fucking.
There are little momentary breaks where they feed me and cajole me to drink water. There are little snatches of sleep, of soft words, sweet kisses, careful caresses, but they don’t last long before I’m mewling, demanding, and insisting again, and the alphas respond, no time at all until we’re fucking some more,the air filled with grunts and groans, cries and sighs, moans and whimpers.
It’s the most delicious fever. One that stretches on forever. One that has my nest reeking of our scents and sweat and come, that has the bedsheets twisted and ripped and damp; that has our bodies marked and bruised and raw.
And then finally, eventually, after who knows how many days and nights, the fever breaks, the heat fades, and soon I find myself lying in a tangle of alphas, daylight streaming through the edges of the blinds. In the dim, quiet light, I can make out the little mark I made on Clay’s shoulder, and I reach out and trace it now, thinking how right it looks in the crease of his shoulder.
I reach up and trail my fingers down my own neck, over my shoulders. There’s no mark, no wound, no bite. I roll up to sit and frown.
“You didn’t claim me.”
The three snoozing alphas stir around me. Tucker yawns loudly and stretches his arms above his head, Nash blinks open his eyes and Clay reaches automatically for me.
“What’s that?” he murmurs sleepily.
“You didn’t claim me. I asked you to claim me. You said you would claim me. But you didn’t!”
“We were waiting,” Nash explains.
I can feel tears bubbling in the corners of my eyes. The heat may have faded, but I’m still an emotional and hormonal wreck.
“You decided against it. You don’t really want me.”
“No,” Clay says sternly. “But we wanted to wait until you were in your right mind.”
“I was in my right mind. I told you I was in my right mind.”
“Sweetheart, you told us a whole heap of frankly deliciously unbelievable stuff during your heat. We wanted to be sure about this.”
“Well, the heat’s over now,” I say. “You can even take my damn temperature to prove it if you want.”
It’s funny how a couple of days (or actually maybe it was more like four or five days) of being spoiled senseless by three alphas can make you one truly bratty Omega.
“There’s no need to take your temperature,” Nash tells me. “It’s clear in your scent.”
“Exactly!”
“Is it really what you want?” Clay says, softly.
I peer down at the three alphas lazing about in my bed. “You know it is,” I tell them all.
