Page 67 of Pack Me Up
Instead, I fuck her through it. Each thrust is a surrender, a letting-go of the last scrap of self-control I have left. The room feels smaller and smaller, the walls closing in as our bodies move together, faster and harder until there’s nothing else in the world.
Brittney’s moans rise and rise, peaking in a shriek that makes my hair stand up. She claws at my back, scoring lines down my spine, and I hope they scar.
When I come, it’s a brutal rush of pleasure so intense it’s almost pain. My knot swells, locking us together, and she milks every drop out of me, wringing me dry. The force of it makes hercome, too; I feel her clamp down, the rhythmic squeeze of her muscles, the hot gush of slick that floods the nest all over again.
We shudder together, bodies locked tight, breath mingling in the thick, steamy air.
She sags, boneless, for about ten seconds.
Then she starts to beg again. Quiet, at first—just a whimper, a roll of her hips, a nudge of her nose against my jaw. But it builds, and builds, until she’s sobbing, “More.”
She locks her arms around my neck, claws digging in, and I feel the sting of it, sharp and grounding. Her whole body clenches in a desperate spasm, and the heat between her legs is volcanic.
I try to talk her down. “It’s okay,” I murmur, voice low and ragged. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” But she’s not listening. She can’t. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, staring at something only she can see.
I bite her shoulder, not deep, not breaking skin, just enough to hold her still. She goes limp for a second, then pushes back, greedier than ever.
She’s so desperate that she’s going to hurt herself on my knot. We need to soothe her.
Fox is the first to respond. He kneels behind her, hands feather-light on her thighs, voice soft and even. “Can I touch you, songbird?” he asks. She’s too far gone to answer, but her shudder and the tilt of her neck are a clear yes.
I flip us over so she’s on top of me.
He leans in, presses a gentle kiss to the small of her back, then starts to gather her slick on his fingers. I can feel him tease the edge of her ass, then he starts to work her open, slow and careful. He murmurs praise, working her rim in slow, patient circles until she relaxes enough to take two fingers, then three.
Brittney’s hips jerk with every push, rutting against me, the double sensation making her tremble and pant. I watch as Foxlines himself up and then eases the head against her, coaxing her to open. The resistance is fierce, but she wants it; she pushes back, takes him in, and moans into my shoulder.
I brace her hips, holding her steady as Fox fucks her from behind, the stretch and fullness making her pulse around me like a fist. She’s whimpering again, the sound climbing with every thrust. Her body’s slick with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she never once asks to stop.
Fox fucks her slowly at first, careful, but as she opens up, he loses his restraint. His rhythm goes ragged, hips snapping hard enough to rock the whole nest. I reach down, rub her clit in tiny, tight circles, and she loses it. My omega spasms, cries out, and clamps down on both of us so tight it hurts. She comes so hard her whole body seizes, and I see stars all over again.
I feel Fox’s cock jerk inside her, filling her with another wave of come as my knot swells, and I come again.
When we’re both spent, Fox collapses to the side, arms around Brittney’s waist, chin on her shoulder. He looks at me, eyes glassy and soft, and I know he’s the glue holding us together.
But Brittney isn’t done. Not even close.
She wriggles, whining, mouth open and hungry. Hunter, who’s been watching from the edge of the nest, finally gives in. He kneels by her head, strokes her hair, asks, “You want it, hazel?”
She doesn’t speak, just opens her mouth, tongue lolling, eyes rolled up in blissed-out invitation.
Hunter guides his cock to her lips, and she takes him deep, no hesitation. He lets out a strangled moan, one hand gripping her hair, the other bracing against my thigh. He fucks her mouth slowly, savoring every inch, but Brittney’s tongue is frantic, desperate, like she’s trying to pull the orgasm out of him by sheer will.
The rest of us are still locked together, bodies humming with aftershocks. I keep rubbing her clit, gentle now, just enough to keep her on the edge. She moans around Hunter’s cock, throat working, drool running down her chin.
Hunter starts to lose it, his hips stutter, his breath goes shallow, and then he comes, hard, filling her mouth with the first pulse and letting the rest leak out across her lips. She swallows what she can and doesn’t even blink.
She sags, finally, the last fight gone from her body. Fox holds her, I hold her, Hunter strokes her hair, and even Colton and Cody, half-asleep on the ruined bed, reach out to touch her, to remind her she’s surrounded.
Brittney is the first to drift off, body heavy, breath soft and even. I feel her relax, muscles going limp.
I stroke her back, slow and careful, whispering nonsense into her hair. The smell in the room changes, softer now, edged with something like relief.
We stay that way for a long time. I have no idea how long. Time feels weird when you’re knotted, but I don’t care. I just hold her, hands roaming over her back, tracing every mark and bruise with reverent pride.
She never really comes back to herself. Not fully. But her breath evens out, and the little whimpers taper off, replaced by a soft, satisfied purr. The omega in her is finally fed, at least for a while.
I tilt her chin up, brush the hair from her face, and look at her. She’s beautiful like this.
