Chapter 224

Alyssa

After we came home, Zuri woke up just long enough to drink a warm cup of milk and drift back off to sleep with a few poems from Where the Sidewalk Ends.

Now, she's curled up in her bed, wrapped around the stuffed giraffe she picked out at the zoo—her soft snores a whisper through the baby monitor.

The rest of her gifts—and there are a shit ton—can wait until morning, when she's slept off the sugar crash and the magic of her first birthday.

When War and I came back inside from our talk, I told the guys what I wanted—what I needed.

And they agreed.

No questions. No pushback.

Like they'd seen it coming all along.

Maybe they just know me that well. Knew I wouldn't be able to sleep with that weight still crushing War's chest. Knew I couldn't let him carry it alone.

Now, we're in the bedroom.

War stands near the doorway, still looking like he's not sure whether to stay or bolt. Like he's waiting for one of us to change our minds. Or give him an out.

But no one does.

Because no one in this room thinks he doesn't belong here.

And I'm done letting him convince himself otherwise.

King is sprawled in the armchair like he owns the world—casual, composed, but dangerous in that slow-burn, silent way only he can pull off.

His eyes haven’t left War once.

Not in warning.

But permission.

He's willing to share what's his—as long as it's clear that he's in charge.

Niko's on the edge of the bed, one elbow on his knee, his fingers twitching like he can barely keep still.

His energy's taut—bristling with anticipation—but grounded. Focused.

Mason sits beside him, one hand firm on Niko's thigh. He hasn't said much since we got home, but he doesn't need to.

He's an anchor. Steady. Constant. A silent reminder that everything about this is okay.

And me?

I'm sitting criss-crossed at the head of the bed, wearing one of King's T-shirts. After I tucked Zuri in, I made sure my pussy was still smooth enough to pass for a baby seal.

Because if we're doing this—really doing this—I need to feel good in my skin. Confident. Sexy. A little less like a beluga with swollen ankles and a bump I can barely see past anymore.

Not that they see me that way.

Hell, after two weeks of celibacy, they're more than ready to tear me apart—even if the positions are definitely limited now.

King is the first to speak.

His voice is low, dark with hunger. "Take off your clothes, kitten. Show him how pretty our pussy is."

The words crackle through me like electricity.

I rise to my knees and peel off his T-shirt, letting it drop to the floor in a quiet flutter.

I used to hate the way I looked naked—especially when I was pregnant with Zuri. The stretch marks, the swell, the changes I couldn't control.

But right now?

With the way they're looking at me—like I'm art, like I'm theirs—I've never felt more powerful.

More wanted.

Their eyes are pitch black with need, their bodies wound tight with restraint. The silence in the room hums, thick with promise.

I ease back against the pillows and let my legs fall open, unabashed.

War's gaze drops to my pussy—slick, swollen, aching—and he exhales a ragged curse.

"Fuck."

"God, I wanna taste her so bad," Niko groans from the edge of the bed.

"Wait your turn," Mason murmurs, his voice calm but edged with command.

I turn my head just in time to see him pop open Niko's jeans. His hand slides inside, his fingers wrapping around his silky-steel cock.

Niko gasps, tilting his head back, his lips parted as Mason strokes him slow and firm—both of them still locked on me.

My heart skips, then slams.

It's been too long since they touched each other.

Too long since they touched me.

God, I want all of them.

But first—I want War.

No.

I need him.

I need to drag him out of the past and ground him in this moment. Rewrite the memory that keeps bleeding through his chest.

I need to give him something real. Something sacred.

Something that proves he didn't break me.

That he never could.

That I trust him—fully, completely, without fear.

"War, come here," I purr, propping myself up on my elbows as my gaze trails down to the thick ridge of his cock straining behind his jeans.

God, that thing felt unreal inside me the first time.

Not that I had enough brain space to appreciate it back then—what with the whole trying-not-to-die situation.

He steps toward the bed with that same deliberate energy that's so uniquely him—measured, steady, like every step is part of a calculated plan.

Or maybe a silent warning.

I shift to make space beside me, an invitation and challenge in one.

He hesitates, just for a breath.

Then lowers himself down, his body angled toward the foot of the bed where he can focus solely on me.

His muscles stay coiled, like he's ready to spring at the first sudden move.

"Why so nervous?" I tease, arching a brow. "Is this your first time?"

Like hell it is.

I'd bet good money his body count rivals King's—but I know he wouldn't be in this room if he hadn't been tested and cleared of any consequences from his many conquests.

He snorts, dry and tense. "If this ends with me gettin' shot, I'd just like to come first."

A laugh slips out of me, low and warm, easing some of the static between us.

Then I swing a leg over his hips, settling carefully on top of him.

The heat of his cock pulses through the denim, thick and unforgiving—and even with a layer of fabric between us, my breath catches.

I lift my eyes and find King.

Still unmoved in the armchair. Still silent.

His gaze is locked on mine, dark and hooded with arousal.

There's no jealousy.

No threat simmering beneath the surface. No hint of barely leashed violence.

Just hunger.

Just heat.

Just... permission.

And that's all I need.

King reads my mind, a slow smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth as his fingers drag through his sexy beard. "You gonna put on a show for us, kitten?"

I bite my lip, heat building low in my belly. "Can you handle a show, Daddy?"

He tilts his head, his eyes darkening even more—like night swallowing the last trace of dusk. "Better question is if you can handle what we do to you when it's over."

I grin, all teeth and hunger. "You know I can."

War groans beneath me, low and exasperated. "Hate to interrupt, but can we maybe do a little less talking and a lot more fucking? I've got a naked little psycho sittin' on my goddamn chest and my dick's about to blow like a pipe bomb."

"Yeah, please fuck her," Niko chokes out, his voice tight with need as Mason's hand works his cock in slow, torturous strokes.

My grin turns wicked. "Niko, don't be selfish. Be a good boy and play with Mason's cock too."

They both make desperate, half-strangled noises, but Niko obeys—reaching down to curl his hand around Mason's thick shaft, syncing their rhythm like it's second nature.

The sight alone nearly makes me come.

I refocus on War, my voice soft but steady.

"If we're doing this," I say, letting my fingers trace down his chest, "I need to know you're sure. That I'm not crossing a line. I won't push you into something you're not ready for."

He lets out a breath of a laugh, his eyes flickering around the room like we're stuck in a fever dream.

"Pretty sure we passed that line ten minutes ago."

I narrow my eyes, not letting him deflect. "You know what I mean. Consent matters. Especially after what we went through. If we're rewriting that night, we have to do it the right way."

His expression sobers, but he doesn't look away.

"I know. And I'm telling you—I'm good."

It's short. Clipped. But there's no doubt behind it.

No hesitation in his voice.

Not even a flinch in his gaze.

Just a man giving permission the only way he knows how—straight and to the point.

"Okay," I whisper.

I reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it slowly. He sits up just enough for me to tug it over his head, his eyes never leaving mine.

My fingers glide down his chest, lingering at every scar, every line of hardened muscle, every story etched into his skin I haven't been told—and probably never will be.

Then my lips follow.

I kiss along the center of his sternum, soft and open-mouthed, trailing down his ribs, pausing just above his heart.

It's pounding.

Fast. Hard.

Like he's trying not to feel what he's feeling—but he's losing the battle with every breath.

He inhales sharply, his throat bobbing as he swallows back whatever's trying to rise to the surface.

"Have you ever been taken care of like this?" I whisper against his skin.

His eyes stay trained on me. "No." A breathless, uneven laugh slips out. "Every part of this is makin' me feel fuckin' weird... but I don't want you to stop."

Of course it must feel weird, but he needs this.

Even if he doesn't know how to ask for it.

Even if some part of him—maybe both parts—still believes he doesn't deserve it.

But he's here.

He's letting me in.

And for tonight, that's enough.

As his "friend", I'll show him exactly how the next girl should love him—how to be touched without fear, how to be seen without shame, how to be worshipped like he's worthy.

And as twisted and unpredictable as Logan can be, I hope the woman who finds them—both of them—loves them whole.

Because they deserve that kind of love.

Even if it won't be with me.

I move closer, kissing a slow path down the taut lines of his abdomen, feeling his muscles twitch beneath my mouth.

He's still tense—not from hesitation, but from effort. Effort to stay grounded. Present.

To let himself have this without shutting down or slipping away.

When I reach the waistband of his jeans, I pause.

My eyes flick up to his. "Is this okay?"

He nods—once. Slow. Controlled. Certain.

I pop the button. Ease the zipper down.

Without a word, he lifts his hips, letting me slide the denim past his thick, muscular thighs.

He's not wearing anything beneath.

His cock springs free, thick and hard, already glistening with precum as it slaps against his stomach.

I don't hesitate.

My hands wrap around him, confident and steady. I stroke him slowly, my fingers skating over the metal bars embedded in the shaft.

He grits his teeth, his jaw locking, his abs drawing tight like he's trying not to lose control.

Then I lean in and flick my tongue across the tip, tasting the salt and heat of him.

"Fuck, little psycho," he growls, his voice ragged.

I take him deeper, inch by inch, my lips stretching around him. The bars press cool and firm against my tongue—foreign, intense, but not unpleasant.

I wonder if they feel just as sensitive to him as Mason's piercing does.

One hand flies to my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he gently guides his cock further down my throat.

My eyes water from the fullness, but I don't pull away.

I won't.

If I can take King's monster cock, then I can take him.

All of him.

"Good fuckin' girl, kitten," King murmurs from across the room, his voice a low rasp soaked in lust. "Show him how sweet that mouth is."

The praise sends a thrill straight through me.

I moan around War's cock, the sound vibrating up his shaft. His hips jerk once—a hard, instinctive thrust—before he forces himself still again, every muscle pulled tight like a bowstring.

"Fuck yeah," he groans, his voice like gravel. "This is a good fuckin' mouth."

But he still doesn't move.

His grip in my hair tightens, like he's holding himself together by a thread.

Like if he lets go, he might lose control completely.

Is it Logan he's holding back?

Or is he still worried about King?

Maybe some piece of him still thinks this is a test. Temporary. Conditional. One wrong move away from bloodshed.

But King's eyes hasn't left us.

And I can tell he's enjoying every goddamn second of this.

Just like Niko and Mason are. They're still watching.

Still waiting their turn while they pleasure each other.

"What the fuck are you waitin' for, War?" King drawls, his voice low and commanding. "You want a fuckin' invitation? Use her mouth. Make her gag on that cock—we wanna hear it."

My pussy clenches at King's order.

I swear, he always knows exactly what to say to have me dripping down my thighs.

I hollow my cheeks, dragging my tongue along the underside of War's cock, tracing every ridge, every vein, every twitch.

"Fuck," War hisses, the restraint cracking in his voice.

Then he fists my hair and pulls me off with a wet pop.

"You sure about this?"

"Don't hold back," I rasp, my voice wrecked but sure. "You won't hurt me. I want you to let go."

Something shifts in his eyes.

Like I just handed him oxygen after years underwater.

He stays still for a beat.

But then his grip tightens, and his hips lift, slow and testing, waiting to see if I'll flinch.

I don't.

I take him back in, and this time, he doesn't hold back.

His first few thrusts are shallow. Careful.

But that careful control unravels fast, fraying with every needy sound I make around his cock.

Soon he's fucking my mouth in earnest, curses spilling from his lips like they've been caged for years.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he grits, thrusting deeper, sweat beading along his temple. "You feel so fuckin' good."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I let them fall freely.

Not from pain.

But because this—us—is what we needed.

Closure. Trust. Freedom.

I gag suddenly, pulling back just to see what he'll do.

But he doesn't let me go.

"Don't run now, little psycho," he growls. "You wanted to suck my dick—now fuckin' do it."

Oh, God.

My pussy tightens around nothing, leaking and aching as heat rolls through me. I press my thighs together, trying to ease the need.

Using strands of my hair as reigns, he guides my mouth harder, deeper—rougher.

He pulls out just long enough to smear the large, slick head of his cock across my lips, then dives back in with a guttural groan that hums down my spine.

Every ragged sound he makes seems to strip another layer of guilt from his chest.

And I won't stop.

Not until there's nothing left weighing him down.

"Boys," King's voice cuts through the haze, "save your cum to fill our kitten with."

I glance up through my lashes just in time to see Niko slide off the bed, sinking to his knees between King's spread legs.

Greedily, he takes King into his mouth like he hasn't tasted it in years.

Mason stays seated, his hand now off his cock, though it twitches where it rests against his thigh. His gaze flickers between my lips and Niko's, and the hunger in his expression steals the breath from my lungs.

I wonder if he could come just from watching us like this.

The thought alone sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

A soft, needy mewl escapes as my hand drifts between my thighs, desperate to ease the ache there.

But King catches me instantly, pinning me with a glare.

"Kitten," he warns, his eyes like obsidian. "Just because another man's cock is down your throat doesn't mean the rules have changed. You only come with permission. Put your fucking hands back where they belong."

Shame and arousal crash through me all at once.

And like the good girl I am, I obey, sliding my hand back to War's thigh as he continues to brutally fuck my mouth.

I can tell he's right on the edge.

I can feel it in the way his thighs tense beneath my palms, in the stutter of his breath as his rhythm begins to falter.

Each thrust loses precision, gaining urgency instead.

A frantic, helpless need to let go.

"Fuck Alyssa," he chokes out. "I'm gonna come. If you don't wanna swallow-"

His grip in my hair loosens, giving me a choice.

But I don't need one.

I narrow my eyes, giving him a look that says: don't hold back. I can take it.

And he listens.

His body jerks, and then hot, desperate spurts flood my mouth.

I swallow every last drop, my eyes never leaving his.

Not until he's finished—until the last twitch of his hips fades and he collapses against the bed.

Only then do I pull off of him, his cock sliding from my lips with a slick sound.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look up.

He's staring at me, his chest heaving, lips parted. But his eyes....

They're clear.

No shadows. No weight dragging him under.

Like for the first time in a long time, he's finally come home to himself.

He sits up slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face, still catching his breath. "Shit... I don't even know what to say."

I grin. "You could start with 'thank you for giving me the best blowjob of my life.'"

He lets out a low snort. "That's a bold fuckin' claim."

I tilt my head, smirking. "Please. Your eyes were damn near rolling back in your skull. Your soul left your body for a minute there, didn't it, buddy?"

His mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile—but he doesn't deny it.

Instead, he leans in and kisses me.

Just once.

Soft. Careful. Like he doesn't want to make it more than what it is—but still wants me to know it mattered.

Then he pulls back and swings his legs off the bed, reaching for his discarded jeans.

There's something looser in his movements now. Lighter. Like some invisible weight finally slipped off his shoulders.

I watch him quietly as he buttons his pants, an ache settling in my chest.

Is he... leaving?

"You're not going to-" I trail off, not sure why the words feel heavier than they should.

He glances back at me, reading the rest of the question in my eyes. "Fuck you?" he says with a dry laugh. "Nah. That was enough. More than enough."

He pauses, his smirk softening into something more grateful. "Besides... if I do that now, I feel like your magic little pussy might suck me back into a black hole I can never escape. And I know my fuckin' limit."

I laugh, but there's a sadness behind it I don't try to hide.

I might never see him again after this.

But still... I'm glad we did this.

A clean slate.

A final page.

Even if we didn't take it all the way.

War finishes tugging his shirt down, then slips on his boots.

King's still lounging in the chair, one hand lazily stroking through Niko's hair as Niko rests against his thigh like a pet cat.

Mason hasn't moved either—still perched at the end of the bed, still painfully hard, still watching me like he's seconds away from throwing me down on the mattress and thoroughly wrecking me.

War scrubs a hand through his hair and exhales. "Well... thanks for tonight."

His gaze catches on mine and lingers there, soft around the edges.

"Wait," I blurt, shifting forward. "Are we going to see you again?"

He grins, crooked and boyish. "I'll be around."

But I must frown, just a little—because he catches it immediately.

He snorts. "What? You want a pinky-promise or some shit?"

I hold mine out without hesitation. "Actually, yeah. And if you break it, I'll come kicking down the Serpents' door myself."

His eyes spark with amusement as he links his pinky with mine. "Deal."

Then he steps back toward the door, smirking over his shoulder. "Now go enjoy your little circus. I would've stayed for the show, but I'll probably be able to hear you scream from the clubhouse anyway."

I laugh, flipping him off. "Fuck you."

"Love you too, little psycho," he calls back.

And then he's gone.

I sit in the quiet for a moment, my heart full and aching in equal measure.

Because I know the truth.

That throwaway line? That casual smirk?

It was armor.

He loves me more than he's willing to admit. And after deciding not to fuck me, watching them do it would've hurt more than he could stand.

Or possibly make Logan surface.

He left because he needed space.

Time to heal.

Time to let go.

And I'll give him that—for now.

Mason is the first to move, pulling me gently into his lap. He kisses the shell of my ear, his voice low and steady.

"You okay?"

I exhale slowly, nodding against his shoulder. "I will be. It's not like I expected him to change his mind. I just... hope he'll be okay."

King climbs onto the bed, his palm cradling my throat as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of my neck.

"We'll check in on his stubborn ass," he mutters against my skin. "And if he doesn't answer, we'll just send you after him."

Niko chuckles from where he kneels between my legs. His hand curls around my thigh, tugging me closer until his mouth finds my pussy—and every other thought vanishes like smoke.

Mason holds me open for him, his tongue flicking my earlobe as his fingers toy with my nipples.

"As hot as it was watching you suck him off," he murmurs, "let us take care of you now, little warrior."

My body arches instinctively, ready to give them everything they want and more.

"Yes," I breathe. "I need you guys so fucking badly."

Then I close my eyes and let go.

Let myself fall into this moment.

Into them.

Into us.

Even as some part of me still listens for the sound of the door swinging back open.

But War's gone.

And I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be—right between the men I'll be spending the rest of my life with.