Chapter 58
Kara
Asher shifts the Tesla back into drive.
But his hand doesn't leave my thigh.
Blake's fingers remain tangled in my hair, occasionally tightening, releasing, claiming. Cole's hand stays at my nape, mint scent a constant, cooling presence.
We drive the last ten minutes in silence.
Not uncomfortable. But charged.
Every breath I take tastes like them. Every heartbeat echoes their proximity. My wolf is drunk on it, practically purring in my chest.
Safe. Pack. Home.
But my body?
Screaming.
Because I'm still wet. Still aching. Still so fucking close to coming that every bump in the road makes me bite my lip to suppress a moan.
My clit throbs with every pulse of my heartbeat. My pussy clenches rhythmically, trying to find relief that doesn't exist.
I need—
Fuck, I need—
Blake's hand tightens in my hair, and a small sound escapes my throat.
"Kara." His voice is strained. "You need to breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're panting." Asher's thumb traces another circle on my thigh, and my hips jerk forward. "And your scent—"
"Don't." Heat floods my face. "Just—don't."
"It's natural," Cole murmurs from behind. "Being aroused by your mates. Nothing to be ashamed of."
I'm not ashamed. I'm fucking terrified.
Because I like this.
I like their hands on me. Their scents drowning out everything else. The way they reacted to another male's scent on my skin—possessive, primal, feral.
What does that say about me?
When we pull into the Estate's driveway, Blake finally speaks.
"After you shower—" His voice is hoarse. "—you're wearing one of our shirts."
"Blake—"
"Please." The word cracks. Vulnerable. "I need—we need—"
Asher cuts him off. "We need to know you're marked. That anyone who comes near you will smell us first."
My throat tightens.
Between my legs, I throb harder.
Fuck.
But then Cole's thumb brushes the sensitive skin behind my ear, and I melt.
"We'll give you space," he promises. "Just—wear something of ours. So your wolf doesn't panic tonight."
My wolf does panic.
But not for the reason he thinks.
She panics because without their scent—
I might not sleep.
And my body panics because—
I might actually come just from putting on their clothes.
---
Kara
The shower water runs scalding hot.
I scrub Dorian's pine-and-earth scent from my hair, lathering shampoo three times until all I smell is generic lavender. My skin turns pink beneath the spray, but I don't stop.
Erase it. All of it.
Not because I'm afraid of their anger.
But because—
I don't want anyone else's scent on me either.
Fuck.
My hand drifts lower without permission. Between my thighs, where I'm still slick, still aching.
No.
I yank my hand away. Press my palm against the cold tile wall.
You will not touch yourself thinking about them. You will NOT—
But the image floods my mind anyway. Blake's fingers in my hair. Asher's hand on my thigh, inching higher. Cole's thumb on my spine.
The way they surrounded me in that car. Claimed me. Marked me.
My core clenches.
Fuck it.
I turn off the water. Stand dripping on the bath mat, staring at my reflection in the fogged mirror.
Three bruises bloom on my neck. Deep purple kiss marks, each one a brand.
Blake. Asher. Cole.
My fingers trace the edges. They don't hurt. But they ache—a phantom pressure that makes my core throb, my wolf whine.
Between my legs, I'm still wet. Not from the shower.
From them.
Want them. Need them. Ours.
No. I press my palm against the mark Blake left, as if I can push the feeling back down. I don't need anyone.
Liar.
A soft knock on the bathroom door makes me jump.
"Kara?" Cole's voice, muffled through wood. "I—um. I left some clothes on your bed. If you want them."
My heart clenches.
My pussy clenches too.
Goddammit.
"Okay," I call back. "Thanks."
Silence.
Then: "Are you... are you okay? After the car?"
Am I?
"Yeah," I lie. "I'm fine."
More silence.
"Kara." His voice drops. Serious. "Are you?"
My throat closes.
Because the truth is—
"I don't know," I whisper.
A pause. Then the sound of his weight settling against the door.
"That's okay," he says softly. "You don't have to know. Not yet."
Not yet.
As if there's a timeline. A moment when everything will suddenly make sense.
But I'm starting to suspect—
There isn't.
---
The clothes Cole left are a collection.
A massive gray hoodie—Asher's, judging by the faint ebony-smoke scent clinging to the fabric. A pair of black sweatpants—Blake's, too long and loose, smelling of gunpowder and leather. And a soft white T-shirt—Cole's, mint scent woven into every fiber.
They want me wrapped in all three.
My hands shake as I pull on the T-shirt. It's huge, falling mid-thigh, but the mint scent is immediate. Soothing.
And arousing.
My nipples tighten beneath the thin cotton. Between my legs, fresh wetness gathers.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
My wolf sighs.
Pack. Ours. Safe.
Then the hoodie. Asher's scent floods my senses—dark, commanding, safe. The sleeves hang past my fingertips.
My core clenches again. Harder this time.
Jesus Christ.
Finally, the sweatpants. I have to roll the waistband three times to keep them up. Blake's gunpowder-leather scent wraps around my hips, possessive even in fabric form.
I'm throbbing now. Actually throbbing. My clit pulses with every heartbeat, and I'm so wet I'm afraid it's going to soak through the sweatpants.
This is insane. I'm getting turned on by their fucking CLOTHES.
I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I look... small.
Drowning in their clothes. Their scents. Their claim.
But my wolf?
She looks content.
This. Right. Pack.
A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it.
What am I doing?
---
I avoid them for two hours.
Lock myself in my new room—the one with the giant bathtub—and spread my homework across the desk. Calculus. AP Literature. Biology.
Focus. Breathe. Ignore the way their clothes feel like a second skin.
Ignore the way my body won't stop responding.
Every time I shift in my chair, the fabric brushes my nipples. Every time I uncross my legs, I feel the slickness between my thighs.
Fuck.
Seven minutes in, there's a knock.
I don't answer.
The door opens anyway.
Blake enters, carrying a tray—steaming mug of hot chocolate, a plate of cookies, whipped cream piled high.
His eyes lock on me. On his sweatpants hanging low on my hips. On the way Asher's hoodie swallows me whole.
His pupils dilate.
"You're wearing our clothes," he says roughly.
"You—Cole left them."
"I know." He sets the tray on my desk. His eyes linger on the hoodie—Asher's hoodie—and his jaw tightens. "You look..."
"What?"
"Mine." The word is a growl. "You look mine."
Heat floods my face. And lower.
Fucking hell.
"I'm not—"
"I know." He reaches out, fingers brushing a curl away from my face. The touch is gentle. Too gentle for someone who was snarling in the car an hour ago. "But my wolf doesn't care."
His gaze drops to my chest. To where my nipples are clearly visible through the thin layers.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Kara—"
"Don't." My voice shakes. "Just—don't."
He swallows hard. Nods.
"Eat," he orders softly. Adjusts himself through his jeans—holy shit—and turns away. "Please."
Then he's gone.
I stare at the hot chocolate. The cookies—chocolate chip, my favorite.
And between my legs, I throb harder.
How does he know that?
Fifteen minutes later, Cole appears.
He doesn't knock. Just slips inside, carrying a bowl of cut fruit—strawberries, blueberries, mango.
His eyes sweep over me. Linger on his T-shirt, visible beneath Asher's hoodie.
"You're wearing my shirt." His voice is rough. Awed.
"You left it."
"I know." He sets the fruit beside Blake's tray. Perches on the edge of my bed, mint scent filling the room. "I just—I didn't think you'd actually wear it."
"Why not?"
"Because you hate us."
The words hang in the air.
"I don't—" I stop. Because that's not true anymore. "I don't hate you."
His eyes meet mine. So blue. So hopeful.
"You don't?"
"No." And it's the truth. "I'm... scared of you. But I don't hate you."