Chapter 97
Kara
My hands are shaking.
I force them still, pressing my palms against my thighs as I stand there in my silver dress, watching three men—my mates, my Alphas, my fiancés—undress for me.
Asher's shirt comes off first, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abs. Pale skin marked with old training scars, the defined V of his hips disappearing into his pants. When he reaches for his belt, I see his hands tremble.
He's as nervous as I am.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. Through the bond, I feel it clearly now—beneath the overwhelming lust and need, there's fear. Not of me, but of disappointing me. Of being too much. Of scaring me away after I just said yes.
"Blake," I say softly, and his head snaps toward me like I've yanked a leash. "Your turn."
He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. Then he yanks his shirt over his head in one violent motion, buttons popping, fabric tearing. As if he can't get it off fast enough. Can't get to me fast enough.
His chest is broader than Asher's, more heavily muscled. His skin is marked with more scars—training accidents, fights, the recklessness he wears like armor. And there, right over his heart, the silver glow of where I bit him during our first marking.
Mine.
The thought sends a rush of possessive satisfaction through me so strong that Blake actually staggers, his eyes rolling back for a moment.
"Fuck," he groans. "Kara, you can't—when you think things like that, I feel it, and I—" He cuts himself off with a harsh breath, fumbling with his belt. "I'm trying really fucking hard to go slow here."
"Then don't." The words leave my mouth before I can think them through. "Don't go slow. I want to see you lose control."
His belt hits the floor with a metallic clink. "Baby, if I lose control—"
"You'll stop if I say mistletoe." I take a step toward him, emboldened by the way he immediately freezes, entire body going rigid. "You promised, Blake. So show me. Show me what you've been holding back."
A sound rips from his throat—half growl, half whimper. His pants hit the floor. He stands there, completely bare, aroused and trembling and waiting for my approval like his entire world hinges on my next word.
I've never felt more powerful in my entire life.
"Cole," I breathe, turning to where he stands behind me. "Don't hide."
He's been so quiet I almost forgot he was there, but now he steps into my line of sight, and my breath catches.
He's already shirtless. I don't know when he did it—while I was focused on the others, maybe. His skin is the same pale perfection as his brothers', but there's something different in how he holds himself. Less aggressive than Blake, less controlled than Asher. Just... open.
Vulnerable.
"I'm not hiding, moonlight," he says softly, and then he's right there, close enough that I feel his body heat through my thin dress. His fingers find the zipper at my back. "But I think it's time we unwrapped you."
The rasp of the zipper is obscenely loud in the quiet room. Cool air hits my spine as the dress loosens, and I have to fight the urge to cover myself.
No. They've seen me. Touched me. Marked me. This is different.
This time, I'm choosing.
The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but the ice-blue lingerie they bought me—barely-there lace that covers almost nothing.
Three sharp intakes of breath.
Through the bond: Goddess. Perfect. Ours.
"Your turn," I whisper to Cole, my voice barely audible over my pounding heart.
He strips efficiently, and then all three of them are standing before me. Naked. Aroused. Waiting.
And they're all marked—my bite marks on Blake's shoulder, Cole's wrist, Asher's collarbone. Silver light pulses in each wound, keeping time with the marks on my own throat.
"You're ours," Asher says quietly, and there's no command in his voice. Just truth. "And we're yours. Completely."
I should say something profound. Something meaningful.
Instead, what comes out is: "I need you. All of you. Now."
---
Blake moves first.
Of course he does—he's always been the most impulsive, the one who acts before thinking. But this time, there's no recklessness in how he approaches. He crosses to the small bar in the corner and picks up something I hadn't noticed before.
A bottle of Dom Pérignon. The champagne from the proposal.
Asher and Cole exchange a look I can't quite interpret, but through the bond, I catch a flash of oh, this could work and she'll love this.
"We were supposed to toast," Blake says, coming back toward me with the bottle in one hand. His eyes are burning—pupils blown wide, ringed with gold—but his voice is almost steady. "To celebrate."
"We can still toast," I manage, even though my entire body is screaming at me to just tackle him onto the bed and—
"Not that kind of toast, baby." He stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. "May I?"
The question makes no sense until his free hand comes up, fingers hooking in the delicate lace of my bra. One gentle tug and it tears away like tissue paper, baring my breasts to the cool air.
I should be mortified. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Instead, I feel like a goddamn goddess.
"Lie down," Asher's voice comes from behind me, rough with command and promise. "Let us take care of you."
Cole's hands guide me backward until my legs hit the bed. I sit, then recline onto the silk sheets, my hair fanning out around me. The aurora projection dances across my skin, painting me in shades of green and blue and violet.
Three Alphas surround the bed, looking at me like I'm something holy.
"The champagne," Blake says, and his hands shake as he pops the cork. It flies across the room with a cheerful pop, and golden liquid froths over the neck of the bottle. "Asher, you wanna explain, or should I just show her?"
"Show her," Cole says before Asher can respond. His mint scent wraps around me, soothing even as my heart rate spikes. "But slowly. She needs to feel safe."
Blake takes a long drink straight from the bottle, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. Then he leans over me, one hand braced beside my head, and captures my mouth with his.
The kiss is champagne-cold and Blake-hot. He doesn't just kiss me—he claims, tongue sweeping past my lips to deposit the sweet, fizzy liquid into my mouth. It's so unexpected that I gasp, and he swallows the sound, deepening the kiss until I forget to breathe.
When he finally pulls back, my lips are swollen and my chest heaving. "Holy—"
"That's just the start, baby," he murmurs against my jaw. Then he's moving lower, trailing kisses down my throat (carefully avoiding the marking sites—too sensitive, would make me lose control), across my collarbone, between my breasts.
Asher appears on my other side, the champagne bottle now in his hand. "Watch," he commands softly, and I obey.
He tilts the bottle, letting a thin stream of golden liquid drizzle across my sternum. The champagne is cold enough to make me jolt, but before I can even process the sensation, his mouth is there, tongue following the trail of liquid down, down, until he's lapping champagne from the valley between my breasts.
Oh God.