by Bella Jacobs
“So much better all of a sudden,” I say, tangling my fingers in the hem of his thin, white T-shirt, which smells of hay, clean sweat, and Kite, a trio I find irresistible.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Kite’s lips curve as he leans closer, but I stop him with a finger on his chin.
“I could still be contagious,” I say.
“I don’t care.”
“I mean, I don’t think I am, but—”
“Don’t care,” he insists, claiming my mouth as Dust says from the end of the bed, “Me, either.”
The mattress dips behind me, and a moment later Luke is tucked against my back, murmuring against my neck as Kite kisses me slow and deep, “Ditto.”
I shiver, the combination of Kite’s lips on mine and Luke’s teeth nipping at the sensitive skin on my neck making my pulse speed up and my nipples pull tight under my T-shirt.
“This was my idea, asshole,” Creedence says from elsewhere on our giant bed, “move over and make room for the master of ceremonies.”
Kite snorts and Luke grunts, but they don’t waste time arguing with Creedence about who’s the master of what. They simply push the covers down, making it easier for Cree to snag the top of my pajama pants with his fingers and draw them down my legs.
We shift as one happily tangled unit, Luke and Kite lying down on the bed as Creedence pulls me closer, onto my back, with my spread legs on either side of his face.
I have a moment to feel embarrassed about my granny panties—I was so tired after my bath last night that the last thing on my mind was seduction—but then my panties are gone and Creedence’s mouth is on me there, his tongue playing through where I’m already swollen and wet and aching for him.
For all of them…
“Missed you, Snow,” Dust says from above my head as his hands dip below the V neck of my T-shirt, cupping my breasts in his warm hands and making me gasp into Kite’s mouth.
Kite pulls away, shoving the tee up around my ribs as he drags his nails lightly over the skin above my trembling stomach. “Off.”
“Now,” Luke agrees, pushing the fabric over my breasts.
Dust takes over, stripping the shirt over my head, liberating me from the last of my clothes just as Creedence sucks my clit between his teeth and bites down ever-so-gently, turning my entire body electric.
“Oh, yes please,” I beg, fingers fisting in Kite’s jeans on one side and Luke’s on the other. “I want to feel you.” I tilt my head back, offering my lips to Dust as his hands return to my breasts, teasing my nipples this time, making my voice thick as I add, “All of you.”
And because they are the best men in the world—and because they are well aware of how short naps can be around this house—they don’t make me wait. Kite and Luke strip down, the sight of their incredible bodies emerging from shucked jeans and tees making everything Creedence is doing to me with his tongue even more intense. And then Luke and Kite are back on the bed beside me, each drawing one of my nipples into his mouth as Creedence drives two fingers inside me, taking me with his hand as his tongue continues to work dark, sweet magic on my clit, and then I’m going, going, gone.
Dust covers my mouth with his, muffling my scream as I come, even as he slides a hand down the center of my body, skimming over my clit and pushing inside my pulsing channel as Creedence pulls away.
But it isn’t too soon. It’s never too soon for more of them.
Reaching up as Dust moves over my body, I pop open the close of his pants and drop the zipper down, freeing his erection from the boxers beneath and guiding him into my mouth, humming in appreciation of the salty, smoky taste of his skin.
He returns the favor with a groan that sets my already sensitive clit to humming as he kisses me between my legs.
“Interloper,” Kite grumbles, forced to attend to my nipple with his fingers now, since there isn’t room for his head between Dust’s body and mine.
I glance his way as I suck Dust’s cock deeper, not missing the way Kite shudders in response. I run my hand up his bare thigh to cup his heavy balls, heart singing as a rush of love and desire pulses from his soul to mine. Having an intense empathic connection to another person can be tricky at times—a careful dance between intimacy and autonomy—but in bed it’s all good.
All great.
All hot as hell, and oh God, I can’t take another—
I come again, bucking into Dust’s mouth as his hardness jerks between my lips and I suck him down with a moan of appreciation. I love the salty taste of him, the sounds he makes when he comes, the way he kisses my thigh with such absolute tenderness as he rolls away and Luke is suddenly there, shifting me onto my side and gliding into me from behind.
“So fucking sweet.” His teeth dig into my shoulder muscle as he grips my hips and gives me what I need, taking me hard and deep while Kite covers my hand with his, showing me how he wants me to stroke him. I catch a glimpse of Creedence, standing behind Kite beside the bed, jerking himself in time to Luke’s rhythm. I reach for him with my free hand, wanting to be the one to give him pleasure, but he shakes his head.
“No, baby, you need Kite inside you next,” Creedence says, his voice tight. “Pull out before you come, Luke. Our next one is here, waiting for us to get this right.”
Our next one…
Our next child. He’ll be conceived today, right now, as soon as Kite and I come together. The thought sets me off again—call me crazy, but I can’t think of anything sexier than making a baby with a person I love—and I come hard, my body locking down around where Luke pistons inside me.
With a soft, choking sound, he pulls out, coming on my back, his release so hot it could scald my skin, but I like it—love it. Almost as much as I love the feel of Kite dragging me under him, spreading my legs with a firm shove of his thigh, and sinking into me to the hilt.
I cry out, clinging to his neck as he rides me slow, but so deep. So deep that I feel him everywhere—in my core, in my belly, in my lungs where my breath hitches as he hits home at the end of each thrust. I look up, holding his gaze as we begin to move faster, straining together toward the finish line, the goal, the reward, each second heightened by the knowledge that we’re in the middle of this epic, everyday act of creation.
We’re making a baby. Our baby. It might biologically be Kite’s, but this precious soul will have four amazing fathers. Four men who will help him grow into the kind of strong, kind, courageous man we can be proud of.
“I love you,” I say, voice going rough as the tension building between my hips twists tighter. “All of you. So much.”
“So much, baby,” Kite gasps, pumping harder, faster, as murmured words of love fill the air around us, and my heart swells.
This is still everything I’ve ever wanted or needed. It’s still home and family. Contentment and excitement. Safety and an adventure bigger than anything I could have imagined before my men came into my life.
And now we’re going to have another child to love.
My inner walls convulse, pleasure shuddering through me with bone-melting intensity as Kite follows me over the edge. He comes with a cry, his balls pulsing in the seam of my ass as his cock jerks inside me. I feel his release—hot and thick—as it shoots inside me, and shiver with excitement. Awe. The wonder of knowing I’m going to be a mother again.
I wrap my arms and legs around him, hugging him close as he sags on top of me. “So happy,” I murmur, smiling as Luke presses a kiss to my cheek and whispers, “Us, too, Princess.”
Dust takes my hand, squeezing it in his as Creedence sighs from the end of the bed. “Yes, us too. Though I’m missing your pussy something fierce, Slim.”
Kite shifts to one side, but stays buried inside me, clearly not ready to leave just yet. I peer past him, meeting Cree’s gaze with a naughty grin, “My pussy misses you, too. Give me a few minutes and we can go take a shower.”
Cree’s amber eyes light up. “You’re a brilliant woman.”
“I thought cats d
idn’t like water,” Luke teases as he tugs on his jeans.
“Love water,” Creedence says. “I love all wet things, in fact. Especially tight, hot, wet things that grip my cock like a poem.”
Dust laughs. “Like a dirty limerick, maybe.”
“No, a poem,” Cree insists. “Wren’s pussy is poetry, and I’ll fight the man who says any different.”
“Won’t hear any argument from me.” Kite kisses my forehead as he slides a hand between us, bringing it to rest on my sweat-slick stomach, making me ache all over again. “And I already know it’s going to make me hot as hell to see you carrying my baby. Is that crazy?”
“Not crazy,” Creedence answers for me. “I couldn’t get enough of her when she was pregnant with Chance. Kept following her out to the orchard and fucking her against the trees.”
“No wonder we had such a great harvest that year,” jokes Dust, who is now dressed and looking ready to jump back into the duties of the day. “Enjoy your shower, Snow. Catch up with you later on business, yes? If you’re still feeling all right?”
I nod. “Absolutely.” Dust still works with the Resistance, but he also manages the various charities I’ve set up around the world to help victims of climate change forced out of their native lands by the mass migrations of the last half century. I’m doing my best to undo the damage Atlas did to our planet, but I’m not sure it will ever be enough. Or that I will ever be completely comfortable with the fact that I live in an idyllic pocket of safety while so many people are suffering.
Suffering. Suffocating. Dying…
I clear my throat and drag my arm across my damp forehead, suddenly burning up again. “Could I get some more water please, babe?” I ask Creedence. “With ice?”
“Of course. I’ll go grab it right now,” he says, but he doesn’t move from the end of the bed or reach for the glass on my table. He simply stands there, staring at Kite and me with a strange smile.
“Okay, I’ll get it. No worries.” Frowning, I try to squirm out from under Kite—it’s so hot in here, and he’s getting heavy—but instead of moving away, he grabs my wrist and holds on tight, keeping me pinned beneath him.
“Not up for that,” I say, shaking my head. “Seriously. I’m so thirsty and not feeling so good all of a sudden.”
“Poor thing,” Luke says as he perches on the corner of the bed, his dark eyes glittering as he studies my face. “It won’t be long now.”
“No, not long,” Creedence murmurs as Kite hums in warm anticipation, and a blade of ice cuts straight through my heart, driving out the heat, granting me a moment of clarity.
It all comes rushing back—the pit, the dream of my parents, the fall through gray emptiness, and then waking up here, thinking I was safe. But I’m not safe. And this is just another dream, one I’ll never wake up from if I don’t do something now. Something big and fast and serious enough to get my body’s attention.
I open my mouth and lean over, getting a mouthful of Not-Kite’s bicep and biting down as hard as I can. But he doesn’t scream or jerk away. He doesn’t even bleed, he simply…comes apart, disintegrating as his skin turns to sludge in my mouth.
I gag and choke and sputter, spitting the foulness out as I vault off the bed, pushing past Not-Creedence and Not-Luke and running straight for the wall, where a picture of the ocean hangs above the bureau. I aim myself for the crashing waves and jump, pushing through to the other side seconds before Not-Luke’s hand can close around my ankle.
And then I finally do it.
I wake up.
Chapter 6
Wren
Everything hurts. Burns. Screams.
I’m slick with sweat and covered in a spongy growth that clings thickly to my skin, and when I pull in a breath it feels like I’m drowning in my own lung juice. But I’m alive and awake.
Finally truly awake…
Coughing hard enough to rock my torso farther away from the wall, I dig my fingernails into the fungus on my arm until I reach skin, and then dig deeper until it stings. I felt things in the dreams—hallucinations—too, but nothing gritty and fresh like this.
In the dreams there was only pleasure or pain, one dominant experience that eclipsed all the others. Now I experience, all at the same time, the relief of coughing up a wad of spores, the terror of realizing I’ve been down here long enough to be desperately, dizzily dehydrated, and to notice the faint ache in my hip from being slumped to the right on the hard earth.
Now I can watch with horror and a burst of hysterical laughter as the goop I scraped off my arm pools into a heart shape on the floor and quivers like it would return to me.
Apparently, the fungus wants to kiss and make up.
I, however, would rather set a fire in this hole and watch it burn while taking the world’s longest shower. But if I don’t get out of here, the fungus is going to be calling the shots. There’s too much of it, and I’m too weak. Already the temptation to close my eyes and sink back against the wall is so strong my bones ache with it.
“Get up, get up, get up,” I chant in a liquid rumble, forcing myself to roll onto my hands and knees. I pause, breath coming in shallow puffs as the world spins and my head throbs. My tongue slips out to dampen my lips, but my mouth is too dry for it to do much good.
I need water. Soon, or it’s over, and I’ll end up like Sierra—a corpse.
Deliberately avoiding looking at the part of the oubliette where my one-time rescuer’s body is rotting, I inch across the ground toward the door where Atlas disappeared when he left me here.
Crawling from a fungus hole of death straight into Atlas’s stronghold is the definition of out of the frying pan and into the fire, but it can’t be helped. There’s no other way out. We fell for what seemed like hours on the way down and even if the walls weren’t spongy and slick with fungus, I don’t have the energy to scale a sand dune right now, let alone claw my way out of a nearly-endless pit.
I’m going to have to follow Atlas and hope I can find a way to avoid fighting him until I regain my strength and get back to my mates.
The thought of them—of that hallucination of happier times we might never have—make my eyes sting, but I’m too dehydrated to cry. No saliva, no tears, just a shriveled raisin of a girl covered in black goo dragging her shell of a body toward a door to who knows where.
Atlas knows, my inner voice helpfully supplies, and he’s waiting on the other side. You could be crawling right into his throne room, onto his killing fields, into his dungeon.
I brace my hand on the primitive door, feeling the time-worn wood smooth and cool under my fingers as I bring my other hand to press beside it. Slowly, hand over hand, using my trembling arms and wobbly legs, I haul myself to my feet then lean my forehead against the door to catch my breath.
I close my eyes and focus as much as I’m able in the heat and the stink, then I mentally reach out to my mates.
I call out to them along the invisible lines of love and magic that bind us, praying they can feel me somehow and know I’m doing everything in my power to find my way back to them.
Shockingly, I feel the hum of the mate bond connection almost immediately.
First, the rock-solid, unwavering bedrock of Kite’s spirit, followed by Dust’s pure and determined devotion. Luke comes to me next, as sharp and fierce in love as he is in battle, and then Creedence…
Oh Cree…
A sob catching in my throat, I press my hand to my chest. He’s hurt. Badly.
I pump what little strength I have left down that sliver of a connection, no bigger than the power lines the squirrels used to use as a shortcut from our house to the big oak tree across the street back in Seattle.
At first, I feel nothing—just a fresh wave of exhaustion and a further weakening in my knees—but then there’s a tug on the line, and I reel in a scrap of possible future.
I watch, pulse rushing in my ears as the rest of the vision I glimpsed on the way to Sierra’s—Atlas’s—trap throbs through me. Cree�
�s Kin Gift trickles in, giving me a missing piece, a path that will lead from here to there, from the miserable present to a shot at a happy ending for the people I love.
I can beat Atlas; I can win. If I’m brave, I can tear it all down from the inside.
But first I’ll have to betray them.
All four of the men I love.
Creedence must have already forgiven me for it, or he wouldn’t have sent the vision. Or maybe my rascal cat is just that much of a realist. Beneath the charm and humor beats the heart of a man who understands that life is made up of hard choices and that some battles must be won at any cost—even one so high you’ll never be the same once it’s paid.
Or maybe Cree is simply already too close to death to worry about things like the betrayal of romantic love.
His life force is so weak, so frail.
“Hang in there, baby,” I murmur, lifting my chin. “Hang in there, and I’ll find you. I swear it.”
I won’t fail him—won’t fail any of them. I will be as fierce as Luke taught me to be, even if this battle will be won with softer things than kicks or punches.
Mind made up, clear-hearted and determined to walk this path—no turning back—I grip the knob and open the door.
Chapter 7
Luke
I’m no hacker, but I spent enough time monitoring the movements of rival gangs in my old neighborhood to know a thing or two about tracking a cell phone signal.
Maneuvering my way onto a site on the dark web I could always count on to pinpoint a target within a few blocks—thankfully it’s still up and running nearly a decade after I left gang life behind—I type in Dust’s burner phone number and cross my fingers for a hit, keeping a sharp eye on the increasingly chaotic scene outside as I wait.
I ducked into this crowded Cuban bakery fifteen minutes ago, hoping to blend in with the clientele here to grab a pastelito and coffee before heading back to work or home with little ones in tow.
