Page 124 of My Unhinged Alphas
My body knows before my mind does.
The dream.
Fuck.
I lie still on the motel bed, staring into the dark where the ceiling should be, my pulse climbing as pieces of it come back in hot, broken flashes. A mouth at my throat. A hand between my thighs. Someone behind me, someone in front of me, all of them too close, too much, and me letting it happen like I wanted every second of it.
Worse.
I did want it.
Even asleep, even in a dream, my body opened for them like it already knew them. Knox with that brutal steadiness of his, the kind that makes everything feel pinned down and inevitable. Havoc all heat and teeth and wicked hands, smiling into my skin like he liked the way I came apart. Vale quieter than the othertwo somehow, but not softer for it, his mouth on mine while his hands held me in place like he’d already decided I wasn’t going anywhere.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
That does nothing. It only makes the last part hit harder.
In the dream, all three of them had me. Not in turns. Together. Hands overlapping, mouths everywhere, my legs spread and shaking while they touched me like they’d agreed without words who got what, who held me down, who made me moan next. I can still feel the shape of it, the press of bodies around me, the humiliating, aching pleasure of not knowing whose hand was on my breast and whose fingers were between my thighs and whose mouth was dragging over my neck while I begged for something I couldn’t even name.
A small sound escapes me before I can stop it.
I go very still.
The room stays quiet. No one stirs.
Good.
Because my body is hot all over now, and not from the bad motel blanket twisted around my legs. My nipples ache. My thighs are tight. Between them, I’m damp enough that the realization makes heat crawl all the way up my throat.
I shift carefully under the sheets and regret it immediately. The friction drags right through me.
“Jesus,” I whisper into the dark.
This is unbelievable. I’m lying in a motel room, half-scared out of my mind, caught in some mess I still barely understand, and apparently my subconscious has decided the most urgent issue at hand is whether I’d let three dangerous men fuck me senseless.
The answer, judging by the dream, is yes.
Enthusiastically yes.
I drag a hand over my face and stare into the dark again, furious with myself now on top of everything else. Because it wasn’t vague, dream-blurred nonsense. It was specific. Knox holding my wrists above my head, his mouth by my ear, telling me to stay still in that flat voice of his that somehow made me wetter. Havoc on his knees between my legs, grinning when I shook, when I tried to close them and he pushed them back open and laughed low in his throat like he already knew I wouldn’t make him stop. Vale kissing me through every moan, like he needed to swallow them, like he was the only one trying to keep anything about it tender and failing because he wanted it too badly.
I press my thighs together.
That’s a mistake too.
A pulse of pleasure goes straight through me, sharp enough that my breath catches again. My whole body feels overaware, sensitized by the dream and by the very real memory underneath it. Because this isn’t coming from nowhere. Not really. My body knows them now. Too well. Better than it should.
That thought settles low and dangerous in me.
I turn onto my back and force myself to breathe slowly, evenly, like I can calm my way out of this. It doesn’t help. Every little movement of the sheet over my skin feels obscene. I can still picture Havoc’s smile. Vale’s scar catching the low light. Knox’s hands, steady and capable and far too easy to imagine on me.
I should be horrified.
I am horrified.
That just isn’t the only thing I am.
I lie there for another second, trying to breathe my way back down from the dream, when I realize I’m not the only one awake in the dark.
