Page 112 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

Dash: I also have photographic evidence.

Callie: Traitor.

Sloane laughs beside me, and even Idris’ mouth shifts in the mirror. I stare at all five names above the messages. The ache in my chest warms a little as I shift in the seat. I start vibrating as we pull into the driveway, Dash’s car inches from the door making my pulse kick hard enough that Sloane’s fingers tighten once against my nape. Idris parks, turns off the engine, and waits until I stop fumbling with the seat belt before he opens his door.

I am out of the car before either of them tells me to slow down. The house smells like warmth before we even get inside. It smells like dinner half-started, like Callie’s vanilla tea, like Dash’s cedar, like the flowers on the entry table, and something richer beneath it that makes my steps falter just over the threshold.

Sloane stops behind me as Idris closes the door softly. The sound from the kitchen reaches us a second later, low and broken and unmistakably Callie.

My fingers tighten around her sweater. The restless feeling in me goes still all at once, focused so sharply that everything else in the house seems to pull back around it. I swallow nervously as heat bleeds through me before settling in my lower stomach, my cock filling in my pants. I rush toward the kitchen, my face warming as I catch Callie perched on the counter, her thighs parted with Dash on his knees between them.

Her lips are parted in ecstasy, one of her hands dug into his hair, the other braced on the counter as Dash stuffs his face farther between her thighs.

I freeze in the doorway, my knees nearly buckling beneath me. Callie’s head is tipped back against the upper cabinet, her throat flushed pink, soft broken sounds spilling from her mouth every time Dash’s tongue works her.

Her thighs tremble around his head, one heel digging into his shoulder, the other hanging loose. She is so wet I can see itshining on his chin and the insides of her thighs when he pulls back just far enough to breathe before burying his face again, the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on her filling the quiet kitchen.

My scent spikes hard, flooding the room in a thick, sweet wave that makes both Alphas behind me inhale sharply.

Sloane’s hand lands softly on the back of my neck as Idris steps in close on my other side, his presence like a wall at my shoulder.

Dash notices us first. He stills immediately, mouth still pressed to her, eyes flicking up to check the room and then to Callie’s face. His hands stay firm on her thighs, holding her open but not moving another inch until she decides.

Callie blinks a few times and then looks straight at me. Her eyes are dark, her lips swollen and her chest heaving beneath the only article of clothing she’s wearing, a thin shirt that’s either Sloane’s or Idris’. She just stares at me for another minute, and then she threads her fingers tighter into his hair and whispers, “Don’t stop.”

Dash’s eyes soften with pure relief and hunger. He lowers his mouth again and sucks her clit hard enough that her whole body jerks. A loud, broken moan tears out of her, higher than before because she knows we’re watching.

I make a helpless sound in my throat as Sloane’s breath brushes hot against my ear, voice low and rough with approval. “Look at her, sweetheart. Look how wet she is for him. Look how she opens up when someone’s paying proper attention. She’s dripping down his chin and she still wants more.”

Idris doesn’t say anything, his appreciative purr rumbling through him and then through me. “If you want to stop, let me know or tap me.” His lips dip to my temple and I frown, confused at what he means. “I want to make you fall apart while watching our Beta,” Idris purrs. “Would you like that?”

I manage a shaky nod before glancing down, breathing harder as he undoes my zipper and then his hand disappears into myunderwear, fully wrapping around my cock. I buck forward, slick spilling into the fabric as both Alphas hold me between them.

“Fuck,” I whisper, watching Callie as Dash continues taking her apart. Her eyes remain on me, the flush on her face deepening as Idris starts to stroke me.

Sloane’s fingers tighten at my nape, his thumb stroking once. “You like it, don’t you? You like watching someone take care of her. You like knowing she’s wanted so much she can’t even keep quiet. Listen to those sounds she’s making for him.”

A wanton moan pulls from my mouth as my hands fly forward to the kitchen island, my hips rocking forward as I fuck into Idris’ hand. Sloane’s hand moves from my neck, down to my back before slipping into my pants as well, his finger swirling around my slick hole.

“Alpha…” I whisper, though it comes out more as a whine when Sloane pushes a finger inside of me.

Callie makes a similar sound as Dash does the same, though he uses two fingers, her back arching hard against him. Another cry spills out of her, louder, almost desperate as her free hand scrabbles against the counter.

Sloane picks up his pace, matching with Idris until I’m rocking back and forth, my underwear and pants nearly soaked through with slick. The moment Callie comes, her scent thickening to mix with mine, I can’t hold back as I come undone in my pants.

A strangled moan pulls from my throat as I sag between my Alphas, Callie’s cry echoing through the kitchen. Dash continues to fuck her through it with his mouth, licking her softly, gently, until she pushes at his shoulder with a trembling hand. Only then does he pull back, his eyes dark with lust, still holding her thighs open like he’s presenting her to the rest of us.

“Need,” I whisper as Sloane and Idris remove their hands from my pants.

Sloane hums as he steadies me. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

A haze of need washes over me as I stalk toward Callie, Dash standing up off to the side. He shifts just enough to keep her steady while I pull her off the counter and into my arms. Callie comes willingly, legs wrapping around my waist, her arms around my neck, still shaking from the orgasm. She is so wet I feel it soak into my shirt where her thighs grip me.

“Theo—” she starts, voice wrecked and soft.

I carry her straight out of the kitchen, past Sloane and Idris who step aside without a single word, up the stairs two at a time. My cock is still so hard every step is almost painful. Callie’s face is buried in my neck, her breath still uneven, one hand fisted in the back of my shirt.

I kick the bedroom door open harder than I mean to and throw her down into the nest. She bounces once on the thick pile of blankets and pillows, her hair spilling everywhere, her cheeks flushed deep pink.