Page 62 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

His hands are warm as they cup my breasts, thumbs flicking over my nipples until I arch and cry out. He leans in, kissing one slowly, dragging his tongue over the sensitive bud, and I grind down hard on his cock, desperate for more.

“Let me,” he growls, one hand sliding down again.

“Dane…”

He lifts his head, eyes searching mine. “Tell me what you need.”

I swallow. “Touch me.”

His expression shifts – hunger and reverence all at once. “Anywhere?”

I nod. “Everywhere.”

His hand moves without hesitation, fingers trailing up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I’m trembling now, clinging to his shoulders as he explores me with devastating patience.

When his fingers reach my soaked panties, he groans. “You’re dripping for me, sweetheart. Absolutely soaked, baby.”

I whimper as he circles my clit over the top of the cotton material, slowly, just enough pressure to tease. My hips grind down, desperate, chasing friction.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, kissing my neck again. “Every fucking inch of you.”

I rock against his hand, breath coming faster now. The world narrows to this – his touch, my need, the way his scent wraps around me and pulls . I feel like I’m falling into him, undone thread by thread.

When his teeth lightly graze my scent gland, I cry out into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. “You’re so ready .”

His hands fist my underwear at my hips, twisting the material until it rips and then I’m bare before him. He hisses a gentle curse, gaze so full of worship I can’t believe I ever doubted his interest in me.

Two fingers slip inside me as his thumb circles my clit, and I break. My body bucks, hips jerking wildly as he curls his fingers just right. He kisses me again, swallowing the noise I make as the pressure coils tight and hard and impossibly fast.

“Come for me, omega,” he whispers, thumb stroking faster. “Let go, wildflower. Let me feel it.”

And I do.

The orgasm slams into me hard and bright, a wave of heat and pleasure that crashes through my core and knocks the breath from my lungs, stealing every thought from my head. I cling to him, nails in his back, crying out his name as my body convulses around his hand.

My scent explodes again, stronger than before, thick with omega release and the promise of heat.

He holds me through it, murmuring soft things into my skin, grounding me as I shake and melt against him.

When it finally ebbs, I collapse against him, limp and shaking, chest heaving. I bury my face in his neck, overwhelmed. My body hums. My omega purrs in satisfaction. And all I can smell is us .

He kisses my hair, my forehead, murmurs something low that I can’t quite make out through the haze of pleasure and disbelief.

I came. For him .

And all I feel is safe.

Seen. Wanted .

His arms wrap tighter around me. “You’re everything I ever needed,” he whispers into my hair. “And I’ll remind you every single day, Evie. You never have to doubt it again.”

I don’t want to move. Not yet. Not when he’s still wrapped around me like a shield, a promise, a home.

He kisses the top of my head.

“I’ve got you,” he vows again. “Always.”

The scent of coffee and warm bread draws us from the nest like a thread pulled taut.

We should probably shower first, but Dane assures me it’s not necessary, as he kisses and leaves me to get dressed.

I guess he’s right. I’m with my alphas, my scent matches, and I finally feel safe enough to just exist – messy hair, bare skin, tangled scent and all.

There’s something deeply comforting in that, not having to mask or apologise for the way I belong to them now.

By the time I pad into the kitchen, Dane’s already pouring mugs, Xar is buttering toast, and Blaise is halfway through his second cinnamon swirl like it owes him money, if the crumbs littering his plate, the table top, and his shirt are anything to go by.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Blaise grins. “Guess what day it is?”

I blink, reaching for a mug. “No idea.”

“Christmas Eve,” Xar says, glancing over with a half-smile.

The mug slips in my hands. “Wait— What ?”

They all pause, turning to stare at me.

“You didn’t realise?” Dane asks gently.

“I— no—I thought we had another week,” I stammer, heart jumping as I place the mug down carefully before I make a mess or break it. “Or a few more days at least. I haven’t got you anything. I didn’t even think— Shit .”

I’m already backing away, panic bubbling up. My chest tightens. Heat haze or not, I should have known. Should have prepared. I can barely breathe through the sudden guilt knotting in my ribs.

“Evie.” Xar’s voice is calm but firm. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” I snap, too sharp. “You’re practically living with me now. You’ve done everything for me and I didn’t even?—”

“Evie, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine, Blaise I-don’t-even-know-your-middle-name Virelli,” I bite, hands on hips, glaring at him.

“We’ve been stuck in a storm. Flooded in and without power. What were you supposed to do?” he challenges right back.

“I don’t know!” I cry. “But I should have done something. If Dane could get all the nest stuff delivered than I should have?—”

“Stop,” Dane says, stepping forward and taking the mug from my hand before it can fall. “We don’t want anything but you. You letting us be here, letting us in and giving us a chance, was more than enough, baby. That’s it.”

My eyes sting, but I nod and mutter something unintelligible.

Then I flee.

Straight down to the studio.

My hands are shaking as I flick on the lights, heart pounding like I’m about to go into battle. But I know what I need to do.

I pull out my sketchbook and flip through the pages until I find them – them .

Xar, mid-thought, head tilted slightly with his eyes shadowed. Dane in profile, broad and quiet and unreadable. Blaise with his tongue between his teeth and a guitar slung across his lap, one foot bouncing as if he’s about to launch into chaos.

Each of them. Every stroke of graphite, a truth I never intended to share.

But today…I will.

I spend hours down there. Trimming pages. Mounting them carefully in frames I sneak from the upstairs closet. I wrap each one in thick, matte brown paper tied with twine, attaching a handwritten note to each.

And just when I think I’m done, the power flickers back on– and inspiration strikes.

I sit at the mic.

My piano and guitar wait like they know something’s coming.

I launch the livestream. It’s a small, quiet thing – barely promoted, just a post that says: one more for the year and then some much-needed rest. For someone special.

The stream lights up. Comments pour in.

But I don’t watch them. I play.

Not for the fans. Not for my career.

Just for them.

“For the ones who found me,” I say, voice low into the mic. “And made me want to be found.”

And then I sing.

Soft. Strong. Free.