Page 65 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

By the time we’re done, the sun’s dipped low and the kitchen beckons again – dinner waiting to be made, hearts full, and something sacred hanging between us.

I linger, still basking in the glow of it all – of them .

My fingers itch with the need to keep creating, to bottle this feeling.

But then Xar clears his throat, standing and brushing his palms on his jeans.

“Do you want to make dinner with me again?” he asks, voice casual but eyes locked on mine.

Something sparks low in my stomach.

“Sure,” I say, a little too quickly, already rising to follow him into the kitchen.

The other two clamber to their feet and follow us out of the nest, pausing in the hallway.

“We’ll be in the lounge until it’s ready. Just holler,” Blaise says, a little too brightly. “Don’t come knocking.”

“Still working on your mystery surprise?” I call over my shoulder.

“Shhh,” Blaise says, grinning like a smug bastard. “Artists at work.”

The kitchen is warm, golden from the light over the stove. Xar moves with easy confidence, reaching for ingredients like he already knows what I’ll say yes to. I lean against the counter, watching him chop onions with precise, practiced motions.

“What are we making?”

“Something comforting,” he replies. “Nothing fancy. Just…good.”

Our hands brush as I reach for the garlic. I should pull away but I don’t. The charge that zips between us is unmistakable. He glances at me, and something hot passes through the space between us. I can’t look away.

Every motion becomes heavier. More loaded. When he passes me a spoon, our fingers linger. When I lean over to stir, I feel the heat of him behind me, just watching.

“I missed cooking with you,” he says softly.

“We cooked together once.”

He smirks. “Still.”

I laugh under my breath, but the air between us has thickened. The dish simmers, fragrant and rich, but my attention is entirely on him now – his scent curling around me like smoke and spice.

Xar steps behind me, one hand landing gently on my waist. “Evie.”

I turn slowly. His mouth is so close. His hand curves around my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. And then?—

He kisses me.

It’s not soft.

It’s not sweet.

It’s hungry .

His mouth claims mine with a growl that rumbles against my chest. I gasp, my hands flying to his biceps, and he uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against mine with heat and purpose. His other hand presses into the small of my back, dragging me flush against him.

The stove is long forgotten.

My pulse is roaring .

I moan into his mouth, and Xar swears, pulling back just enough to murmur, “Later, love. I swear to fucking god, later.”

I nod, breathless, chest heaving. He brushes one last kiss to my lips before turning back to stir the pan like he didn’t just rock my world with a single kiss.

Dinner is a blur.

I barely taste it.

All I can think about is getting him in the nest, hands on my skin, mouth on my?—

But Xar has other plans.

“I’m running you a bath,” he announces after the plates are cleared. “You’re not dragging me into those blankets without letting me take care of you first.”

I blink, heart skipping. “I— Okay.”

“Trust me?” he asks.

I nod.

He smiles and it’s soft , the kind of smile that makes something inside me melt .

“Good. Give me ten minutes and then come into the nest’s bathroom.”

The bathroom is already warm when I step inside.

Xar’s scent is everywhere, curling through the air like an anchor.

The tub is filled nearly to the brim, steam rising in lazy spirals, the surface shimmering with drops of essential oil.

Soft music plays from his phone on the windowsill, something low and instrumental.

A fluffy towel waits on the radiator. So does he.

Xar turns when he hears me, leaning against the sink with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.

He doesn’t say a word as I step out of my clothes. Just watches, eyes roaming over me like a slow, steady burn. I should feel shy. But I don’t.

Not with him.

Not when he’s looking at me like I’m made of starlight and secrets.

Once I’m in the bath, I melt. The heat seeps into my muscles, softening every edge of tension I didn’t even realise I was holding. I close my eyes, head resting back, and breathe.

“Good?” Xar asks, voice low.

“Mmhmm.”

He sinks to sit behind me on the edge of the tub, his fingers dipping into the water to stroke gently along my shoulders. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

And he does.

He washes my hair like it’s a sacred ritual – fingers massaging my scalp, rinsing with care. His touch is slow. Intentional. When he smooths conditioner through the strands, I sigh.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever done this for me, and here you are doing it twice,” I whisper.

“I’ll do it as many times as you want,” he replies. “Every day. Just say the word.”

By the time I step out, I’m boneless. He wraps me in a towel, drying me off carefully, and then carries me, bridal style, back into the nest. Naked but for the towel I’m cocooned in, but I’m too blissed out to care.

It’s been transformed.

Fairy lights glow along the headboard. Candles flicker on every surface, casting golden shadows. The bed is layered in soft new blankets. Yet more nesting materials.

Everything I didn’t even know I needed.

I turn to thank him and he’s already behind me, fingers trailing up my spine.

“Lie down,” he murmurs.

I do.

His hands find my shoulders first – kneading, soothing, exploring. He works every muscle with reverence, every knot of tension unwinding under his touch. My towel loosens as he moves lower, and I don’t stop him. I can’t.

His lips brush my bare spine. Once. Twice. Then again. His scent fills the air – darker and wilder than I’ve ever known it, sparking something deep inside me.

I shift beneath him, hips arching. Needing more.

“Xar…” I whisper.

“Tell me what you want, omega.”

His voice is a whisper against my skin, but it crashes through me like thunder.

I shiver, not from cold, but from how seen I feel in that moment – like he’s looking past my skin, past the uncertainty, into the core of me.

“I want this,” I murmur, voice low. “You. But not just because of my heat.”

His hands are still against my back. I half-turn, tugging the towel higher around myself, suddenly shy.

“I need you to know,” I say, forcing my gaze to meet his, “this isn’t the heat talking. I’m not…desperate. Not yet. I want this. I want you . Because I choose you.”

For a moment, Xar just stares at me – like he’s memorising the shape of my confession.

Then he exhales, slow and reverent, like I’ve just handed him the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, his voice rough. “But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying.”

He reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid motion. My breath catches. His body is all hard lines and strength, tattoos curling over his skin like inked stories I want to read with my mouth.

I reach for him before I can stop myself, fingertips brushing over a faded scar on his ribs. He flinches – but doesn’t pull away.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

“Motorbike accident when I was nineteen,” he says, eyes searching mine. “Tried to outrun a storm. Didn’t quite make it.”

I trace the scar gently. “And now you run into storms instead.”

His smile is slow, crooked. “Only if you’re at the centre.”

He touches the edge of my towel. “Can I?”

My throat tightens, but I nod.

His hands are warm, sure, as he peels the towel away. He takes his time. Doesn’t rush or grope or claim. Just looks. Sees . One hand comes to rest on my hip, the other sliding up to cradle my jaw.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. “And you don’t even know it.”

I do, maybe. A little. Now. Thanks to them telling me. Showing me.

Right now, with him looking at me like that – I feel like I could believe it.

He leans in and kisses me again. Slow , lingering , all heat and tenderness. My fingers slide into his long blond locks, nails grazing his scalp. He groans, low in his throat, and deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a possessive kind of reverence.

“I want to take my time with you,” he says against my lips. “I want to worship every inch of you, make you forget anyone ever made you feel like you didn’t deserve this.”

“You already are,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, then lays me back on the bed like I’m something sacred. His hands follow the lines of my body – arms, ribs, waist, hips – not to take , but to reassure . To learn me.

My scent spirals higher – honeysuckle and storm-kissed fruit – mixing with the sweet-warm spice of him. He groans again, burying his face in my neck, and for a moment we just breathe each other in.

Then he shifts, pushing himself up slightly.

“I need to taste you, Evie,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Then do it,” I breathe.

Xar shifts lower, trailing kisses down my chest, my stomach, his hands wide and reverent as they glide over my hips. Every touch is careful – not hesitant, but measured . Like he’s holding himself back.

“Xar…” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Please.”

He groans, the sound low and guttural, and settles between my thighs like he belongs there. His palms slide beneath my knees, easing me open, and the moment his breath ghosts over my slick folds, I tremble.

“Fucking hell,” he growls, voice roughened with restraint. “You smell so sweet. So fucking perfect .”

Then he lowers his mouth to me, and I break.

He’s slow at first, tasting me like he’s savouring his favourite dessert. Each stroke of his tongue is deliberate, unhurried, and maddening. He flicks, circles, then suckles gently on my clit until I’m arching up into him, helpless against the wave building inside me.

My hands grip the sheets. My thighs shake.

“Xar! Please! I can’t?—”

“You can,” he murmurs against me. “I’ve got you.”