Page 47

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

LEXIE

T he hot water runs down over my skin, washing away sweat and the delicious ache of well-used muscles.

I sink deeper into the oversized tub, which is practically a small pool, letting bubbles rise to my chin as I stretch my legs out.

The bathroom is steamy, lavender-scented, and exactly what I needed after the morning's activities.

Their bathroom. Their tub. Their house.

Five men. One me.

I should be freaking out. Normal people would be freaking out, right? But all I feel is a pleasant buzz humming through my body and a sense of... rightness?

Is that weird? Probably. But I'm past caring.

My fingertips trace the marks on my collarbone, evidence of Aidan's enthusiasm from an hour ago.

After breakfast and recovery time, he'd looked at me with those big green eyes, asked so politely if he could have a turn, and then proceeded to pin me against the wall of his bedroom with surprising strength.

The contrast between his gentle requests and the way he'd gripped my hips hard enough to bruise had left me gasping.

Not that I'm complaining.

I sink lower, letting the warm water lap at my chin. My body aches pleasantly everywhere. Jax this morning, then Darren, and now Aidan.

Three down, two to go.

The thought brings heat to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the bath water.

I'm not sure how long I've been soaking when a knock interrupts my thoughts.

"You planning to turn into a prune in there?" Zayn's voice comes through the door, amused and slightly impatient.

"Considering it," I call back, smiling despite myself. "The amenities are excellent."

"Dinner's not for a couple of hours," he continues through the door. "Jax and Aidan are doing some fancy shit with a roast. Thought maybe you'd want company while you wait."

My heart skips. Company. I know exactly what kind of company he means.

"Door's unlocked," I say, surprising myself with my boldness.

The door opens and Zayn steps in, followed by Dmitri. The steam swirls around them, and I'm suddenly very aware of my nakedness despite the bubbles providing minimal coverage. Zayn's eyes flick over me, sharp and assessing, while Dmitri's gaze is steady, almost reverent.

"Room for two more?" Zayn asks, leaning against the counter.

I raise an eyebrow. "In this tub? Probably room for the whole hockey team."

Dmitri's mouth quirks in what might be a smile. "It's a good size. Custom build."

"Of course it is," I murmur, watching as Zayn pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

I should look away. Should probably feel some modicum of shyness. But after the morning's activities, it seems ridiculous to pretend at modesty now. So instead, I watch as they undress, taking in the differences between them.

Zayn is all lean muscle and sharp angles, with a swimmer's build despite his hockey training.

Dark tattoos wrap around his biceps and across his chest, forming patterns I want to map with my fingers.

His movements are deliberate, performative even, like he knows exactly how good he looks and doesn't mind the appreciation.

Dmitri is broader, more solid. His chest and shoulders bear the kind of muscle that comes from years of hard work rather than careful sculpting. Scars mark his pale skin, and a particularly jagged one across his ribs catches my eye. He undresses efficiently, no wasted motion, no show.

Two distinctly different men. Two distinctly different approaches to life, to pleasure, to me.

"You gonna make room, beautiful?" Zayn asks, now gloriously naked and clearly not bothered by it.

I shift forward, bringing my knees to my chest to create space behind me. "Help yourself."

Zayn slides in behind me, water sloshing over the edge as he settles. His legs bracket mine, chest warm against my back. Dmitri takes the opposite end, his large frame somehow fitting comfortably as he stretches his legs alongside mine.

"This is cozy," I manage, hyperaware of Zayn's breath on my neck and Dmitri's intense gaze.

"We're just getting to know each other," Zayn says, his hands finding my shoulders and beginning to knead the muscles there. "It's important for pack dynamics."

I snort. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Dmitri's eyes crinkle. "He has many names for it. Most not appropriate for polite company."

"Good thing I'm not polite company then," I reply, leaning into Zayn's touch as his fingers work out knots I didn't know I had.

"You've had quite the day," Zayn murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Jax, Darren, now our young goalie. Enjoying yourself?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "Seems like you already know the answer to that."

"Want to hear you say it," he insists, hands sliding from my shoulders down my arms.

"Yes," I admit, watching Dmitri watch me. "I'm enjoying myself."

"Good," Dmitri says, the word heavy with meaning in his accented voice. His large hand finds my ankle under the water, thumb pressing gently against the arch of my foot. "Some things should be enjoyed."

The simple touch sends shivers up my leg, surprising me with its intensity. I've never considered my feet particularly sensitive, but the careful pressure of his fingers has me fighting not to squirm.

"We were thinking," Zayn continues, one hand now running over my stomach just below the water's surface, "you might be interested in some unique preparation."

My breath catches. "Preparation?"

"For knotting," he clarifies, direct as always. "It takes time. But there are ways to help the process."

Oh. Oh.

"What kind of ways?" I ask, curiosity mixing with arousal.

Zayn reaches past me, retrieving something from beside the tub that I hadn't noticed before. A box. He opens it, revealing a silicone toy in a shape I recognize immediately, the flared base unmistakable.

"Specially designed," he explains, his tone matter-of-fact despite the intimacy of the conversation. "Adjustable. We can start small, work up gradually."

I stare at the toy, heat pooling low in my belly. This is so far outside my normal experience that I should be nervous, maybe even intimidated. Instead, I'm intrigued. Turned on.

"Do many betas use these?" I ask, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart is suddenly hammering.

"Some," Dmitri answers, his hand still working magic on my foot. "Just a matter of personal choice. No pressure."

"But it could be helpful," Zayn adds, setting the box back down. "If you're interested."

Am I interested? My body certainly seems to be, responding to their touches and the mere suggestion with embarrassing eagerness. The idea of being able to take one of their knots, eventually all of their knots, is both intimidating and thrilling.

"I'm interested," I admit, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "But maybe not in the bathtub?"

Zayn chuckles, the sound vibrating against my back. "Fair enough. Bedroom's more comfortable anyway."

"We'll finish the bath first," Dmitri says firmly, giving Zayn a look I can't interpret. "No rush."

There's a brief pause, a silent communication passing between them that I'm not privy to. Then Zayn relaxes against me again, his hands returning to my shoulders.

"The big guy's right," he concedes. "Let's enjoy this first."

What follows is perhaps the most sensual bath of my life.

The two of them take turns washing me, their hands gentle but thorough as they soap every inch of skin.

Zayn is efficient but attentive, his touches clinical until they suddenly aren't, lingering just long enough to make me gasp.

Dmitri is methodical, treating each part of me like it deserves careful consideration, his large hands surprisingly delicate.

By the time they help me from the tub, I'm flushed and trembling with need, water streaming down my body as Dmitri wraps me in a plush towel.

"Whose room?" I ask, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"Mine," Zayn decides, already leading the way. He doesn't bother with clothes, padding naked down the hallway with complete confidence.

Dmitri follows suit, and I find myself walking between two nude hockey players through an absurdly expensive house, wrapped only in a towel. My life has taken a decidedly surreal turn.

Zayn's bedroom reflects him perfectly, minimalist but expensive. Dark wood furniture, crisp white bedding, everything clean-lined and intentional. The only personal touches are the books stacked neatly on the nightstand and a single framed photo I can't make out from this distance.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, gesturing to the king-sized bed.

I hesitate only briefly before letting the towel drop and climbing onto the bed. Their eyes follow me, Zayn's sharp and assessing, Dmitri's warm with approval.

"Beautiful," Dmitri says simply, joining me on the bed. He sits beside me, not touching yet, just close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin.

"Very," Zayn agrees, retrieving the box from wherever he stashed it before our bathing adventures. "And brave."

The compliment catches me off guard. "Brave?"

"Taking on five athletic alphas,” he clarifies, setting the box on the nightstand. "Not everyone would be so... adaptable."

I hadn't thought of it that way. "I'm just following where this feels right."

"Good instincts," Dmitri murmurs, finally touching me, a broad hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Trust them."

His touch is gentle but firm, grounding me in the moment. I lean into it, surprised by how much I crave the contact. I never realized just how touch starved I was until this pack couldn't keep their hands off me.

"So," Zayn says, joining us on the bed, "ground rules. You say stop, we stop. You say slower, we go slower. Clear?"

I nod, appreciating the directness. "Clear."

"Good girl," he says, the praise sending a surge of heat between my thighs.

Dmitri notices, his eyes crinkling slightly. "You like that? Being called good girl?"

My cheeks heat. "Maybe."