Page 177 of His Drama Queen

"Your bossy omega." I yank at his shirt, buttons scattering. "Who's dying right now. So move."

He strips fast, revealing all that perfect pale skin and muscle. His cock is already hard, flushed and leaking. My mouth waters.

Behind me, Oakley is pulling off his shirt. I twist to watch, admiring the way his muscles shift under darker skin. He catches me looking and grins, cocky and warm.

"Like what you see?"

"Shut up and get naked."

He laughs, the sound rich and genuine, and something in my chest eases slightly. Even in the middle of this, he can make me feel almost normal.

Corvus is the last to undress, methodical and precise even now. His body is leaner than the others, all elegant lines and controlled strength. His cock is long and pale, already hard, a bead of precum at the tip.

They're all beautiful. All mine.

The possessive thought should scare me. Instead it makes the heat surge harder.

"Need—" I can't finish the sentence. Can't articulate the desperate ache. I reach for Dorian, pulling him down into the nest with me.

Our skin connects and it's like fire. I gasp, grinding against him shamelessly. His cock slides through my slick and we both groan.

"Fuck," he grits out. "You're soaking."

"Your fault." I bite his jaw. "Three days of torture. This is what you get."

"I know." He catches my hips, holding me still even though he's shaking with restraint. "I know, baby, and I'm sorry. Let me make it better."

His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit. I nearly sob at the contact—finally, finally something that helps. He circles it slowly, building the pleasure while I writhe against him.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

"Not enough." I'm clawing at his shoulders. "Need you inside. Need—"

"I've got you." He shifts, lining himself up. "Ready?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He thrusts in and I scream.

Full. Finally full. His cock is thick and hard and perfect, stretching me in ways that make my eyes roll back. The bonds flare bright enough to blind, connecting us in ways that go beyond physical.

"Holy fuck," Dorian gasps. "You feel, ah, Vespera."

He's barely holding still, giving me time to adjust. I don't want time. Don't want slow or gentle. The heat is eating me alive and I need more.

"Move," I demand. "Hard. Don't you dare be careful."

Something in his expression shifts—the last thread of control snapping. He withdraws almost completely, then slams back in with enough force to make me see stars.

"Like that?" His voice is pure gravel. "That what you need?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes."

He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping against mine. Each thrust hits something devastating inside me, building pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I'm making sounds I've never made before—broken, desperate, completely shameless.

"So perfect." Dorian's mouth is on my neck, teeth scraping the claiming mark. "Taking me so well. Made for this. Made for us."

The words should make me angry. Should remind me of all the ways they've manipulated and hurt me. Instead they make me clench around him, dragging a groan from his throat.