Page 37

Lila

I drift in and out of consciousness, wrapped in Callum's strong arms like I'm something precious he's afraid to lose.

His knot still locks us together, thick and full inside me, and every small movement sends aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitive body.

His chest purrs steadily beneath my cheek, the solid warmth of him grounding me even as my mind struggles to process everything that's happened.

Their voices drift around me like a lullaby, soft and careful, probably thinking I'm asleep. But consciousness keeps pulling me back to the surface, and their words filter through the haze, settling into my chest like seeds that might grow into something beautiful.

"I've never felt like this before," Dean's voice, rough with emotion. "About anyone. She's just... she's incredible. Makes me want to be better, you know?"

A pause, then his voice gets quieter, more vulnerable. "Even if she doesn't want me when this is over, when her head's clear... I just want her to be happy. Whatever that looks like. She deserves good things."

My heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words, the way he's already prepared to sacrifice his own wants for my happiness. Sweet, golden Dean who brings coffee and fixes doors and looks at me like I hung the moon.

"She's too good for us," Callum rumbles, his voice vibrating through his chest where my ear rests.

"Too perfect. Don't know what we did to deserve her even looking at us twice.

" His arms tighten around me slightly, protective and possessive.

"But I'll spend every day trying to be worthy of her if she'll let me. "

The gruff admission from someone who fixes everything but doesn't think he's worth fixing makes my throat tight with emotion. Callum, who showed up with his toolbox and patient hands, who sees broken things and makes them whole again.

"We all will," Julian's voice, precise and thoughtful as always.

"Take care of her, I mean. Whatever she needs, whatever she decides she wants.

" A pause, then softer. "I know I can be.

.. intense. Too much for most people. But if there's even a chance she might want more with me, with us. All of us together..."

"We can only hope," Dean finishes quietly. "Dream about what that might look like."

"What do you think it would look like?" Callum asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "If she stayed. If she wanted all of us."

"Sunday mornings," Julian says immediately, like he's been thinking about it. "Coffee in that kitchen while she reads the paper in her chair by the window. Coming home from work to find her humming while she cooks, or curled up in her nest upstairs surrounded by our scents."

"Fixing things around the house together," Callum adds. "Teaching her to use tools. Building her whatever she wants—bookshelves, garden boxes, maybe a bigger porch for summer evenings."

"Pancakes," Dean contributes, warmth in his voice. "Making her pancakes on Saturday mornings. Taking her to Maeve's for family dinners where everyone loves her. Bringing her flowers just because. Making her laugh so hard she snorts."

Their words paint pictures in my mind, scenes so vivid I can almost taste them.

Coming home to this little cottage after a day in town, finding all three of them there.

Dean cooking something that smells like heaven, Callum fixing a squeaky door hinge, Julian reading on the front porch with a cup of coffee.

All of them lighting up when they see me, like my presence makes their day complete.

The dream shifts, becomes something even more precious.

The other room upstairs, the one that's still empty and waiting for purpose.

Painted in soft yellows and greens, filled with warm morning light.

A crib by the window, shelves full of picture books and soft toys.

Julian reading bedtime stories in that precise, careful voice.

Dean bouncing a baby on his broad shoulder, making ridiculous faces until tiny giggles fill the air.

Callum building a treehouse in the backyard, sturdy and safe and perfect for adventures.

A family. A real family, built from choice instead of obligation, from love instead of convenience. The kind of future I never let myself want because it seemed too impossible, too much to hope for.

All of us together in this little town where people bring you casseroles and fix your mailbox and remember your name. Where broken things get mended instead of thrown away. Where someone like me—damaged goods from a very public breakup—might actually be worth keeping.

The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, their scents wrapping around me like the most perfect blanket.

Cedar and sawdust from Callum, toasted marshmallow and campfire from Dean, black tea and bergamot from Julian, all mixing with my own green apples and white musk until the air itself feels like home.

I let myself float in the dream a little longer.

Sunday mornings and family dinners and a nursery painted in sunshine colors.

Hands that build things and voices that read stories and hearts big enough to hold all the love I have to give.

A place where being too much isn't a flaw, where wanting deeply is a gift instead of a burden.

Maybe it could be real. Maybe I could be brave enough to want it, to reach for it, to let myself believe I deserve something this beautiful.

The thought follows me as I drift deeper into sleep, Callum's knot still thick inside me, their voices still murmuring soft promises in the darkness.

When I dream, it's of white picket fences and flower gardens, of three men coming home to kiss me hello, of tiny hands reaching up to be held and laughter echoing through rooms filled with sunlight and love.

I dream of choosing them, and them choosing me back, over and over again until the choosing becomes as natural as breathing.

I dream of forever.

Warmth against my cheek gradually pulls me back to consciousness. Not the solid heat of Callum's chest, but something softer, more familiar. I blink slowly, my vision focusing on warm brown eyes and a smile so bright it could power the entire town.

"Hey there, beautiful," Dean murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and something deeper. "How you feeling?"

The gentle rumble in his chest registers before his words do—a soft, continuous purr that speaks of contentment and alpha satisfaction. The sound vibrates through me where our skin touches, soothing in a way that goes beyond conscious thought.

"Dean?" I whisper, my voice hoarse from sleep and everything else. "When did you...?"

"Callum's knot went down about an hour ago," he explains, his hand coming up to stroke my hair gently. "You whimpered when he pulled out, so I slipped in behind you. You settled right back down."

I'm lying on my side in the nest, Dean's warm body curled around me from behind, his arm a protective band across my waist. The position feels perfectly natural, like we've been sleeping together for years instead of hours.

His scent surrounds me, that comforting blend of toasted marshmallow and campfire that makes me feel safe down to my bones.

"Callum? Julian?" I ask, noting their absence.

"Getting food ready," Dean explains, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. "Your heat's still going strong, but you gotta eat. Keep your strength up." His purr gets a little deeper. "Julian's being all bossy about making sure we have everything you might need. Callum's helping him organize supplies."

The mention of Julian being protective and in charge makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "He's good at that. Taking care of people."

"He is," Dean agrees, his voice soft with affection. "We all wanna take care of you, sweetheart. However you'll let us."

His words carry weight beyond their surface meaning, and something warm settles in my chest at the care in his voice. But my heat is building again, the brief respite from sleep fading as my body remembers what it needs.

"Thank you," I whisper, turning my head so I can see his face properly. "For being here. For taking care of me."

The simple gratitude makes his whole face light up, but before he can respond, heat crashes over me like a wave. My body temperature spikes, and suddenly all I can think about is how empty I feel, how much I need to be close to him.

I press my lips to his, the kiss desperate and needy as my heat consumes rational thought.

The kiss deepens, becomes something more heated as my body reminds me that my heat is far from over. Dean's hands begin moving over my skin with increasing purpose, and I arch into his touch with a soft moan that makes his purr turn rougher, more possessive.

"Need you," I whimper against his lips, my hips rolling back against him instinctively, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Dean, please. I need you inside me."

His breath hitches, and I can smell the spike in his scent, the way it turns sharper with arousal and intention. "Oh, sweetheart. The way you smell right now..."

"Then give me what I need," I murmur, my hand reaching back to wrap around his cock, already hard and ready for me. "Fill me up. Make me yours."

The possessive language makes him growl low in his throat, his control snapping like a broken leash. In one smooth movement, he lifts my leg and slides inside me from behind, both of us groaning at the perfect fit.

"God, you feel so good," he breathes, his voice rough as he begins to move, slow and deep and exactly what my body is craving. "So perfect, sweetheart. Tell me what you need."

"You," I gasp, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "Just you, Dean. All of you."

And as he builds a rhythm that has me seeing stars, as his knot begins to swell with the promise of completion, I think about the dreams I had while sleeping. About pancakes and flower gardens and a future built from choice and love and the courage to want something beautiful.

About forever, and how it might be closer than I ever dared to hope.

But for now, there's just this. Dean's hands on my skin, his breath hot against my neck, the exquisite fullness of being claimed by someone who looks at me like I'm everything he never knew he needed.

There's just us, and the promise that this is only the beginning.