Page 66 of Saddle and Scent (Saddlebrush Ridge #1)

I shifted on purpose, leaning back, and the sweatshirt slipped off my shoulder, revealing the thin strap of the lingerie beneath. The black lace against my skin was so different from the faded cotton, it should have looked trashy. Instead, Callum’s eyes went dark and intent.

He said nothing, but his thumb drew slow circles on my bare hip, sending sparks up my spine. It was the first time I’d worn something like this for anyone—hell, it was the first time I’d worn it for myself. The power in his gaze made me brave.

When the song changed, I let the sweatshirt fall a little farther. Wes wolf-whistled. “Bell, you keeping secrets under there?”

“Maybe,” I said, spinning away from Callum and striking a pose in the fairy lights. “If you want to see, you have to join me.”

All three hesitated, then closed in around me like they’d rehearsed it.

Wes reached first, tugging at the hem of the sweatshirt. “Can we?”

I nodded, heartbeat wild. I was blushing so hard I felt it in my scalp, but I didn’t care. Tonight was about more than just looking sexy for them—it was about feeling safe enough to be seen.

They peeled the sweatshirt off together, careful not to mess up my hair. The temperature dropped a full five degrees, goosebumps racing across my arms, but the way they stared at me made it feel like midsummer.

The black lace clung to every curve, making my boobs look way better than I remembered, the ribbon at the back a promise waiting to be untied. I felt like a goddess, or maybe a magician pulling off her greatest trick.

“Wow,” Beckett breathed, his eyes wide and reverent.

Callum just muttered, “Jesus,” like he’d been punched in the gut.

Wes grinned like a maniac. “Bell, you are full of surprises.”

I decided not to tell them how nervous I’d been, how I’d almost chickened out. Instead, I reached down and slid the pajama pants off, revealing the matching set underneath. My legs shook a little, but I flexed my toes against the cool stone, grounding myself in the moment.

They looked at me like they were seeing me for the first time. Not the mess, not the project, not the work in progress—but the woman, the Omega, the girl who wanted to be wanted.

“Holy shit,” Beckett said, then, a little softer, “You look perfect.”

I laughed, a little wild, and spun for them. “No more hiding.”

Wes snaked an arm around my waist and whispered, “We should christen the swing. For science.”

He was joking, but the look in his eyes wasn’t. There was heat there, and hunger, and something else—something that said this wasn’t just a one-night thing, or even a summer thing. This was our future, right here, right now, and I didn’t have to be scared of it anymore.

I beckoned them over to the swing. “You coming, or what?”

Callum moved first, Beckett and Wes close behind. I took my spot in the middle, both hands out, and let them crowd around me.

The moon was higher now, the fairy lights twinkling like a thousand tiny promises. Beckett poured us each a shot of whiskey, and we toasted to nothing in particular, just the chance to be together without bullshit or shame.

After the first round, I tilted my head back, catching the faint glimmer of stars between the aspens. “You know what I want to do?”

“Anything,” Wes said, eyes already a little glassy from the drink.

“I want to dance with all of you. At the same time.”

Beckett let out a low laugh. “That’s not dancing, Bell.”

I shrugged, wicked. “Call it what you want.”

I dragged them all up, one by one, and we stumbled around the grass, tripping over the stones and the roots, our feet freezing but our bodies warm, pressed close together.

At some point, Wes spun me and I crashed into Beckett, who caught me by the waist and lifted me clean off the ground.

Callum pulled us back in, anchoring the chaos, and the three of them ringed me in so tight that all I could do was laugh and lean into their touch.

It wasn’t elegant, or practiced, or even particularly sexy. But it was ours.

And when I finally lost my balance, taking all three Alphas down with me in a pile of limbs and wildflowers and silk and skin, I knew I’d never been happier in my entire life.

The song faded, the speaker sputtering as the battery died. But we stayed there on the grass, breathless and tangled, the world’s weirdest pile-up, and for the first time ever, I let myself believe in happy endings.

Even if they started with “fuck it, let’s dance.”

There’s something about post-dance euphoria that makes every touch feel electric. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the whiskey, or the fact that I’d finally stopped pretending I didn’t want them—all of them, at the same time.

We were sprawled in the grass, a tangle of limbs and laughter, the black silk of my lingerie barely holding together under Beckett’s head, Wes’s legs thrown over mine, Callum bracing us all with one arm planted behind him and the other looped protectively around my waist. It should have been awkward.

Instead, it felt like sinking into a hot bath after a week of walking home in the rain: shivery at first, then delicious.

The last dregs of music from the dead speaker faded into the wind, but none of us moved to get up. I felt wild, loose-limbed, reckless. I wanted to do something about it.

So I did.

I rolled over and straddled Callum, who made a sound that was half-groan, half-chuckle. His shirt rode up on his ribs, exposing a line of muscle dusted with hair, and I pressed my palm flat against it.

“You said you didn’t know how to dance,” I teased.

He scowled, but there was a faint smile at the edge of it.

“Didn’t step on your feet, did I?”

I leaned down, slow, until my mouth hovered over his.

“You were perfect.”

I kissed him—soft, almost chaste, but when his lips parted I felt the heat there. I ground down, just a little, and his hands found my hips, clamping hard enough to bruise if I’d been less stubborn about showing off.

“You wearing this for me?” he rumbled, running a thumb under the edge of my bra.

“For all of you,” I said, and then Wes’s hands joined in, warm and greedy on my bare thighs.

Beckett rolled upright, eyes dark and hungry. “If you’re offering, don’t hold back,” he said. The way he looked at me made my skin prickle; I’d never felt so wanted, not by one, not by three, and it was starting to dawn on me that maybe I could have it. All of it.

I let Callum kiss down my neck, nipping at the skin until I yelped, then twisted and caught Wes’s mouth with mine. He tasted like soda and cinnamon, and he smiled against my lips, pulling me onto his lap like we were back in junior prom and had the whole gym to ourselves.

“God, I missed this,” he whispered, hands sliding up to cup my ass. He kneaded, then gave it a little slap. “You get even cuter when you’re bossing us around.”

I giggled and bit his lip, and he groaned, deep and throaty.

The sound made my nipples go tight, even through the lace. He tugged at the ribbon, loosening it just enough for the cups to slip.

Before I could say a word, Beckett was there, steady hands sliding under the band of my bra, fingers warm against my skin. He was careful, reverent, almost worshipful as he peeled it away.

For a second I thought I’d feel shy, but the way he looked at me—like I was a feast and he’d been fasting—made my breath catch.

“You’re gorgeous, Junebug,” he said, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “Let us show you how much.”

He pressed his mouth to my breast, tongue swirling around my nipple. My head snapped back, and I let out a moan so loud the birds in the trees took flight.

“Jesus, Beckett,” I gasped.

Wes laughed, bright and wicked, and kissed my throat. “He’s got a thing for making you lose control. It’s like his love language.”

I reached back, dragging Wes’s mouth up to mine, and at the same time tangled my fingers in Callum’s hair, pulling him closer. For a second, I didn’t know which way to turn, who to give myself to first, and then I realized: I didn’t have to choose.

I could have them all.

I could be greedy.

I could be theirs, and they could be mine, and it could feel this good.

I let them touch me, all at once: Wes’s hands roaming my thighs and hips, Callum’s lips mapping a route down my spine, Beckett’s tongue and teeth gentle but relentless on my breasts .

I was dizzy with sensation, overwhelmed in the best way, my skin humming where they brushed it.

I let my head fall back against Callum’s shoulder, and he caught me, strong arms bracing me upright as Beckett unhooked my bra the rest of the way.

I was naked from the waist up, the cool night air prickling my skin, but their hands were everywhere—never letting me get cold, never letting me feel anything but pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Callum muttered, his breath hot in my ear.

He spun me around, setting me in his lap, and I could feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

It made me bold— I ground against him, slow, just to watch his eyes go dark and hungry.

I reached for his shirt and yanked it up, exposing his chest, then ran my hands over every scar, every patch of rough skin. He shivered.

“Don’t tease,” he warned, but I ignored him, kissing down his jaw, tasting the salt and stubble.

Meanwhile, Beckett and Wes had joined forces: Wes slipped behind me, hands splayed on my ribs, while Beckett knelt between my legs and kissed along the inside of my thigh.

He was patient, almost maddeningly so, working his way up in slow, deliberate increments.

Every breath sent a new wave of arousal through me, every touch building the tension higher.

When Beckett’s mouth finally found the edge of my panties, I nearly screamed. He pressed a kiss through the fabric, then pulled it aside and licked a stripe from bottom to top, slow and heavy and so fucking good I almost cried.

Wes held me steady, his hands trembling with the effort.

“Let go, Junebug,” he said, voice wrecked with want. “We’ve got you.”

I did. I let myself fall apart.