Page 11 of The Honor of Being Hers (Terms of Devotion #1)
“Just the two of us,” he said, his voice carefully casual despite the hope she could see in his eyes. “Dinner on the terrace in the garden. Completely private. I’ll handle all the cooking myself.”
Her Omega nature pulsed with warm pleasure at the idea of being specially chosen, of being courted properly even within the boundaries of their unusual situation.
The traditional romance of it appealed to something in her psyche that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with being cherished.
She said yes without hesitation.
Tyler helped her prepare for the evening, brushing her hair in long, soothing strokes while she sat on the cushioned stool near the bedroom window.
The bristles of the brush were soft against her scalp, and she could feel the gentle tug as he worked through her light brown waves with infinite patience.
His touch was meditative, calming, designed to ease the nervous energy she couldn’t quite shake.
“You’re different,” he observed quietly, his hands never pausing in their gentle rhythm.
“How so?”
“You’re not checking the exits every ten minutes anymore. You’re not cataloging escape routes nor are you calculating the distance to safety, either.”
She considered this, recognizing the truth in his words. “I still feel like I’m about to make a terrible mistake.”
“Then make it with us,” he said simply, his reflection meeting her eyes in the vanity mirror. “We’ll catch you if you fall.”
His hands moved to her shoulders, kneading gently at the tension there. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
“What’s that?"
“The first night you were here, after you’d gone to bed, Ryan came to us. He was terrified that he’d pushed too hard, that you’d run again. He asked us to promise that if he ever made you uncomfortable, we’d step in. Even if it meant choosing between you and him.”
She met his eyes in the mirror, seeing the sincerity there.
“He meant it,” Tyler continued. “He’d rather lose us all than see you hurt again. That’s not the same man who tormented you in school.”
The knowledge settled something in her chest, another piece of armor she hadn’t realized she was still carrying.
Dinner was slow and beautiful in a way that made her chest ache with unexpected emotion.
Ryan had set the small terrace table with flowers he’d cut from the estate’s extensive gardens, white roses and lavender that perfumed the evening air with their subtle fragrance.
The tablecloth was crisp linen beneath her hands, and crystal glasses caught the soft glow of the string lights he’d hung overhead.
The food was elegantly simple: perfectly roasted vegetables that had come from their own greenhouse, pan-seared fish with a delicate herb crust, and lemon rice that somehow managed to taste like sunshine.
Yet, it was the obvious care in every detail that made her stomach flutter with something much more complex than hunger.
He pulled out her chair with old-fashioned courtesy, watched her eat not because he was assessing her compliance with meal requirements, but because he genuinely wanted her to enjoy every bite.
“This is incredible,” she said, gesturing to the perfectly plated meal. The fish flaked perfectly under her fork, seasoned with herbs that she could taste were fresh-picked. “Where did you learn to cook like this?"
“Tyler taught me,” he admitted with a slight blush.
“I wanted to do something special for you. I’ve never been more grateful for his lessons since you arrived.
” His green eyes held a vulnerability that made her chest flutter.
“He started teaching me when we moved in together. To use his words, ‘even if you can’t be bothered to cook for yourself, you should be able to prepare some basics. I don’t want to have take-out whenever it’s your turn to cook. ’”
The thought of him practicing, because this was obviously far beyond ‘the basics’, made her heart flutter in ways that had nothing to do with Omega biology and everything to do with simple affection.
After dessert, a delicate fruit tart that she discovered she loved after the second tentative taste, he took her hand across the table and asked with quiet intensity:
“May I kiss you?”
Her pulse raced at the formal request, at the respect it showed for her autonomy even after all the kisses they’d already shared.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
The kiss was soft and unhurried, their mouths opening naturally to each other without any sense of rush or desperation. Just the steady, perfect pressure of lips against lips, and Ryan exhaling against her skin like he’d been waiting his entire life for this exact moment.
When he finally pulled back, her smile broke into quiet, delighted laughter that surprised them both.
“I can’t believe I really get to kiss the three of you whenever I want,” she whispered, the words meant more for herself than for him, a small celebration of how far she’d come.
Ryan kissed her again, deeper this time, sealing the moment between them. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone with reverent gentleness.
“I love seeing you happy,” he murmured against her lips. “I love knowing that we can give you that.”
Later that night, back in their shared bedroom, Tyler kissed her too, soft and sweet and tasting like the chamomile tea he’d been drinking. Then William claimed his own kiss, more intense and possessive than the others, but still carefully controlled.
All different expressions of desire. All are respectful of her boundaries. All unmistakably hers.
And in the soft, dreamy haze that followed, she could hardly stop smiling, as what happened after the lights went out marked the fundamental shift in their relationship.
She’d been lying between them, drowsy but not quite asleep, when she became aware of their breathing, the way it’d shifted from the relaxed rhythm of approaching sleep to something more deliberate.
The scent in the room had shifted, too, taking on notes of arousal that made her own body respond with growing interest.
“Lauren,” Ryan whispered in the darkness, his voice rough with want. “Are you awake?"
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Can we—”
Ryan continued, “I mean, would you like us to help you feel good? Just touch, nothing more than you’re ready for.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, but not with fear. With anticipation.
“Yes,” she said again, the word barely audible but carrying absolute certainty.
What followed was a slow and careful exploration that gradually built the heat between them.
Gentle hands mapping her body through her clothes at first, then slipping beneath fabric to find skin.
Lips pressing kisses to her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones.
Whispered praise in her ears that made her arch and gasp and beg for more.
They took their time, learning what made her breath hitch, what made her moan, what made her hands clench in their hair. Tyler’s was silk-soft between her fingers, Ryan’s slightly coarser, William’s short and thick. Each texture became mapped in her memory along with their responses.
When William’s fingers found the sensitive spot at the base of her throat, she cried out in surprise. When Tyler’s mouth worked magic on the pulse point below her ear, she nearly came undone. When Ryan’s hands discovered just how sensitive her hipbones were, she sobbed his name into the darkness.
They brought her to the edge again and again, backing off just when she thought she might shatter, until she was trembling with need and practically crying with frustration.
“Please,” she whispered, not even sure what she was asking for.
“We’ve got you,” Tyler murmured against her skin. “Let go for us, sweetheart.”
When they finally pushed her over the edge, she came apart with a cry that seemed to echo from her very soul, her body arching into their touches as waves of pleasure crashed over her. They held her through every aftershock with infinite tenderness, their own breathing ragged with restraint.
“Beautiful,” Tyler murmured against her hair as she came down from the high. "You’re so beautiful when you let go."
“Our perfect Omega,” William added, his voice thick with satisfaction and barely restrained desire.
Ryan said nothing, just pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and held her closer, his scent wrapping around her like a promise.
A few days later, as Lauren was beginning to feel truly settled into their routine, William approached her with a suggestion that surprised her.
“The symposium is having its closing gala tomorrow night,” he said carefully. "It’s meant to celebrate the week’s presentations and recognize outstanding contributors. Your keynote was very well-received.”
Lauren looked up from her book, interested despite herself. “And?"
“We think it will be safe for you to attend if we are there as your escorts,” Tyler added, settling beside her on the conservatory bench.
“You think so?” she asked, not sure if the flutter in her stomach was excitement or anxiety.
“Yes, we wouldn’t risk your safety if we thought your cycle had become unstable,” Ryan said firmly. “And we’ll be with you the entire time. You’ll have personal protection, access to the gala is controlled, and we have protocols for immediate extraction if needed."
“You don’t even have to speak to anyone if you don’t want to,” Tyler added. “Just attend, show your face, and leave whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll take your coat, escort you personally, and snarl at anyone who gets within six feet of you, if that’s what you want,” Ryan said with complete seriousness. He wasn’t joking in the slightest.
The thought of facing another academic crowd still made her nervous. Still, there was something appealing about the idea of ending the week on her own terms. She’d given her keynote successfully; why not make one more appearance to claim her space in the academic world?