Page 13 of The Honor of Being Hers (Terms of Devotion #1)

The door to the den wasn’t closed, but she stood just outside it for nearly a minute anyway, one hand braced on the frame, her other pressed to the center of her chest like she might calm the heat there if she just breathed deep enough.

The wood beneath her palm was smooth, worn by countless hands, and she could feel the grain running beneath her fingertips like raised veins.

She could hear them inside, low voices, the occasional quiet laugh, the shifting rhythm of bodies adjusting on cushions or couches.

Nothing urgent. Nothing that should have made her thighs clench.

Still, she felt it.

Her nipples had been tight for half an hour.

Her underwear was damp. Not just a little, not just from a thought or the memory of something.

She was wet because of Tyler’s hand brushing her hip in the hallway earlier, because of the way William had looked at her mouth over tea, because when Ryan had caught her eye in the library and hadn’t looked away, something inside her had perked up and refused to let go of the need she saw in his.

She wasn’t in heat.

However, there was no denying she wanted. No, she needed.

Lauren stepped into the room before she could second-guess the decision.

She didn’t bother to say anything. The blanket she carried hung from one hand, soft and warm from the dryer, the cotton still holding that clean, heated scent that reminded her of safety and comfort.

The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet, a contrast to the warmth radiating from her flushed skin.

The oversized t-shirt clung to her thighs as she moved toward the center of the room, the fabric whispering against her bare legs with each step.

Tyler was the first to look up. He was stretched along the couch in a dark shirt with the sleeves shoved to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms. One leg was bent over the armrest, his sandy brown hair slightly mussed from reading.

His expression shifted the moment he saw her.

Not softened, focused. His hazel eyes darkened as they tracked her movement.

Like she had his full attention now, and he was already cataloguing every detail she was too self-conscious to name.

Ryan was sitting on the floor, his back to the low armchair, legs bent and bare beneath soft black lounge shorts.

He was shirtless, the lamplight casting shadows across the defined planes of his chest and abdomen.

A book rested on one knee, forgotten now, his hand splayed across the other.

She could see the faint dusting of dark hair across his chest, the way his green eyes had gone almost black.

He didn’t stand when she entered, but his gaze found hers and didn’t release it.

She could see the moment it happened, when his breath caught, when his nostrils flared just slightly, and the muscles across his chest tensed.

William was behind her before she realized he’d moved.

She felt his presence before she heard it, like a shift in the pressure of the room.

The floorboards didn’t creak beneath his weight, but she knew his footsteps anyway, measured, deliberate, the careful approach of someone who understood proximity could be its own language.

One hand brushed her lower back, steady, claiming.

He didn’t say anything either. Just pressed in, slow and sure, until she felt the line of his chest at her back and the warmth of his palm splayed over her hip.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, finally. Her voice came rougher than she intended, and she could hear the need threading through it despite her attempts at casual conversation. The air in the room felt charged, electric. “I thought maybe I could sit with you for a while.”

“You needed touch,” Tyler said, not unkindly. “Say it.”

Her eyes flicked to him, then back down. “I need, uhm, closeness.”

“That’s not the same thing,” William said against her ear. “Do you want closeness, or do you want us?”

Lauren felt her face heat, but she didn’t step away. “I want—” Her voice faltered, but her hips didn’t. They pushed back, just slightly, into William’s hand.

Ryan stood in one smooth motion and crossed to the couch. He held her gaze as he dropped into the middle seat, legs wide. His chest was bare, the line of muscle down his stomach defined in the low light.

“Come here,” he said, not loud, not demanding, just absolute.

Lauren moved before she thought, letting William guide her forward with a hand on her lower back.

The Persian rug was soft beneath her feet as she stepped between Ryan’s knees, and when he reached for her, it wasn’t tentative.

His hands were warm and sure, slightly rough from whatever work had callused his palms. His hands came to her waist, then slid under her shirt, palms rough against her bare skin.

The calluses at the base of his fingers caught slightly as they moved, a texture that made her breath hitch.

She gasped when his thumbs brushed just beneath her ribs, and then he pulled her forward and down into his lap like she was already his to arrange.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

When her thighs settled across his, her breath caught again, not just from the contact, but from the hard pressure beneath her, unmistakable now. The thin fabric of his shorts did nothing to hide his arousal, and she could feel the heat of him even through her underwear.

Her hands found his shoulders. His mouth was already on her neck.

Behind her, Tyler stepped close, his hand dragging along her spine as he leaned in and kissed the curve just behind her ear. “You want to be touched,” he said, voice low, “and you’re not thinking about cuddles.”

“I don’t want to rush things,” she said. Her voice shook, but she didn’t pull away.

“We won’t,” William murmured, kneeling now beside the couch, his hand sliding along her thigh. “But you’re made to be undone.”

Ryan shifted her forward and up, just slightly, until her shirt bunched high on her waist. His hand came to her bare thigh, fingers splayed, heat sinking deep. Her breath stuttered as she felt him underneath her, hard, contained, holding still only by force of will.

She shifted against him, just enough to drag herself along his thigh. The friction sent sparks through her nerve endings, and she could feel how wet she was, the evidence of her arousal probably dampening his skin through the thin cotton.

The moan that escaped her wasn’t soft.

Tyler’s mouth found hers from behind, his hand wrapping lightly around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. His other hand found the hem of her shirt and dragged it upward until it caught beneath her arms.

“Let me see you,” he said.

She lifted her arms, let him pull the shirt over her head. Her breasts spilled into the open air, nipples peaked, the heat of Ryan’s chest beneath her a live wire.

William reached up and cupped one breast with a low hum. His thumb swept slowly across her nipple until her hips jerked forward, grinding against Ryan’s thigh. Tyler kissed her again, harder this time, while Ryan held her in place.

“You want more?” Ryan asked, teeth at her jaw.

“Yes,” she whispered, almost angry with how much she meant it.

“Then we’ll give you just enough,” William said, fingers now tracing the waistband of her underwear. “But no more tonight.”

She nodded. Or tried to. She couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

The first time William touched her through the thin cotton, she cried out.

The fabric was already damp, clinging to her skin like a second layer, and his fingers moved with deliberate pressure that made the wet cotton drag against her in ways that blurred the line between barrier and sensation.

She could feel the texture of the lace against her most sensitive skin, intensified by the moisture and his touch.

His fingers moved slowly, teasing at first, then firmer, slipping down, circling where she needed pressure most. Ryan held her hips as they moved.

Tyler kissed her neck and whispered filth in her ear, what he wanted, how she tasted, what she’d sound like when she finally broke apart.

She came too fast.

Embarrassingly fast.

Ryan held her tight, whispering yes as her body shuddered in his arms. William’s hand stayed soft against her, coaxing every aftershock with deliberate care. Tyler pressed kisses to her shoulder, then to her spine.

They didn’t ask her to move. Didn’t shift their weight or press for more.

She lay there, half-naked, wrecked, and completely safe.

The air around them was thick with the scent of arousal and satisfaction—her sweet Omega perfume mingling with their deeper scents until the room felt saturated with want.

None of them moved to change position; they were content to hold her in this moment of perfect surrender.

Ryan’s hand remained steady on her hip, thumb drawing small circles against the bone.

And when she finally looked up, all three of them were watching her like they already knew they’d never want anyone else.