Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse

Chapter 319: That’s Forever

Finally, his thrusts slowed to shallow grinds. He stayed buried, his forehead pressed to hers, panting harshly. His cum was already leaking out around the base of his cock, thick and pearly against her inner thighs, mingling with the river water. He licked a stripe up her neck, tasting sweat and salt.

"Fresh," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "Tight, fresh and stuffed." His thumb rubbed her clit, slow and possessive, making her jerk. "Feel that? Feel me pooling inside? That’s your Alpha’s claim. That’s forever, and that’s not going anywhere. Neither am I." He kissed her, deep and filthy, tongue claiming her mouth as thoroughly as his cock claimed her cunt. "Mine, did you miss me? Miss my cock?"

Felicity could barely hold herself upright, whimpering softly against his mouth. "I missed you. I missed all of you." The confession slipped out raw and unguarded, the kind of honesty the old world had punished women for.

Dimitri was still something dangerous, and tender moved behind his eyes as he studied her ruined, radiant, his and underneath his scent, the faintest traces of the others. He didn’t growl. He smiled. Because this was the arrangement that had kept her alive. And every man in this bond knew the unspoken rule — Dimitri was always last. Always permanent. A claim written in biology itself. Forever was the only currency that mattered anymore.

He dressed her himself. Slow and deliberate, his fingers lingering on every inch of skin he’d marked. The oversized shirt he pulled over her head was his; she swam in it, the collar slipping off one shoulder to reveal the constellation of bruises he’d painted along her collarbone, dark and deliberate as a signature. Dimitri tucked Felicity’s hair behind one ear, then the other, and she felt his thumb trace the bite mark on her neck, the one that had made her scream into his palm, with the satisfaction of an artist stepping back from a finished canvas.

"Ready, Bug?"

She wasn’t. Her legs were jelly, her vision was swimming at the edges, and the personal space was already flickering around them like a dying bulb. She’d held it too long, poured too much of herself into keeping the walls stable while he’d wrecked her, and now the cost was settling into her bones like ice water. But she nodded anyway, because the others were waiting, and she could feel them through the bond six restless heartbeats pacing the other side of the door.

The space collapsed.

The bedroom materialised around them in a rush of woodsmoke and jacaranda blossoms, the massive bed with its ruined sheets, the balcony doors cracked to let in the warm Bowral night. And the six men arranged around the room like pieces on a chessboard, every one of them going still the moment the air split and she stumbled out against Dimitri’s chest.

Victor was closest. He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, and he was on his feet before Felicity’s vision had finished clearing, wings half-flared, the air around him crackling with that fire-and-ice intensity she could taste on the back of her tongue. His gaze locked onto her neck, and something in his jaw snapped audibly.

She felt it before she saw it, the way the room went electric.

Voss, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, went very still. His wolf ears pinned forward, and she watched his nostrils flare once, twice, cataloguing the scent that clung to her skin, river water and sex and him, Dimitri, layered thick over everything. His dark eyes dropped to the collar of the shirt, to the bruises peeking out like dark petals, and something moved behind his expression, sharp, calculating and jealous, but before he schooled it back into that dry, patient mask.

Damien was coiled in the armchair by the fire, and she felt his gaze like a physical weight the moment it found the bite mark. His scales rippled along his forearms, and the possessive energy rolling off him was so thick it made the air feel heavy. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at the claim Dimitri had left on her throat with an intensity that should have burned the shirt off her body.

Ivan stood near the balcony doors, and even from across the room, she could see the way his hair bristled, the subtle shift of mist curling around his ankles like a warning. His expression was always calm, but his eyes tracked every mark Dimitri had made with the careful assessment of a man reading a battlefield map.

Lucan was the only one who looked almost amused. He’d teleported to the footboard at some point, perched there with his legs crossed, and she caught the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth as his gaze travelled from Dimitri’s satisfied face to the bruises on her collarbone and back again. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Exile was near the head of the bed, and he visibly stiffened when he saw her. He was just happy she was back in his air; he knew she was safe with Dimitri, and she was safe in her space, but he would much rather have her be in the same air, the same room as he was.

Felicity’s face burned. She tugged at the collar of the shirt, which did absolutely nothing, and a nervous giggle escaped her before she could swallow it back. Dimitri’s arm tightened around her waist, steadying her, and she felt the rumble of quiet satisfaction in his chest against her back.

"Something funny, little fox?" Lucan asked, and his voice was silk wrapped around a blade.

"Nothing," she breathed. "I just, it’s-" She gestured vaguely at her own neck, and the giggle came again, helpless and mortified. Her fennec ears drooped so low they nearly disappeared into her hair. "He got carried away."

"Carried away," Victor repeated. The words came out flat and controlled, but she could feel the heat rolling off him from three feet away, the kind of heat that preceded frost. His wings twitched, feathers rustling, and his amber eyes burned with that fire-and-ice intensity that meant he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

Dimitri didn’t flinch. He guided her toward the bed with one hand on the small of her back, utterly unbothered, and the look he shot Victor over her head was warm and easy and competitive in a way that made her stomach flip. "She asked for it."

"I did not!"