It’s getting harderto stand still.
Not because anything has changed suddenly, but because it hasn’t stopped changing at all. Her scent keeps building, deepening in slow, relentless layers that settle into the room until there’s no space left untouched by it.
Coconut and jasmine still sit at the top, light and almost cool on the inhale, but the sandalwood has warmed, thickened, turned into something that clings to the back of my throat and sinks low in my body, whether I want it there or not.
She’s quieter.
Not asleep. Not drifting. Just…loosened. Melted into the nest in a way that feels deliberate, like her body has finally stopped fighting itself and given in to what it needs. Finn’s hands move steadily across her back, controlled and grounding, easing tension I hadn’t realised she was holding. Koa’s braid lies neat against her spine, keeping her hair away from the curve of her neck. Sol’s purr continues beneath it all, low and constant, threading through the air like something solid enough to lean on.
It should feel steady.
It doesn’t.
Because she moves.
It’s small. Barely anything. Just the shift of her hips against the blankets, the press of her thighs together – but it changes the air instantly. Her scent spikes, warmer now, heavier, carrying something that doesn’t leave any room for interpretation.
My jaw tightens and my boxer shorts tent as I harden.
Across from me, Koa stills for a fraction of a second before continuing, his fingers smoothing over the braid like he’s choosing calm instead of reaction. Finn doesn’t pause at all. Sol’s purr deepens, the vibration stronger now, anchoring her where she lies.
They’re managing it.
I’m not.
“Brat,” I mutter, the word slipping out low.
Her head turns slightly, eyes finding mine without effort. “Mm?” she hums, soft but aware, like she’s listening without needing to move.
I push off the wall before I can second-guess it, crossing the space and dropping down beside her in the nest so I don’t have to pretend distance is helping.
“You keep shifting like that,” I say, voice already roughening, “and you’re going to make things worse.”
Her lips curve faintly. “For me?” she asks.
There’s a beat.
“For everyone,” I answer, because I’m not giving her that win.
Her gaze sharpens just a touch, something knowing flickering through the softness. “Right,” she murmurs. “Everyone.”
So fucking sassy.
I brace a hand beside her shoulder, leaning in just enough that her scent wraps around me fully now, warm and thick and impossible to ignore. My other hand settles at her hip before I think about it, firm enough to still the subtle movement she’s making without pinning her down.
Her breath catches.
I feel it.
That reaction lands straight into my chest, tightening something that was already stretched too thin.
“Careful,” I say quietly. “You don’t get to poke at me and then pretend you didn’t mean to.”
Her eyes flick up to mine properly now, clear despite the heat curling through her. “I meant to,” she says.
Of course she did. Brat.
I drag a hand through my hair, tension pulling tight through my shoulders. “You’re pushing.”