Chapter 316: Dimitri held on
He had watched. He had stayed. He had held his ground on that bank through every scream, every sob, every wet sound of her being taken apart by six men. And he had not broken. He had not demanded; he had just been there. Present. Burning. Choosing her in a way that felt different from claiming.
"Good," she breathed. The word came out barely a whisper, but it landed between them heavier than her screams had. Her ruined body trembled, suspended in the seed-clouded water, owned and worshipped and utterly fucked out.
Victor’s arm tightened around her middle.
Lucan’s purr rumbled against her skin.
Exile’s amber gaze tracked the point where her fingers met Dimitri’s.
Ivan shifted slightly inside her ass a possessive reminder that he was still there, still filling her.
Dimitri’s jaw flexed. His fist moved faster. His gaze never wavered from hers.
"You’re..." He cut himself off. Swallowed hard. His thumb pressed against her knuckles, and for one fractured second, the mask cracked completely. Not the teasing rival, not the competitive alpha. Just a man on his knees at the edge of the water, holding her hand while he came apart.
"I’m what?" she whispered. Her tail, limp and waterlogged against her thigh, managed a single weak sway.
A sound escaped him, half-laugh, half-groan that was so raw it made her chest ache.
"Fucking impossible," he managed, his grip on her hand tightening as his hips stuttered forward into his fist. "You’re fucking impossible, Bug."
She laughed. It came out broken and breathless and milk-stained and ridiculous, a giggle from a woman who currently had two softening cocks in her ass and cum leaking down both thighs and seven apex predators arranged around her like she was the centre of the goddamn universe. The giggle was absurd. It was perfect.
Voss snorted against her neck. "She’s laughing, oh my god, we broke her."
"Shut up," she managed, still giggling, still trembling, still holding Dimitri’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
Dimitri’s groan started deep in his chest, a sound of pure, agonised need that built and built. His fist blurred. His grip on her hand went crushing. His entire body coiled forward on the bank, every muscle straining, that dark red gaze blazing into hers with such naked intensity that her breath caught all over again.
"Say my name," he demanded, the words barely human. "Fel. Say it."
The stretch inside her pulsed. The men around her held their breath. The water lapped against her oversensitized skin.
"Dimitri," she breathed. Just his name. Just that. Soft and ruined and full of something she didn’t have words for, yet gratitude, hell, maybe, recognition. The particular tenderness reserved for the man who chose to burn from the outside rather than demand entry.
He came with a snarl that echoed off the water, painting the pale stones beneath him in thick, ropy stripes, his whole body shuddering forward as his hand clutched hers like a lifeline. His hips jerked once, twice, three more brutal thrusts into his fist and his forehead dropped, chin hitting his chest as the last of it wrecked him.
The men were quiet.
Felicity floated, held, filled and used and claimed by hands and cocks and mouths, and one single hand stretched across the gap between water and stone. Her fennec fox ears, waterlogged and drooping, twitched weakly toward the sound of Dimitri’s ragged breathing as it slowed.
After a long moment, he lifted his head. Met her gaze again. His expression had shifted, still possessive, still hungry, but softer at the edges. Satisfied in a way that went beyond physical release. His thumb traced one more slow circle against her knuckles.
Felicity closed her gaze, a helpless smile pulling at her swollen lips. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache. Her cunt throbbed. Her ass throbbed. Her nipples throbbed. Her heart throbbed.
She was so incredibly, impossibly, ridiculously loved.
And Dimitri’s hand was still holding hers steady, certain, refusing to let go while six men arranged themselves around her like a fortress made of flesh and devotion and the particular brand of insanity that passed for love at the end of the world.
Not when Victor finally eased his softening length free of her cunt with a wet, reluctant sound. Not when Lucan’s purr stuttered and faded as he pressed one last kiss to her shoulder blade. Not when Ivan withdrew from her ass with a possessive growl that vibrated through her spine, leaving her clenching around nothing. Not when Exile’s gaze lingered on the join of their hands before sliding away.
Dimitri held on.
His thumb kept tracing that slow circle against her knuckles, and his gaze stayed locked on hers through the entire disassembly of their claiming the soft grunts, the splashing, the murmured words she couldn’t quite catch over the ringing in her own ears. His expression had settled into something she couldn’t fully read. Still possessive. Still burning. But patient now, in a way that made her skin prickle with anticipation.
The last of them, Victor, she thought, by the weight of the stare pressed his mouth to the crown of her head and then pulled away. The water shifted. The warmth of six bodies receded like a tide going out, and suddenly the air on her skin felt colder, emptier, charged in a different way.
Dimitri’s jaw tightened. His gaze flicked past her, and she felt rather than saw the way his shoulders squared.
"Go clean up," he said. His voice was low. Even the kind of event that permitted absolutely zero argument. "All of you, back to the manor now."
A moment of silence. Felicity’s waterlogged ears strained, catching the faint sound of someone, Voss, probably opening their mouth to protest.
"Now," Dimitri repeated, and the word landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Nobody argued.
She heard the splash of bodies wading toward the bank, the crunch of boots on stone, the murmured exchange between Lucan and Ivan that faded as they moved away. Someone Exile paused long enough to press two fingers to the inside of her wrist where it rested against the water’s surface, a brief, grounding touch that made her breath hitch. Then that warmth withdrew too, and the footsteps retreated into the trees.
The clearing went quiet.
