"May I?" he asked, his breath warm against my lips. I nodded, unable to form words as Julian closed the distance between us, his mouth capturing mine with practiced precision. Where Christopher's kiss had been playful exploration, Julian's was confident possession—he knew exactly how to touch me, how to taste me, how to make me melt against him.
Christopher's hands remained on my waist, his chest warm against my back as Julian deepened the kiss. I was caught between them, overwhelmed by the sensation of being wanted by both men simultaneously. Julian's tongue swept into my mouth with deliberate skill while Christopher's lips found the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder, pressing soft kisses there that made me gasp against Julian's mouth.
"Beautiful," Christopher murmured against my skin, his voice rough with desire. "You taste like sunshine and possibility."
Julian pulled back slightly, his breathing uneven as he studied my face. "How are you feeling, omega?" he asked, the endearment sending shivers down my spine. "Not overwhelmed?"
I shook my head, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. "I feel... alive.”
Christopher's arms tightened around my waist from behind. "That's what we want for you," he said softly. "To feel everything you've been denied."
Julian's thumb traces over my lip. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up?”
I nodded, still feeling the lingering warmth of their touches on my skin. "I should probably shower off all this flour," I said, my voice softer than intended.
"Take your time," Julian murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Christopher and I will clean up the kitchen."
"Hey now," Christopher protested with mock indignation, though his arms remained loosely around my waist. "I did most of the cooking. Shouldn't that exempt me from cleanup duty?"
Julian's lips quirked upward. "You also made most of the mess."
I laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all day. "I can help clean—"
"Absolutely not," both men said in unison, making me blink in surprise.
Christopher's chin rested on my shoulder as he spoke. "Part of learning to cook is learning that the chef never cleans up alone. Besides," his voice lowered, lips brushing against my ear, "you should enjoy the afterglow of your first successful kitchen adventure."
Julian's eyes tracked the motion, something possessive flashing in their depths before he nodded. "Christopher's right. Go relax. We'll handle this."
I hesitated, glancing between them. The dynamic felt new—not tense exactly, but charged with something I couldn't quite name. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," Julian said, stepping back to give me space. "Dinner's at seven. Miles is bringing something special back from the city."
Christopher reluctantly released me, his fingers trailing along my waist as I stepped away. "Don't forget to check the post later," he reminded me with a wink. "The comments are already blowing up."
I nodded, suddenly feeling shy again as I made my way toward the door, feeling much more lighter than I did since waking up knowing
Chapter Forty-Six
Lilianna
I’d finished cleaning up before I curled up into my nest, my phone in hand as I finally allowed myself to check the post Christopher had shared. The video had garnered over two thousand likes in just a few hours, with comments still streaming in steadily. I scrolled through them, my heart warming at the genuine responses.
This is what peace looks like.
I want to learn to cook like this. Where do I start?
The way the light hits the pasta... pure art.
Finally, content that doesn't make me feel inadequate. Just inspired.
Each comment felt like a small validation, proof that authenticity resonated in ways my parents' manufactured perfection never could. I tugged the blanket tighter around my shoulders, sinking deeper into the softness of the nest. The scent of Wisteria flowers and cloves surrounded me, grounding mein the moment. I could still smell the faint traces of garlic and herbs from earlier, the memory of Christopher's quiet guidance lingering like an aftertaste.
It wasn’t about the food, not really. It was the ease of it. The way I’d laughed—actually laughed—when flour had puffed up into the air like snowfall. A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.
I glanced up, my voice gentle. “Come in.” The door creaked open and Miles leaned in, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He’d clearly just showered, and the scent of pine and fresh rain followed him in.
“Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “I wasn’t sure if you were up.”
