Mag-log in“I’m fine,” she says, or tries to. Her voice is hoarse, an unfamiliar rasp, and the words don’t come out as bravely as she intends. There’s a pause while she finds her breath, then she pushes a wry smile to her lips. “Though I think you three just announced our business to the entire campus.” Kael, ever the storm-bringer, doesn’t even pretend to be sheepish. He laughs outright—a wolfish, unrepentant sound that vibrates straight through her spine. “Let them hear,” he says, pressing his mouth to her bare shoulder. “Let them know you’re ours now.” Rion’s fingers go still against her thigh. The silence that follows is not empty, but charged—a moment of reckoning as the full import of the words settles on the ruined bedspread between them. Aquina feels the gravity of it, the way their mutual claim has redrawn the map of her life, shifting tectonic plates she didn’t even know existed beneath her skin. She wonders what it will mean for her, for the dragons, for the fragile alliances that g
The aftermath is nothing like Aquina expects. The agony and euphoria of the claiming leave her boneless, skin hypersensitized, every breath scraping raw at the hollow of her throat. Where instinct should have demanded retreat—shame, panic, the urge to barricade herself behind a wall of ice and silence—she finds only quiet. A strange, luminous quiet, like the minute after a lightning strike, when the world holds its breath and nothing dares to move. Draven gathers her first. His arm snakes around her middle, anchoring her to him with the proprietary ease of someone who’s never doubted his right to possess. The scent of embers and scorched earth clings to his skin, the heat of him throwing off invisible waves that bathe her spine in perpetual warmth. In the golden hush, his eyes have gentled, molten metal cooling to a forgiving amber. Still, there’s nothing soft about the way he looks at her. His gaze catalogs every mark they’ve left, from the reddened crescents along her hips to the b
Their rhythm is painful and beautiful. Together, the three dragons orchestrate her body like a symphony: Draven spewing heat that forces her open, Kael anchoring her with the steady violence of his desire, Rion chilling the burn just enough that she doesn’t combust completely. Her sense of self begins to fragment—first at the edges, then in great, reckless shards as the sensation blots out thought.The dragon mark on her back goes incandescent, a wild starburst of pain-pleasure that eclipses everything else. It throbs in time with the roll of thunder outside, each pulse another step toward oblivion. There’s no room for shame, no space for second-guessing; just the desperate, shattering drive to reach the peak they are building for her.She’s falling before she realizes it. The room tilts, vision swimming as the climax hits with an elemental violence she has never known. Her own magic flares in self-defense, but the dragons absorb it, feed on it, reflect it. Back tenfold. The three of
Aquina’s world is reduced to sensation—pure, unfiltered, and all-consuming.Fire first: it blooms under Draven’s palm as he brackets her ribs, each stroke a golden flash that burns without ever harming; instead, it amplifies, goading her body to new heights of hunger. The rhythm of his hips is relentless, calculated, as if he’s determined to imprint his essence into her with every thrust. His breath is heat and smoke at her ear, his words little more than hungry growls and possessive murmurs in draconic she only half-understands but is helplessly addicted to.Behind her, Kael’s presence crackles with the static tension of a gathering storm. When his massive hands land on her hips, the contact is jolt—electric, wild, and just this side of dangerous. He holds her steady, each movement a deliberate test of how much she can take. Lightning traces up her spine in invisible arcs with every grind and pull, the sensation so sharp and sweet it leaves her gasping. His mouth is at her nape, tong
Alright, Mr. Pickles, hush. Humans, listen up!Hey, it’s Riley. Yep, the same one who somehow survived all the chaos in Roommate Roulette. So here’s the deal: I went back through our story and realized—I deserve more spotlight. Yep. So I'm gonna add an extra chapter, give a few moments some extra shine, and smooth out the bumps to make the chaos flow better.Don’t worry, all the laughs, awkward moments, and “oh-no-I-didn’t” chaos are still here. Mr. Pickles approves, and honestly… who wouldn’t want more of me stealing the show?Thanks for hopping on this ride with us. Keep your snacks close, your cat closer, and enjoy the madness.—Riley (and the ever-judging Mr. Pickles)
The scent of their claiming still hangs in the air like incense, sweet honeysuckle and pine intertwined in perfect harmony, when the door to room 307 flies open with a resounding bang. "Holy shit, it reeks of sex in here!" Riley announces, dropping her backpack on the floor with a theatrical grimace. Sebastian doesn't bother to move from his position on Lyric's narrow bed, his large body curled protectively around her smaller form, both of them showered and dressed in soft loungewear but still unwilling to separate. His storm-gray eyes flick toward Riley with mild annoyance, but there's no real heat behind it. The claiming has left him languid and content in a way he's never experienced before, his wolf settled beneath his skin like a satisfied predator who has marked his territory and now simply wants to rest with his prize. Lyric nestles deeper into the curve of Sebastian's body, her claiming mark still tingling pleasantly beneath the soft cotton of her hoodie. His scent wraps a







