Chapter 4: Finally Taken

Valeria

What are the actual odds?

One second I’m shattered on a barstool, rain-soaked and whiskey-numb, replaying James’s voice like a broken record—you’re boring, you disgust me, no man wants you—and the next I’m being carried through a private corridor by three Lycan kings who’ve spent centuries starving for their mate.

And they’re looking at me like the starvation ends tonight.

I knew their names the way everyone knew them: whispered in fear, moaned in fantasies, printed in tabloids that called them immortal gods and ruthless monsters in the same breath.

Vincenzo Drakvolk.

The tallest. The leader. Amber eyes that burned slow like embers under ash, voice that could command armies or unravel panties with a single syllable.

Lorenzo Drakvolk.

Gold-eyed devil with a smirk that promised sin, hands that looked made for breaking things—or making them beg.

Valentino Drakvolk.

The quiet one. White hair like fresh snow on a grave, silver eyes that never blinked when they decided something belonged to them. The one they called the devil not because he was cruel, but because he was inevitable.

Centuries without a mate.

No knot. No bond. No breeding.

Just hunger that never died.

And now they thought the hunger ended with me?

A weak, boring omega who’d spent three years starving herself emotionally just to keep a man who never wanted her in the first place.

The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

Or sob.

I couldn’t tell anymore.

But my body had already decided.

Slick coated my inner thighs in slow, shameful rivulets. My clit pulsed with every step Vincenzo took, rubbing against the seam of his shirt where it pressed between my legs. My nipples scraped the wet silk of my dress like live wires. Heat rolled through me in thick, liquid waves—omega heat, true heat, the kind I’d never felt because no one had ever triggered it.

Until now.

The elevator doors whispered open.

Vincenzo carried me into the inner sanctum like I was already his forever.

Black marble floors gleamed under low amber light.

A massive bed dominated the room—dark silk sheets, pillows scattered like invitations.

No scent of other omegas. No toys left out. No echoes of casual scenes.

Just clean air, fresh linen, and the three of them—smoke, cedar, storm, dark honey, molten steel—filling every breath I took.

He didn’t toss me down.

He lowered me onto the silk with deliberate care, like I was both fragile glass and molten flame. The mattress dipped as Lorenzo and Valentino moved in—three walls of heat, glowing eyes, straining cocks.

Vincenzo leaned over me first, bracing on his forearms so his body caged mine without crushing. His amber gaze searched my face—slow, patient, burning.

“Veleria,” he murmured, tasting my name like wine. “Look at me.”

I did.

Couldn’t not.

His thumb brushed my lower lip. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m scared,” I whispered. The truth slipped out before I could catch it.

Lorenzo knelt between my thighs, hands sliding up my calves—slow, reverent. “We know.” His voice was rough velvet. “But you’re safe. And you’re wanted. More than you’ve ever been.”

Valentino settled behind me, pulling me back against his chest. His white hair fell forward, brushing my shoulder like cool silk. His arms wrapped around me—not trapping, cradling. One hand rested over my racing heart. The other slid down to cup my breast through the dress—gentle weight, thumb circling the nipple so slowly I whimpered.

Vincenzo kissed me then.

Not claiming.

Not devouring.

Slow. Deep. Exploratory.

Like he was learning every corner of my mouth, every hitch of my breath, every tiny sound I made when his tongue stroked mine.

I melted into it.

Lorenzo’s hands pushed my dress higher—inch by torturous inch—until it bunched at my waist. Cool air kissed slick folds. He groaned low in his throat. “Gods… look at you.”

His thumbs spread me open gently. No rush. Just reverence.

Then his mouth.

Hot. Wet. Worshipful.

He licked me like I was the first taste of water after centuries in the desert—long, slow drags from entrance to clit, savoring every drop. When he reached the swollen bud he circled it with the flat of his tongue—once, twice—then sucked gently.

My hips jerked. A broken moan spilled into Vincenzo’s mouth.

Valentino’s fingers slipped under the straps of my dress and peeled them down—slow, careful—baring my breasts to the amber light. My nipples were so tight they ached. He cupped them from behind, thumbs brushing the peaks in lazy circles, then pinching just enough to send sparks straight to my core.

Lorenzo’s tongue flicked faster.

Two thick fingers slid inside me—slow stretch, curling against that spot that made my vision white out. He pumped in rhythm with his tongue—steady, unhurried, building me higher without mercy.

Vincenzo broke the kiss, trailing his lips down my throat. “Feel us,” he murmured against my pulse. “Feel how much we want you.”

I did.

I felt everything.

The bond was already humming—faint golden threads weaving between us—letting me taste their hunger, their awe, their centuries of waiting.

They didn’t just want an omega.

They wanted me.

The first orgasm built slow—coiling low in my belly, tightening every muscle, making my toes curl.

When it hit, it wasn’t a crash.

It was a slow, rolling wave—deep, endless, pulling sobs from my throat as slick gushed over Lorenzo’s tongue, as Valentino’s fingers tightened on my nipples, as Vincenzo swallowed every sound with another deep kiss.

They eased me through it—gentle licks, soft strokes, murmured praises.

“Good girl.”

“So beautiful.”

“Ours.”

When the aftershocks faded, Lorenzo rose, licking his lips slow and deliberate.

“First one was just to take the edge off,” he said, voice wrecked. “Now we make you ours properly.”

Vincenzo stripped first—shirt gone, pants gone—cock thick and heavy, knot already swollen at the base, tip glistening.

He knelt between my thighs, guiding himself to my entrance.

“Look at me,” he said again.

I did.

He pushed in—slow.

Inch by inch.

Stretching me wide, filling me deep, eyes never leaving mine.

When he bottomed out—fully seated, hips flush—I whimpered.

Full.

Perfect.

Home.

Lorenzo moved to my side, guiding my hand to his cock. “Touch me, little mate. Feel how hard you make us.”

I wrapped my fingers around him—hot, velvet steel—stroking slow while Vincenzo began to move.

Long, deep thrusts—pulling almost all the way out, then sliding back in—hitting that spot every time.

Valentino shifted behind me—lifting my hips slightly—then pressed against my ass.

Slow.

Careful.

Oiled fingers first—stretching, preparing—then the blunt head of his cock.

He pushed in—burning stretch, overwhelming fullness—until he was buried deep.

I cried out—pleasure so sharp it bordered pain.

They moved.

Slow rhythm at first—finding sync.

Vincenzo in my pussy.

Valentino in my ass.

Lorenzo in my hand, then my mouth when I turned my head and opened for him.

Then faster.

Harder.

Deeper.

Three cocks claiming me in perfect harmony.

Three knots swelling.

Three voices growling my name.

“Veleria—”

The second orgasm built different—deeper, fuller, pulling from my soul.

When it hit, I shattered around them—clenching, milking, screaming their names as slick flooded, as tears streamed, as the bond flared bright and golden behind my ribs.

They followed.

Vincenzo’s knot locked first—thick, unyielding—grinding deep as he came with a guttural roar, flooding me with heat.

Valentino’s knot caught next—sealing us together—his teeth sinking into my shoulder, marking me as he pulsed inside.

Lorenzo thrust once, twice—then held my head as he spilled down my throat, groaning my name like a prayer.

The knots held us locked—bodies trembling, hearts pounding in sync, bond humming like a live wire.

I felt them.

All of them.

Their love. Their obsession. Their relief.

Exhaustion pulled me under—soft, warm, needy

I drifted in their arms—knotted, filled, marked, loved.

Finally… wanted.

Finally… taken.