Page 35 of Knot Giving Up 2

“You are perfect. To us, you’re exactly perfect.” His hot breath tickles my face, but he’s still too far away. Then he removes his hands from the couch, and he’s even further away as he settles back into his own chair. His fingers strumming on the armrests, maybe feeling just as pent up as I am.

I look away from him and see Harrison standing behind Ellis. He’s gripping the open balcony door, eyes fiery as hell.

“Nils didn’t touch me,” I explain, assuming he’s upset about how close Nils just was.

Ellis looks over his shoulder at his pack mate and smiles. “That’s not why he’s upset, sunshine.”

Harrison stalks forward, dropping to his knees, putting himself at eye-level with me. The rest of the pack has joined us in the living room now, drawn by the noise through the thin walls.

I meet Harrison’s heavy gaze head-on. “You can’t tell me it wouldn’t be easier if I was a beta.”

“You’re right,” he says. The rest of the pack protests, but he holds up a hand and they quiet. “But not a single man in this room would prefer easy to you.”

“Even you,” I whisper, voice a little shakier than I intend.

His face doesn’t soften, expression as hard as ever. “Especially me.” He stands. “You’re pack.”

“We like you, baby girl,” Oz says.

“More than like.” Ellis smiles.

I let my head fall to the back of the couch, my gaze taking in the men around me. Nils’s fingers are still strumming like he can’t sit still, and it tugs a smile onto my lips. “I like you, too. All of you.”

“Good,” Dante huffs as he turns toward the kitchen. “Because we intend to share.” He turns back and the desire in his gaze sparks butterflies in my stomach.

After dinner in the cafeteria, there’s a folded piece of paper on my bed.

If I cannot taste you with my tongue,

I’ll caress you with my words.

If I cannot hear you moan my name,

I’ll write your name on every surface of my life.

You are to me the moon that calls the tide,

The release after the passion of a climax long held off.

You are every thought and every hope I dare to dream.

I flip it over, searching for a name, but there isn’t one, and I don’t know the guy’s handwriting well enough to guess.

“Was this you?” I ask Oz, since he’s the only other one in the room with me.

“What is it?”

Okay, not from him. I hand it over. He whistles and fans himself with the page. “That’s some good shit, sunshine.”

“Do any of the guys write poetry?”

“Who’s writing poetry?” Nils asks as he and Ellis join us in the room.

“I could write you poetry, baby,” Oz says. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I want my cock in you and my tongue too.”

I laugh. Clearly Oz isn’t the poet.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Ellis quips. “Thou aren’t more lovely and more… fuckable?” Ellis grimaces at his own lack of poetic talent.

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