Page 32 of Knot All is Forgiven

Both of us swing our gazes to Cyrus, who rolls his eyes. I glare at him until he groans. "Fine, agree. We'll call her as a group. A video call, like old times."

I go to bed feeling a glimmer of hope. I hope apologizing in advance is the right call. Maybe I can even pretend I hadn't scented her yet. That's bound to go over better than knowing we only sought her out because I scented her.

Chapter thirteen

"This one is awful,"Jordan says, spitting the tea back into her cup. It's been two months since I gave her this kit, and we still haven't found the right blend that we can both agree on to be our pack tea. It's inconsequential, but we're both taking it very seriously.

"Okay, got it. I'll cross this one off the list." I scribble out the loose recipe I wrote down before tossing the spent tea bags in the trash.

Since meeting Jordan, my life has become much more chaotic. Sometimes, it's difficult to adjust my routine, but mostly, it's been fun. Even Blush and Dae are getting along now, coexisting in a sense of relative, militaristic peace.

I officially moved in for good last month. Jordan's place is much nicer than mine, and since I was on a lease and she owns hers, it made the most sense for me to be the one to move. We've set my bookshelves up along the walls in the living room, and they look like that spot was waiting for them.

Getting to know her has been nothing short of wonderful. Jordan is funny—really, really funny. She's sarcastic and sassy, and I laugh more with her than I ever have with anyone else.

It's not that I haven't had romantic relationships before her. I'm forty, and I'm not a monk. But none of them were ever very serious. I think my momma met maybe a handful of women over the years—all Betas. I never even considered looking for my scent match because I didn't have a pack, so I figured, what's the point?

And then I meet Jordan. A chamomile-scented fireball that blew through my shields.

At family dinner last night, I learned that my mother and sister like her more than they like me. I was practically shut out of the conversation the entire time.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

We still don't know everything there is to know about one another. Hell, we're still sleeping in separate beds and haven't done anything more than some deep kissing. I'm not trying to rush her. I don't want her to feel obligated to be with me just because she smells like comfort and calm evenings.

That's not to say there haven't been moments where the tension was so high I thought I was going to pass out, because fuck have there ever been. I've probably worn a groove on my cock from how often I'm jacking off. I am doing my best to be respectful of her even when she comes out in those tiny fucking shorts that show her thick thighs and apple-shaped ass.

Respectful.

She leans against the counters, crossing her arms over her chest. The move pushes her tits up and out of the pink tank top she's wearing. "Why don't you just pick the blend? You're better at this than me."

I feel like a starving dog, nearly ready to drool over her, but I reign it in. "It's supposed to be a blend of us. If I blend it on my own, it's just me."

"I happen to like just you," she coos, wrapping her arms around my bare waist. It's Saturday, and we've been having a lazy morning, blending tea, listening to indie rock music loudly, and doing some light chores. I dip my face down and brush my lips across hers gently. She immediately pushes up on her toes, applying more pressure, tracing her tongue along the seam of my lips.

See, it's things like this, having her in that tiny shirt, pressed against my bare torso, mouth devouring mine, that makes it hard for me to be respectful. If it were up to me, I would throw her up on this counter, drop to my knees, and bury my face between her thighs, overdose on her scent.

All too soon, I pull away, willing myself to calm down, be respectful, and take this at her pace.

Plus, at this point, I worry about my control with her. Every time I see that smooth skin on her neck, my mouth waters with the need to clamp my teeth down on her, mark her as mine. Who cares that a bond could fade if it's not cemented during a heat? I just want to make her mine.

And I know she's not ready for that yet.

Lifting my gaze to hers, I notice tears shining in her eyes.

"Are you not attracted to me?" she whispers. The vulnerability in her words, the way her shoulders slump and her hands wring together, almost break my heart.

"Of course, I'm attracted to you. Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I just… those first few days, it felt like you were seconds away from ripping my clothes off at all times, and now it's like you're purposefully avoiding it. I know you didn't choose to be scent matched to me, and maybe I'm not the type of woman you typically go for, but…"

She wrings her hands again, looking everywhere but me as she speaks. I feel so out of sorts. I don't know where this is coming from at all, and damn if I don't feel like a shit Alpha for making her feel so low about herself.

"Omega," I say, not quite a bark but close, "I am trying to be respectful of you. To take this at your pace. I find you so attractive I worry I'm going to give my cock a friction burn."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. But I'm concerned about where your brain immediately went. Come here." She steps closer, and I pull her into my embrace, wedging her head under my chin.

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