Page 67 of Knot Just for Show

His sweet maple, amber, cider scent washes over me and I can’t help but moan a little into the kiss—his alpha aura expanding through me like an electric current—a coiling throb pounding from between my legs.

I nearly stumble backward as our faces part—but I’m caught just as quickly by Ash, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever kissed someone for the first time around so many people,” his laugh is breathy, but I can see the beading of perspiration at his hairline—pooling in his deep cupid’s bow before he nervously wipes his face with the cuff of his sleeve—realizing what he’s done only a second later; rolling the silk sweater up a few times to hide the bit of damp. I reach a hand up and smooth a bit of his platinum tresses away from his forehead.

“We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable or if—”

But he cuts me off, snatching my hand from his brow as I move to clear a few more pieces of hair—plastered to his forehead. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles sweetly.

“No, I want to. Trust me,” he assures me, leaning forward and placing a tender kiss on my waiting lips.

Teddy and Lysander, the first to approach me, have become last in line for kisses—a fact that has obviously tortured poor Lysander—who looks as if he might simply melt like an icecream sundae—fudge, whip, and red cherry left to ruination in the heat of a sunny day.

Without thinking—I reach out my arms to him—my voice almost takes on the tone with which you’d call a beloved puppy as I call him: “Come here, let me help.”

His big saucer eyes, like bottomless cups of fancy chocolat-chaud, fix on me—wet with love, and I nearly lose my breath.

We reach for one another, Lysander nearly the same height as I—our bodies falling into one another with a harmonious ease; our arms woven together—clasping tightly to one another—our tongues sweeping into one another’s mouths—so much glorious potential to explore already blossoming between us.

Our kiss must go on for a while—because I hear Teddy crow loudly, “And what am I? Chopped liver!?” somewhere in the distance.

Lysander and I break the kiss because we both begin to laugh, rather than out of shame.

I turn to face Teddy, really looking at him now.

My word, but he is gorgeous.

Each one of these men is beautiful—but Teddy has it. That ungettable get—that je ne sais quois—the ‘X’ Factor. Everything about him screams,pack lead.

I stand before him, incredulous that such a man sees anything in me—and yet, he moves toward me; a gravitational pull drawing at me, like the moon calls the sea.

“Alright, Princess,” he rumbles, his broad shoulders blocking the others from view as he towers over me—his face slowly lowering toward mine. “What do you say? Do we make the grade?” His hands crawl over the widest part of my hips—those calloused palms and strong fingers curving their way around to grab two generous handfuls of my ample ass as he pulls me against him—the rippling stone of his chest, his stomach.

“How will I know if you don’t shut up and kiss me, Teddy Wong?” I ask huskily—my hands slip gingerly up his sides—over his lats, until I can rest my palms against his back—our bodies fitted tightly together.

Teddy brings his lips to mine, and in a wash of satsuma, green grass, orange blossom, and smoky clove; I officially have my first kiss with each member of my new pack.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ronan

All of us boys had spent the day, fussing, fluffing, and preening for the big reveal.

Lysander and Teddy had opted for suits and slacks—shoes buffed to a high shine; chains and watches glinting.

Ash had pulled himself together. His all black and gray tech wear ensemble almost made him look like an eerily glowing visitor from the future, or possibly the stars; the shimmering opal in his septum ring winking in the harsh set lights.

Mavren, debonair as ever, a vision in his slouchy ochre corduroys, his long dreads half coiled atop his head, half draped over his shoulders, a blue-gray cashmere sweater, the soft sleeves rolled to his elbows, showcasing a good portion of the tattoo gallery of his toned forearms.

I, myself, have opted to go for shirt sleeves for my first meeting with Ursula—just like I did with the guys. Though none of them have said anything since seeing a goodly portion of my ink, I also have strategically hidden the most intimate of art pieces until we could talk about it in person.

Well, not from everyone.

Mavren and I met through Kal, our shared tattoo artist. He’s seen under my nearly omnipresent leather bracers, metal bangles, stacks of wooden beads, or turquoise-studded silver cuffs. He knows the secret my ink keeps.

Then there’s also the matter of Lysander.

Just thinking his name makes me want to bury my face in my hands and shake myself.

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