Page 68 of Knot Just for Show

I don’t know why it makes me feel somehow more predatory knowing that Lysander was a virgin, virgin—not just inexperienced with guys. For some reason, it made me feel less like some kind of vampire preying upon some young pretty thing if Lysander had already fumbled with the skirts of swaths of girls at fancy prep schools or prestigious universities—with his princely face and sweet nature.

I hadn’t been wearing anything on my arms, my wrists that morning in the showers with him…but something tells me that sweet, inexperienced Lysander had more than a few things on his mind right then.

God, as soon as he fessed up to being a virgin at breakfast that morning, I’ve felt like such a creep! I wouldn’t have been so aggressive, so overeager. I wanted to apologize—to make sure we were cool, on the same page. The time simply never appeared—all of us too full of nerves to leave off the rest of the group before the reveal, all of us milling around the lounge until Timmy came to call.

The reveal was like a dream. Ursula had appeared from behind the frosted doors like a ripe, golden fruit—the curves of her body calling out to my hands, my heart, my lips…

Her beautiful honey-colored eyes sparkled from behind delicate geometric spectacles, my eyes traveling from the plush red pout of her lips, down the line of her neck to the soft white of her breasts nearly spilling over the sweetheart bodice of her gown.

She was beautiful, soft, shimmering and inviting—every cell in my body urged me closer to her.

“Ursula!” Lysander called to her. Or maybe it was me—or Mavren. I’m not sure who began the chant, syncopated with a trembling urgency; but soon we were all calling her name, all slowly but steadily in motion.

When we had all exchanged our whispered names and first sweet kisses, Timmy and Kimmy appeared to separate us—relegated to return to our rooms until the morning and the flight to Costa Rica.

The look of pain and panic on Lysander’s face as he remembered that we would be parted from our dear omega one last time, struck me with such powerful sadness that I had to stop and catch my breath. Days ago I didn’t know any of these people except for Mavren. How is it that after such a short amount of time I’m really starting to feel like this is my pack?

We say our teary goodbyes, sending Ursula on her way one last time before embarking on the next step in our adventure, shuffling off to our pack lounge—emotions running high.

“Oh god, she’s perfect,” Lysander exhales, a hand pressed to his forehead as if he’s an old-timey stage actress about to faint—his voice dripping with palpable fear.

“I’m inclined to agree.” I waggle my brows and check him gently with my shoulder—pleased when a tentative smile shakes free and settles on Lysander’s full lips.

Ash, usually a whiter shade of pale, flushes deep pink across the narrow bridge of his nose, his high cheekbones.

“How you doing over there, Ash—buddy, pal?” I snort, reaching out and drawing the long, lanky DJ toward me.

“I don’t think you’d get it. I’m just going to sound like a wacko,” Ash laughs uncomfortably, sagging slightly under my grip.

“Try me bud, I’m a grade A perv.” I assure him, which draws easy smiles from the rest of the guys with the exception of Mavren—who’s giving both of us some bombastic side-eye, though Ash doesn’t seem to notice.

“It took every fucking bone in my body not to go full phantom-of-the-opera on her, like— ‘sing for me, my angel of music,’ shit.” Ash lets out another breathy laugh, but I can see how much this admission has cost him—his pride at odds with his need, perspiration still beading at his brow.

While music doesn’t quite do it for me like that, I can wrap my mind around what Ash is getting at. It’s a little different for me, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have my own…appetites.

“Definitely not the type of girl I would have started dating on the outside,” Mavren admits, but he’s already got that feline grin creeping across his face as he rubs his hands together, shaking his head. “But I’m all in now. I couldn’t help but feel like she’s our golden ticket, boys.”

“Like a Botero,” Lysander whispers dreamily—all of us exchanging glances.

Without a lecture from Lysander, the whispered name is a mystery; painter or sculptor, or a performance artist for all we knew. Even without knowing the name, it wasn’t hard to guess that whichever artist our dear Lysander had named, was likely a master at translating women like Ursula from reality to the artistic medium of their choosing; ample curves and indecent roundness, fashioned with a generous hand.

It’s at about that moment that the four of us turn our attention to Teddy—enthusiastic during the reveal, but noticeably silent since we’ve momentarily parted ways with our omega.

“You’re awfully quiet Teddy.” Mavren’s focus shifts to the other alpha in our little motley pack, his feline ease shifting to that of a big cat, like a tiger or lion circling its prey rather than the sleepy housecat grin he’d flashed seconds ago.

Teddy, who has been fiddling with the links of his watch band in silence, snaps back to attention.

“Me? Quiet? Is it just that you’re so not used to me ever shutting my yapper that it just registers asquiet?” he laughs, rolling his shoulders—but I can tell he’s trying to cover for something.

Lysander doesn’t seem to notice, he reaches out and grabs one of Teddy’s muscular forearms to steady himself.

“Waiting another 12 hours to see her is going to be agony…” he groans, like a sullen teenager, before turning his big brown eyes up to Teddy. “The only way I could handle it before is because I hadn’t seen her—hadn’t touched her,” he pleads, and I can’t help but feel another furious swell of affection for our poor-little-rich-boy.

Teddy just smiles knowingly and ruffles Lysander’s hair.

“I gotta agree with Mavren, while she’s not my usual type…I am more than willing to make exceptions for our little golden-apple-in-the-streets and filthy-mind in the sheets,” Teddy laughs, scooping Lysander up in a sidelong hug and crushing him against the side of his muscular frame as Lysander squeals with laughter and delight.

Mavren and I exchange a glance—finding Ash’s icy gaze searching out our own as we all seem to share the same conclusion: better keep at least one eye on Teddy at all times. Something isn’t quite adding up.

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