Page 67 of Break Me Knot

The kiss is gentle at first, exploring, nothing like the desperate encounters during her heat. I trace her bottom lip with my tongue, asking permission, and she opens for me with a soft whimper that makes my cock throb. Her taste explodes across my tongue, sweet omega essence mixed with something uniquely her.

My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, cradling her head as I deepen the kiss. She makes another small sound, pressing closer, and my alpha growls with satisfaction. Her scent spikes, and I catch the subtle hint of her slick. The knowledge that she wants this—wants me—makes my knot swell.

I pour everything into the kiss, all the care, protection, and devotion we want to give her. She responds beautifully, following my lead but giving back just as much. Her fingers tighten in my coat as I nip gently at her bottom lip, and the little gasp she makes sends fire through my veins.

She melts against me. This is how it should be. This is choosing. Her body is soft and willing against mine, her scent sweet with desire rather than fear, her lips moving with mine like we were made for this.

The city lights twinkle below us, but I'm lost in her, in her taste, her scent, and the small sounds she makes. Snow continues to fall around us, but we're wrapped in our own bubble of warmth and want and possibility.

I want to capture this moment, her eyes luminous in the fairy lights, snowflakes in her hair, lips swollen from my kisses. I want to show my brothers exactly what they're missing, but I won't break this spell.

Instead, I focus on the way she responds to my touch. My thumb traces her jaw as I deepen the kiss, and she opens for me. Her tongue meets mine tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. The little sounds she makes—soft whimpers and breathy sighs—drive me wild. My free hand slides from her waist to the small of her back, drawing her closer.

She tastes divine, sweet and warm and perfect. When I nip gently at her bottom lip, she moans, the sound sending electricity straight to my groin. Her fingers uncurl from my coat to slide up my chest, and the trust in that gesture makes me hum with satisfaction.

I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue, discovering her triggers, learning what makes her press closer to me. The subtle hint of her slick reaches my nose, and my knot throbs in response.

When she runs out of breath, I trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck. She tilts her head, baring her throat to me, a gesture of trust that makes my alpha growl with approval. Her pulse flutters under my lips.

“Beautiful,” I murmur against her skin. “So beautiful.”

She shivers. When I reclaim her lips, she meets me with equal passion, all hesitation gone. This kiss is deeper, hungrier, but still gentle.

Reluctantly, I break the kiss, though everything in me screams to continue. Her lips are pink and swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to claim her mouth again. but I brought her here for more than just kisses, no matter how perfect they are.

“Come, Mira,” I murmur, leading her to the gazebo. She should understand that this—all of this—isn't just about physical desire. It is to show her that we see her, truly see her. Not just as an omega, not just as someone to claim, but as herself. As the brave, intelligent woman who devours books, who lights up when she learns something new, who fights to survive despite everything life has thrown at her.

I settle her among the cushions, making sure she's within the heater’s warm embrace. She looks almost dazed, her scent still sweet with arousal but threading through with something like wonder. The fairy lights cast a golden glow over her skin, and the way she subconsciously burrows into the soft blankets makes my chest tight with emotion.

“I wanted to do something special for you,” I tell her, pouring champagne into delicate flutes. “Something that's just about you. About celebrating you being here with us.”

Because you deserve to be celebrated.

The wonder in her eyes as she takes in everything I've prepared makes the hours of planning worth it. This is just the beginning of showing her she belongs here, with us. That she's so much more than just an omega.

She's everything, and I have her to myself the whole night long to show her what that means.

Chapter Thirty

Mira

Iwake in my closet nest, surrounded by their combined scents from the blankets. I tense for a moment, the way I do every time I wake, before my muscles lose their tension and I sink back against the floor. The cream blanket is soft against my cheek, and my mind drifts to Zane and the magical dinner he created last night. The fairy lights, the snow, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.

We talked for hours. He made me laugh—actuallylaugh—with stories about Adrian and Cole. About the time Cole drank so much at college he threw up in the dorm hallway and then slept cheek-down in the mess and didn’t even realize. Or when Adrian pulled a groin muscle picking up weights that weretoo heavy because he wanted to impress a girl. Zane told me how they worked for many hundreds of hours to build Pinnacle from nothing to what it is today, impressive in a little over a decade. The way Zane described their adventures made them sound human. Real people. Not terrifying alphas.

For a few precious hours, I felt light, like I did back when I was just a regular beta teen living with Mom and Dad. Before everything went wrong and my omega designation stole that life away from me.

Heat simmers under my skin now, an unwelcome reminder of reality. Afterthatkiss with Zane, my heat felt different. That heat was pure and sweet and natural. Nothing like this caustic itch that's plagued me since my heat ended. His lips were so soft, so careful, like I might break if he pressed too hard. His hand on my cheek, his scent wrapping around me in a protective shield...

He let mechoose.

I reach for the omega biology book, flipping to the section about post-heat symptoms. The light is dim in the closest, but still bright enough for me to read. The exhaustion is normal, apparently. So is the increased appetite, though I still can't quite believe they let me eat as much as I want. The book says omegas need extra calories after a heat, to rebuild their strength. At Haven, they said hunger was weakness, that denial built character, but there's nothing in here about this constant burning itch under my skin, this restless energy that makes me want to crawl out of my own body.

My fingers trace over the words about natural heat cycles, about how they're supposed to be. Everything I read contradicts what Haven taught us. The lecturers said heats were punishment for omega weakness, that the pain was deserved. This book speaks of beauty, of natural processes, of choice. Of how heats are meant to bring pleasure, to strengthen pack bonds, to create connection.

Choice. Like choosing to let Zane kiss me last night. Like choosing to trust, just for a moment. Like the way they all keep giving me choices… what to eat, what to wear, whether to accept their gifts. The growing pile of shopping bags in my room testifies to their desire to provide, but they never force me to use anything. Never demand gratitude or...other things...in return.

Zane kissed me goodnight at my bedroom door, sweet and gentle, like a normal date. Like I was someone who deserved tenderness. Then he left, not pushing for more, not demanding entry to my space or anything I wasn't ready to give, before I fell into my nest to sleep.

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