Page 72 of Knotting With A Stranger

“Oh, fuck,” I breathe.

I push the door open slowly, confirming my suspicion with a single glance.

The laundry pile I’d dumped on the folding table the other day has been transformed into an elaborate nest. Clothes are artfully arranged in a circular pattern, with my clean sheets—the ones I keep on the shelf above the dryer—draped in a way that creates walls and a soft center. And in the middle of this carefully constructed refuge lies Lily.

She’s curled on her side, deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Her oversized sweater has ridden up past her hips, exposing the pale skin of her thighs and the edge of black lace panties. One white ankle sock is half-off her foot, the other missing entirely. Her dark brown hair spills across the sheets like ink, framing her flushed face.

Most telling of all, she’s clutching my Henley shirt—the moss-green one I wore yesterday—pressed tightly under her face. Another of my shirts, the black thermal I wear for night rescues, is bunched between her thighs.

My cock hardens painfully at the sight, a response so intimate and powerful, it’s almost embarrassing. The flush on her cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on her brow despite the cool air in the room—all confirm what her choice of location and my clothing already tell me.

“Fuck me sideways,” I whisper, backing out and pulling the door nearly closed.

I text the others to meet me, and they arrive within moments. The second they round the corner, their reaction shift—nostrils flaring, pupils dilating as they catch the scent I’m now acutely aware is permeating the hallway.

“She’s going into heat,” I say bluntly. There’s no point dancing around it.

The three of us exchange loaded glances, the air suddenly thick with testosterone, with grunts.

Archer sniffs again, more deliberately. “Early stages,” he murmurs, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Probably started during the night. Explains the truth or dare enthusiastic kiss.”

“And why she was so warm,” James adds, a strange note in his tone that has me glaring at him. What does he know that we don’t?

“The storm’s not letting up for at least five more days,” Archer says, glancing toward the nearest window, where nothing is visible beyond a wall of white. “We’re completely snowed in.”

I growl, pacing a few steps away and back. “A heat-triggered Omega and three unmated Alphas trapped in a remote cabin during a blizzard. This scene is going to escalate and fast.”

“Or it’s the setup to a very specific kind of porn,” Archer quips, earning a murderous glare from me.

“It’s up to her,” James says, surprisingly serious. “Her choice, her body.”

“She won’t be happy,” Archer adds.

“Nobody touches her unless she explicitly asks,” I say, the words coming out more growl than speech. “I fucking mean it. We’re not animals.”

“Speak for yourself,” Archer mumbles, but there’s no real challenge in it.

James steps closer, meeting my gaze directly. “We’ll help her through this,” he says quietly. “However she needs us. But you need to check that possessive bullshit at the door, Hunt. You don’t have any claim on her over us.”

I want to argue, but he’s right, damn him. I have no claim beyond a kiss that was part of a drinking game. The fact thatmy clothes are the ones she chose to nest with means nothing—I own this cabin, so my scent would naturally be most dominant.

“This isn’t about fucking us,” I state. “Let’s focus on what she wants.”

We back away from the door, huddling in the hallway to not wake her up.

“She needs to stay comfortable. Warm,” I murmur, mentally cataloging the cabin’s supplies.

“Food, water, pain meds,” Archer adds. “Some Omegas get killer cramps in the early stages.”

James nods. “And options. Real options, not just us throwing ourselves at her.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, though I already know.

“Suppressants,” James says. “If she wants them. Toys if she’d rather handle it alone. Safe spaces she can lock us out of.”

“Jesus, James, she’s not a prisoner needing escape routes,” Archer says.

“She’s an Omega in heat with three Alphas she barely knows,” James counters sharply. “Trust me, she’ll want options.”

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