Page 106 of Knot Like Other Girls

Still can't believe I took an alpha his size.

I slide from the bed, conscious of his gaze following my movements as I cross the room. When I reach him, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He's so tall, so solid—but he was nothing but gentle and reverent when he touched me last night.

"You sure?" he asks, searching my face. "About this? About me?"

Instead of answering with words, I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him. His breath hitches sharply, but he doesn't stop me.

The bathroom is cool when I step inside, but Cole quickly turns on the shower, steam gradually beginning to fill the space. He drops his towel without ceremony, and I try not to stare at his naked body, but it's impossible not to appreciate the powerful lines of him, the careful balance of strength and control evident in every movement.

He is so freaking hot. How does he not see it?

Stepping into the shower first, he extends a hand to help me in. The spray feels heavenly against my skin, washing away the stickiness between my thighs and soothing muscles I didn't even realize were sore.

Cole stands awkwardly at the far end of the shower, as if unsure of his welcome despite my clear invitation. I smile, finding his uncertainty endearing given everything we shared last night.

"Could you pass the shampoo?" I ask, nodding toward the bottle on the shelf behind him.

When he hands it to me, our fingers brush, and that simple touch sends electricity skating across my skin. My scent shifts immediately, the suppressed heat flaring at his proximity.

His nostrils flare, his pupil dilating as he catches the change. "Bella," he says, my name a warning and a question.

"Cole," I say his name softly, reaching for him through the steam.

Droplets cascade over us both, running in rivulets down his chest, tracing paths I want to follow with my fingers, my lips. The fragrant soap fills the air with a clean, masculine scent, but it can't mask the intoxicating stone and pine that is uniquely Cole. My body responds instantly, a flutter deep inside me despite the suppressants dampening my heat.

Watching me intently, his massive frame tenses with restraint. "Your heat..." he starts, voice rough.

"Isn't this," I interrupt, stepping closer until the spray falls between us like a veil. "The suppressants are working, Cole. This is just me wanting you."

Doubt flickers across his face, and my heart aches. He doesn't believe me. Doesn't believe anyone could want him—the real him, without the influence of biology forcing the attraction.

Words aren't enough.

I need to show him.

Deliberately, I close the distance between us. The warm water creates a shared space that feels somehow separate from the rest of the world. A bubble where only we exist. My hands reach out, palms resting against his chest—one on smooth skin, one on textured. Both parts of the same man. Both equally part of who he is.

Under my touch, his heart thunders, a rapid tempo that reveals everything his carefully controlled expression tries to hide. He wants this too. Wants me. But that sharp edge of doubt still cuts between us.

"Bella." My name sounds reverent yet cautious on his lips. "You don't have to?—"

"I know." I hold his gaze, letting him see the truth in mine. "I'm not doing this because I have to. I'm doing it because I want to."

To prove my point, I rise onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his again—not tentatively, but with purpose. With certainty. I pour everything I'm feeling into that kiss, willing him to understand that this isn't obligation or biology or pity. This is desire, pure and simple.

For a moment, he remains frozen, unyielding. My heart falters, fear spiking through me that I've misread everything, that I've pushed too far. But then, with a groan that reverberates through his chest and into mine, he yields.

His arms encircle me, massive and strong, drawing me against him until every inch of my wet skin presses against his. I gasp as he deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting mine with a hunger that matches my own. Any lingering doubt that this is mutual evaporates like the steam surrounding us.

He wants this.

Wants me.

The knowledge emboldens me, drives me to show him exactly how much I want him in return.

Breaking the kiss, I trail my lips along his jaw, feeling the contrast between the smooth left side and the raised, ridged texture on the right. When I reach the corner where his lips are pulled into a permanent snarl, I pause, feeling him tense beneath my touch.

This is the moment. The test. Will he let me in, truly let me in, or will he close himself off as he has for so long?

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