Page 63 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

“No one in, no one out without permission,” he muttered—more to himself than to us.

The muscles in his back flexed beneath his shirt as he worked, smooth and deliberate. Even through the thickening haze of my heat, I couldn’t stop watching him. I could feel hismind working—calculating time frames, rearranging priorities, locking down our sanctuary like the leader he was.

Gio pulled out his phone and headed for the kitchen, jaw tight. “Joey, we’re going dark for the next week,” he said, voice clipped. “Yeah. Excellent. Thanks.” He hung up without waiting for more, his gaze snapping back to me across the room. The hunger in his eyes stole the breath from my lungs.

Marco vanished down the hall and returned moments later with his arms full—water bottles, protein bars, towels. He moved with sharp efficiency, no trace of his usual laid-back swagger. I caught snatches of what he was muttering under his breath: “clean sheets… extra meds… nest-safe snacks…” as he gathered what we’d need for the long stretch ahead.

None of them panicked. There was no chaos. No frantic energy.

It was a quiet, practiced storm—calm, capable, already in motion before I could ask for anything.

They’d been ready for this.

Maybe even longer than I had.

Another cramp hit—sharper than the last—ripping a small gasp from my lips.

The sound cut through the room like a blade. All four of them stilled, heads snapping toward me, nostrils flaring as my scent thickened in the air. It had turned sweeter, richer, decadent enough to draw every Alpha in the room to attention, but underneath, some of the notes had gone sour from pain.

Tommy was already moving.

He reached me first, hands steady as he helped me to my feet. I wobbled, knees buckling, but he caught me easily. His palm settled at the small of my back, heat bleeding through my shirt, sparking along my nerves.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

His voice was rougher now—gravel and restraint—but his touch was gentle, grounding me even as my body threatened to spiral.

In one smooth motion, he scooped me into his arms and cradled me tight against his chest.

The edges of the world blurred. Sounds muffled. Light dimmed. All that remained was Tommy—his scent, his warmth, the way his arms locked around me like nothing could ever touch me while he held me like this.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he said, his breath brushing against my temple.

I nodded, clinging to him, needing the movement, needing him.

Each step up the staircase sent jolts of sensation ricocheting through me. I was soaked already, my thighs sticky, body aching, pussy needy. I whimpered, pressing closer to him, unable to hide it.

“You’re doing so well, Butterfly.” His usual timbre dipped into a low, praise-laced rasp. “Just hold on a little longer. Let me take care of you.”

The bedroom felt too far away. By the time we reached it, my clothes clung to my sweat-dampened skin, my breath coming in short, shallow pants. Tommy led me straight to the bathroom, his movements purposeful despite the obvious effect my scent was having on him. His pupils had dilated until only a thin ring of green remained, a flush high on his cheekbones betraying his arousal.

He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature with care. “Not too hot,” he explained, seeing my puzzled expression. “Your body temperature is already elevated.”

I’d have protested on any other day—I loved my showers scalding—but the thought of cool water on my feverish skin sounded like heaven. Tommy undressed me with the kind ofcareful precision that screamed control over craving—but I still saw the way his fingers shook. The way his gaze dragged across every newly bared inch like he was memorizing me. And when his knuckles brushed my ribs, feather-light, I swore I felt iteverywhere.

Cool air kissed my naked flesh, providing momentary relief before another wave of heat crashed through me. I whimpered, leaning heavily against Tommy as my knees shook once more.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, stripping off his own clothes and helping me into the shower.

The tepid water cascaded over us both, and I sighed in relief. Tommy held me securely against his chest, one arm around my waist, the other stroking soothingly down my back. I sagged against him, trusting him completely to keep me upright as the water washed away the initial haze, leaving behind a clearer, more focused kind of need.

“Tommy,” I breathed, turning in his arms to face him. Water beaded on his eyelashes, ran in rivulets down the chiseled planes of his chest, then down over the scar left behind on his abdomen. I pressed closer, seeking his warmth despite the fire already burning inside me.

His hands settled on my hips, steadying rather than restraining. “What do you need, Kit?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.

“Touch me,” I pleaded, past caring about pride or composure. “Please.”

My Alpha’s eyes darkened further, but his touch remained gentle as his hands skimmed up my sides to cup my face. “Your wish is my command.”

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