Page 91 of Knot for Sale

Mind opened. Along with a few other sundry body parts.

Nana Allen’s visit had pricked at an insecurity I’d been nursing ever since I’d emerged from my heat-haze—sweaty, sticky, and thoroughly sated. How much of my outlook on life had been formed and shaped by the people I’d grown up with?

Alphas were always dangerous.

Omegas were always vulnerable to attack and abuse.

Being a beta was the only safe way to live.

But what if it wasn’t? Elijah was an out and proud omega. He’d been safe enough—and successful enough—until he’d stumbled into the middle of my shit-show.

Even in a beta-dominated career. Even using rent-a-packs during his heats.

Meanwhile, I had a beta mother. I could easily have been born a true beta. And if I had been, Uncle Tommy would have come after me all the same. It wasn’t my omega status that enraged him. It was the fact that I was my father’s daughter. Jimmy Huntwell wasn’t around for him to take revenge on... but I was.

I stared into Onyx’s twinkling eyes—the irises so dark that it was almost impossible to see where they ended, and the pupils began. I sat up and grabbed the hem of my tank top, peeling it off and tossing it to the side. We continued to gaze at each other, both of us bare to the waist.

“Mmm,” Onyx practically purred, rising gracefully. “I’m still not sure how someone like me ended up banging a supermodel.”

They shucked off their faded sleep shorts, revealing a neatly trimmed thatch of dark pubic hair. The tip of their clit was already visible, peeking out from its hood.

“I’m not a supermodel,” I said, a bit breathlessly. “But if you’d wanted to pursue the modeling route, I can think of some agencies that would have been knocking down your door.”

God, but Onyx was something to look at. It took a lot to break through my layer of cynicism after years spent surrounded by beautiful people. But none of those people had physiques honed in a fighting ring, and almost none of them had the kind of confidence that came with being able to say, ‘I crafted this body specifically to match my innermost truth.’

Onyx snorted in self-derision, but a pleased smile played around the edges of their lips. “Not much call for scars in the fashion industry, I’d imagine—even in the era of Photoshop. Glad you’re enjoying the view, though.”

I wriggled out of my gray leggings, surprised by my lack of nerves. The little pocket sewn into the waist was largely useless, but it had worked to carry the small foil condom packet. I pulled it out and got to my feet, proffering it. “Thought this might be useful.”

Onyx laughed, a single sharp bark. “Great minds, Absinthe. I brought one, too, but this works.”

I handed it over. “I got it from Elijah.”

They nodded. “He knows you were coming to seduce me, then?”

My cheeks heated, though I couldn’t have said why. “Yeah. It seemed weird not to tell him.”

“He could’ve joined us, you know,” Onyx said. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, swallowing my brain’s instinctive freak-out over the idea that there might be anext time.

Onyx crossed to the gym bag sitting on a nearby bench and rummaged in it, coming up with a small glass bottle.

I frowned. “What’s that?”

A dark eyebrow canted. “Oil from the kitchen. Did you think I was joking about that part?”

They unscrewed the cap and poured a thin stream into their palm. My heart pattered restlessly, then thundered into a gallop when Onyx rubbed their hands together and closed the final step separating us.

“Hold still.” Warm hands, rough with calluses beneath the smooth, silken feel of the oil, slid over my shoulders and down my arms, leaving the skin glistening and frictionless.

My passage clenched, a pulse of slick rolling down my inner thighs. One hand trailed down my flank and cupped between my legs, fingers delving for a moment before moving on.

Onyx grunted. “Damn, girl. Could’ve saved the oil and just used your juices instead.”

Our combined scents were rising like mist, shrouding us. A shiver rolled through me.

The sensation of oily hands sliding over my body was simultaneously overwhelming and frustrating—somehow both too much and not nearly enough. I’d grown touch starved, I thought, despite my recent heat. Or maybe because of it.

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