Page 36 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

He worked in smooth, practiced movements, every gesture precise and effortless, like the damn dessert had been born from his hands and not years of elite training. His fingers brushed against mine when he handed me the offset spatula, and I told myself the shiver that followed was because the kitchen was cold.

It wasn’t.

Beneath the banter, beneath the stray glances and half-smirks, something else stirred—dangerously close.

My control.

The iron-willed, tightly-wrapped calm I lived inside like armor… it was slipping. Quietly. Steadily. Like silk unraveling at the seams.

And the cocky bastardknewit.

Every time he leaned in just a fraction too close to correctmy piping, every time his hand brushed the small of my back under the guise of reaching for the vanilla beans,every time his voice dropped lower, like we were the only two people in the world and not standing elbow-deep in plating chaos—

It chipped away at me.

I could smell him—rich and clean and something warm I didn’t want to name. Could feel the heat of him beside me, the casual confidence rolling off his body in waves that tangled with mine.

“Steady,” he murmured, his hand grazing mine again, deliberately this time, as I tried to balance the fragile praline layer on top of the ganache.

I clenched my jaw, focused on the dessert. “You’re distracting.”

He smiled like I’d just given him a compliment. “Only because you’re trying so hard not to look at me.”

I turned, sharply, to retort—only to find his face inches from mine, blue eyes amused, knowing, dangerous.

“Careful,” he said softly. “You’re starting to like me.”

His hand brushed the small of my back again—light, intentional, like he knew exactly what it would do to me.

And he was right.

Because the moment his scent hit me—warm spice, citrus, that unmistakable pull of alpha—it slid under my skin like fire. My suppressants dulled the edge, but they didn’teraseit. The truth was, I could still feel him. Taste him in the air.

And gods help me, I wanted more.

We’d only slept togetheronce. And I had a rule. Three times, maximum. No feelings. No strings. No danger. So... technically, I still had two left.

I turned. Fisted the front of his shirt. And kissed him like it would solve everything.

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth crushed mine with raw heat,hands sliding around my waist, gripping,possessive. My back hit the prep counter in a whirl of heat and movement, his body already between my legs, anchoring me like he had every right.

The kiss deepened—hot, messy, needy. His tongue swept past my lips, and the low, rumbling growl he let out when I tugged at his hair made something tight coil in my gut.

I should have pushed him away. I should’ve told him to stop.

Instead, I moaned into his mouth and arched closer, the bondless ache in me flaring like wildfire.

“You’re still my employee,” I gasped as he bit gently down my neck, right over the gland I kept suppressed. “This is a terrible idea—”

“I clocked out,” he growled against my skin, hands gripping the underside of my thighs as he lifted me higher onto the counter, spreading me open for him. “Which means, right now? You’re not my boss. You’re justmine.”

That word—mine—lit up every omega instinct I had buried for years. My wolf clawed at the inside of me, restless, wild, wanting. I could feel her, howling at the edges of my control.

His scent wrapped around me like velvet, and I hated how good it felt. How right.

“I hate you,” I whispered, dragging his shirt over his head.

“Liar,” he smirked, tugging at the waistband of my pants. “But I like the way you say it.”

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