Page 60 of Knot the Last Chapter

“You’re impossible,” I mutter.

She grins. “Same thing.”

I glance at her. Bad idea. Her lips are parted slightly, breath light. Her scent is sharper now, spiced with omega heat and something molten. It goes straight to my gut.

Then she picks up a strawberry from the bowl beside us. She holds my gaze as she bites into it. Juice spills over her lower lip.

And then… She moans.

It’s soft, like a secret she didn’t mean to share. But I hear it. Ifeelit. The heat between my legs pulses to life and images burn through my brain: Her, draped across the kitchen counter, thighs spread and lips parted. Her in the pantry, breath hot against my throat as I press her into the shelves. Her on the table, flushed and gasping, nails in my back.

I grip the edge of the stove, white-knuckled.

“Rhys?” she asks, amused.

“You’re distracting,” I say, voice gravel.

She licks the juice off her thumb, slowly.

“Is that a complaint?”

“It’s a warning.” I dump the tomatoes in the pan in a bid to not look at her. Fat luck as she moves to the sauce, stirs it with the wooden spoon I left out.

“This smells amazing,” she says. “You should open a restaurant.”

“I’d rather cook for someone I care about.”

Her gaze cuts to me, surprised. Maybe flustered.

“Smooth,” she says, but her cheeks are pink.

She leans in, lips close to my ear. “You’re not the only one struggling, you know.”

The words hit like a punch. My alpha instincts flare, a growl buried in my chest. I turn, slow and deliberate. She doesn’t move.

She just looks up at me, eyes wide but steady, scent rolling off her in waves that make me want to drop to my knees and beg.

I reach for a plate. My hand brushes hers. The contact is electric.

We both still.

“Lila,” I whisper.

“Rhys.”

The sound of my name on her lips—it’s too much. I inch closer. Not touching. Not yet.

She turns back to the stove, like she’s giving me a chance to get my shit together.

I try. Gods, I try.

She hums a little tune, hips swaying slightly as she butters the warm bread. I watch her move and think of everything I’d do to her. Every place in this kitchen I’d lay her out and make her mine.

Instead, I take a breath and step back.

“I like this,” she says, as if she hasn’t just set me on fire. “Us. Cooking together.”

My heart thuds. “Me too.”

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