Page 72 of Knot the Last Chapter

Misty lifts her head at the sound of my sigh.

“I know,” I murmur. “I should’ve brought another.”

I slip on my sweater and pad down the stairs, barefoot and quiet. The house feels like it’s asleep, but I can still hear the faint crackle of a fire coming from the far end.

The library.

It glows with golden light from the hearth and a few low lamps. Everything is soft shadows and quiet promise. The rich scent of leather-bound books, pinewood, and smoke makes my shoulders drop. It smells like safety. Like memory. Like possibility.

And Corwyn is there.

He’s lounging in one of the chairs, barefoot, legs stretched long before him. His pants cling to him in all the right places, and his henley—dark, worn, hugging him like a second skin—shows off the lines of his chest and arms far too well.

His golden hair is tousled, and his eyes catch the firelight when he glances up.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice rough silk.

“I ran out of paper.” I hold up my notebook with a helpless shrug. “Thought maybe the library might save me.”

He stands, graceful despite his height, and moves to the antique desk tucked between shelves. “We’ve got enough supplies to last an apocalypse. One second.”

He digs into the drawer and pulls out a pristine notebook, the kind that feels like it belongs in a writer’s fantasy. Even better than the first one. Creamy thick pages, gilded edges, a leather cover that’s soft beneath my fingers.

When he hands it to me, our fingers brush.

And something clicks. The heat is immediate. Strong. Real.

His gaze meets mine and doesn’t waver.

“Thank you,” I say, a little hoarse.

He leans against the edge of the desk, watching me. “What else do you need?”

The question is innocuous. But the way he says it… It lands lower.

I step forward, almost without thinking. Press my hand gently against his chest.

His heartbeat is steady. But fast. And I can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric.

“Lila,” he murmurs, his voice deepening. “This is dangerous territory.”

“I’m aware.”

His hands hover at his sides, trembling with restraint. I can feel the tension pouring off him. The slow burn of it, crackling just beneath the surface.

And still, he waits. For me.

I slide my fingers beneath the edge of his shirt, tracing the ridge of muscle along his torso. His breath hitches.

“I can’t pretend I don’t want this,” I whisper. “But I don’t know what it means. Not yet.”

His eyes darken. “Then let me be clear.” He leans down, his forehead brushing mine. “I want you, Lila. I want your words. Your scent. Your fire. I want to hear you scream my name while your nails are digging into my back. But I’ll wait. I’ll wait until you know it as much as I do. Until youaskme.”

The power in that promise… it rocks me.

“I’m not good at waiting,” I admit.

“Neither am I.” His lips ghost across my temple. “But for you? I’ll try.”

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