Page 74 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Jace leans in and kisses her bare thigh. “Unreal,” he murmurs, voice full of awe.

She hums, soft and spent and curled between us. “I’m never watching a movie the same way again,” she says faintly.

I laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Was there a movie?” Jace teases, glancing at the glowing screen. “I genuinely thought it was just a pornographic screensaver.”

She giggles—sleepy and smug. “Best dateever.”

Chapter Nineteen

Wes

Ibide my time until I can get her alone.

Not because I’m patient—I'm really fucking not—but because timingmatters, and waiting until the house was clear was the smartest move I’ve made since this whole pink-scented, glitter-coated nightmare started.

It’s been two weeks of her in this house. Two weeks of watching Cam melt and Jace orbit around her like she’s gravity itself, and I’ve had to stand by, scent-matched and sidelined, pretending I’m immune while she flounces around in tiny shorts and low-cut shirts and acts likeI’mthe one with the problem.

It’shell. The kind of hell where I can taste her when I walk through the door, where I can hear her laughter upstairs and feel my fists clench. I have to sit through dinner while she stretches and sighs and brushes her fingers through Jace’s hair, winding me up as much as she can, all on purpose.

She’s been testing me, waiting to see how long I’ll hold the line while she wears next to nothing and leaves her heat-slick scent all over the damn sofa.

And the worst part? The part that makes me want to punch a wall every time I catch her watching me with that smug little smile?

I want her.

I want her so badly it feels like a sickness.

I’ve had a full day of dealing with entitled clients and emotionally constipated lawyers who think barking louder is a negotiation strategy; but I still made it home early. It didn’t matter how many metaphorical fires needed putting out—I had one thing on my schedule that mattered, and it wasn’t another client complaint about their ex’s new omega.

Tonight, I’ve got a different kind of strategy meeting.

Jace is still at the gym, probably mid-pep-talk with a barbell, and Cam’s stuck at some high school parent meeting, being aggressively charming to people who’ve never done a day of cardio in their life. He’d messaged me earlier, reminding me he’d be home late:

Back by ten.Be nice.

Sure, Cam. I’ll be nice.

Just as soon as I’m done wrecking her composure.

The house is quiet now. Her scent hums through it, fresh and teasing and goddamnintentional. She knows they’re gone. She knows it’s just me. And if I know her—and unfortunately, I do—she’s already counting the seconds until I snap.

But tonight, I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of shouting, of growling; of slamming doors or storming off. Tonight, I’m going to give herstillness. I’m going to give hersilence and dominance and the kind of attention that makes her squirm until she’s just as off-balance as she’s left the rest of us.

Let her see what it feels like to be the one played—letherburn for once.

All I have to do is remember the plan once I’m close enough to smell how wet she already is.

*

The second I hear her humming from the kitchen, it’s over. It’s not even a song, but some tuneless, sugary little sound that drips from her lips like honey and arsenic.

She’s barefoot at the stove, stirring some herbal nightmare into a floral mug. Steam curls around her hair, catching the frizzy flyaways that always slip free no matter how tight she ties it up, and my eyes narrow at the stupid claw clip.

It’s pale pink with tiny hearts, and probably made from the broken ribs of alphas who got too close.

She’s wearing one of Cam’s sweatshirts again. It’s huge on her, hanging off one shoulder and practically drowning her frame, and I can’t fucking look at it without wanting to tear it off her. Her bare legs go on and on andon—

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