Page 113 of Knot So Fast
I smirk, unable to resist teasing him.
"Getting cozy, are we? Need I remind you we're in a very public space?"
His answering smirk is dangerous, all predator and promise. Without warning, his hand finds my thigh, fingers wrapping around it with firm possession. He deliberately slides his hand higher, high enough that my breath catches, high enough that the intent is unmistakable.
"Being in public wouldn't stop me if that's what you're trying to pull," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
Before I can formulate a response—something witty to deflect from the heat suddenly pooling low in my belly—he kisses me. It's light, barely a brush of lips, but somehow more intimate than if he'd claimed my mouth properly. Then he's pulling me closer, tucking me against his side as he relaxes back in his seat, reaching for his whiskey with his free hand like this is the most natural thing in the world.
"I want to know," he says, his voice dropping to something more serious, "if you genuinely want to try this Omega thing with my pack."
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications I'm only beginning to understand. But the thing is, I don't really feel the need to think about it. Not in the way you'd think about a business decision or a strategic move.
This feels... different.
I'm silent for a moment, not because I'm uncertain, but because I'm wondering what it's going to be like.Having a pack.Being part of something bigger than just myself and my carefully controlled world.
"The idea seems so smooth," I admit finally. "Almost easy. Like it's meant to be effortless."
"But?" He knows there's more, can probably feel it in the way I'm holding myself.
I give him a saucy look, but then I'm resting my head on his shoulder, letting myself sink into his warmth. I know people could be watching us, probably are watching us. Someone's definitely taking photos that will end up on social media within the hour.
But I'm too relaxed to give a damn.
I close my eyes and just breathe him in. That scent that's uniquely his—pine, motor oil, and something clean, something safe. It wraps around me like armor, like protection, like home. Just his presence makes me feel safer than I've felt in a year of careful supervision and medical monitoring.
I think about how this year has gone.Really think about it.Cooped up in that luxury space like a bird in a gilded cage, playing video games to pass the endless hours.
Breathing but not living. Existing but not thriving.
"I know my parents mean well," I say, keeping my eyes closed as the words spill out. "Anyone would, after the accident I went through. But I wasn't living."
The admission feels like releasing a pressure valve, truth hissing out after being contained for too long.
"I was just a breathing being. Similar to a robot who found escape in technology because life seemed so suffocating. Every day was the same—wake up, take my pills, eat the approved meals, attend the approved activities, be the good littlerecovering Omega who doesn't cause problems or ask difficult questions."
My fingers find his where they rest on his whiskey glass, tracing patterns on his knuckles.
"I enjoyed playing those games because I felt alive again. Racing, even virtually, even with fake cars and fake tracks, it was the only time I felt like myself. Or at least, like who I might be if anyone would let me find out."
I can feel him listening, really listening, not just waiting for his turn to speak. It encourages me to continue.
"I guess I'm realizing it was aiding me back then—keeping me sane when everything else felt like a prison. But now that I've felt what it's like to be on the track again, despite my amnesia, despite everyone thinking I'm crazy... I want to strive for it again."
I open my eyes slightly, watching the city sprawl below us through the glass barriers of the terrace.
"I want to prove the world wrong. I want the spotlight to be my way out of that cage, even if it's going to come with its share of problems. Even if it means dealing with reporters asking if I'm pregnant or suggesting I can't compete with men who've been racing longer than I've been alive."
I shift slightly, pressing closer to his warmth.
"I really didn't get the chance to take in all your scents and presences back at the suite the other day. I was already overwhelmed and hyperaware of everything from the day. I hope it didn't offend them."
"It didn't," he assures me immediately, his arm tightening around me. "They're all very understanding of the new circumstances. Kieran especially—he knows what it's like to have enhanced senses overwhelmed. And Dex has been commenting on sensitivity to stimuli in racing for years. They get it."
"I want to learn about each of them again," I admit. "Even if it may be tiring to be repetitive due to my circumstances. But if everything had been smooth prior to the accident, it shouldn't be any different now. Maybe it'll even be better—starting fresh without whatever baggage we were carrying before."
I tilt my head to look up at him, finding his eyes already on me.
