Page 146 of Knot So Fast
Our VIP table is already waiting, stocked with bottles that sparkle with real gold flakes because apparently regular alcohol isn't expensive enough. The booth is positioned perfectly—visible enough to be seen and photographed, private enough that we can actually relax.
"First round's on me," Dex announces, already pouring shots of something that smells like bad decisions and tastes like lighter fluid.
"What is this?" I ask, holding the shot glass up to the strobing lights.
"Hundred-euro tequila," he says with a grin. "Only the best for our rising star."
"That's a terrible idea," Luke protests, but he's already accepting his own shot.
"All the best nights start with terrible ideas," Caspian points out, which is probably the most rebellious thing I've ever heard him say.
We toast—to victories, to sponsors, to not dying in Monaco traffic—and down the shots. The tequila burns like racing fuel, leaving a trail of fire from my throat to my stomach. But it's good fire, the kind that loosens muscles and inhibitions in equal measure.
"Dance floor?" I suggest, already feeling the music calling to me.
"You sure that's wise?" Lachlan asks, but he's smiling. "You and tequila have a complicated history."
"That's what makes it fun."
I grab Dex first, knowing that after the week he's had commentating and dealing with media speculation about our pack dynamics, he needs the release more than anyone. He protests halfheartedly but lets me pull him onto the dance floor, where bodies move in the smoke like shadows given form.
The music is all bass and darkness, the kind of beat that bypasses your brain and goes straight to your hips. I move against Dex, my back to his chest, letting the rhythm take over. He's surprisingly good at this—keeping up with my movements, hands on my waist but respectful, letting me lead.
"You've been practicing," I accuse, having to shout over the music.
"Maybe," he admits, his breath warm against my ear. "Can't let you show us all up."
The song shifts to something slower, dirtier, and suddenly Kieran is there, moving behind me until my hips are flushagainst his thighs. The temperature ratchets up several degrees as I'm sandwiched between them, Dex's hands still on my waist while Kieran's fingers trace the exposed skin of my back.
"This okay?" Kieran asks, his voice low enough that I feel it more than hear it.
I answer by rolling my hips back against him, which draws a sound from his throat that's barely audible over the music but shoots straight through me anyway. His hands find my hips, guiding my movements until we're moving together like we've done this a thousand times.
Dex eventually steps back with a knowing smirk, replaced immediately by Lachlan who spins me to face him. His grin says he's about to ruin everyone else's night, and honestly? I'm here for it.
"My turn," he says, pulling me close enough that there's no space between us, just heat and intention and the promise of trouble.
We move together with the kind of synchronization that comes from knowing each other's bodies intimately. His thigh slots between mine, his hands span my lower back, and when he leans down to press his lips to my neck, I forget we're in public entirely.
The alcohol is starting to hit properly now, making everything soft around the edges. The strobing lights turn the dance floor into a series of snapshots—Luke's hands on my waist, Caspian surprisingly fluid as he moves behind me, Kieran claiming my mouth in a kiss that's definitely going to end up on someone's Instagram story.
We're dancing as a group now, all of us moving together in ways that are probably scandalous but feel perfectly natural. I'm passed between them like we're playing some kind of game, each of them claiming a moment, a touch, a kiss that tastes like expensive liquor and poor decisions.
It's the first time we've really been relaxed in a public setting, letting ourselves blend together as a unit without worrying about optics or headlines. The space between us dissolves until we're just bodies moving to the same rhythm, pack dynamics expressed through touch and proximity and the way they all gravitate toward me like I'm the sun they orbit around.
The heat builds until I'm pinned between Kieran and Luke, three different scents tangling with sweat and gin. Kieran's mouth finds mine, and suddenly we're kissing like the club doesn't exist, like the hundred people around us have disappeared. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, tasting tequila and something darker, hungrier.
Luke is pressed behind me, his hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck, and the combination is devastating. I'm drowning in sensation—Kieran's kiss, Luke's touch, the music that's taken up residence in my bloodstream.
When Kieran finally breaks the kiss, we're both breathing hard, and his eyes are dark with something that has nothing to do with the club's lighting.
"We should have some alone time," I whisper against his lips, including Luke in the suggestion with a glance over my shoulder. "The three of us."
Kieran's eyebrow arches, that challenging smirk spreading across his face. "You sure you can handle both of us?"
The taunt in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly, competitive instinct mixing with arousal in a cocktail more potent than anything the bar is serving.
"Try me, Kieran," I dare, letting every ounce of Omega confidence flood my voice.
