Page 99 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
He chuckles. “It sounds like a nest. A gorgeous, soft, perfectly you nest. But if you go into heat out here alone…”
I hesitate, the warning in his voice threading straight through me. He’s not wrong.
“I’m not due anytime soon, so don’t worry,” I say, softer now. “But… I’ll think about it.”
Walker doesn’t push. Just steps in closer, the air between us going tight. “We’re patient, Sophia. But you’re our scent match. And when your heat hits for real, you won’t want to be out here alone. You’ll need us.”
His voice is low. And I hate having this discussion like my heat dictates my life.
My breath catches, heart stuttering. I know I should step back, say good night, make it easier. But I don’t. Not yet.
He leans in, brushing his knuckles down my arm in a touch so gentle it undoes me. My skin prickles, heat blooming deep and low. His fingers trail to my wrist and linger there, his eyes fixed on mine like he’s waiting for a sign, a permission, a crack in my restraint.
I give it to him.
The space between us vanishes as our mouths crash together, all heat and hunger and tension that’s been building since the moment we met. His hands cup my face, tilting me up as his lips move over mine, soft at first, then deeper, rougher, like he’s starving. I melt into him, fingers fisting the front of his shirt, wanting more, needing everything.
The world blurs. There’s only the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine, the low sound he makes when I whimper against his mouth.
When we finally break apart, I’mbreathless. Shaky. My lips are swollen, my heart pounding, my whole body aching with need. I want to drag him inside, lock the door, and never let go.
But he’s already stepping back, eyes dark with something dangerous. Something barely held in check.
“Sleep well, gorgeous,” he murmurs.
And then he turns, striding off into the dark and leaving me trembling in the doorway, still tasting him on my lips.
Inside the guesthouse, the soft mewling chorus of ginger cats greets me. Chonkarella winds around my legs, purring like an idling engine, while the two kittens leap between couch cushions. One knocks over a throw pillow. The other skitters across the floor, chasing dust motes only he can see.
I feed them, then retreat to the small library nook, my sanctuary, and sink into the hanging chair suspended from the ceiling. The cocoon of blankets and pillows welcomes me.
I still taste Walker.
My lips tingle, my skin thrums where he touched me, and the memory of his mouth on mine unravels my carefully built restraint. It would’ve been so easy to ask him in. Too easy. The heat between us had flared so fast, so hot, that I’m still reeling.
And it’s not just him. It’s all three of them. I keep thinking what it would be like if I stayed with them tonight.
If I gave in.
If I stopped pretending I wasn’t already theirs.
But instead, I’m here, tucked away in my not-a-nest like a coward. Because if I go to them now… I might not come back.
And part of me doesn’t want to; part of me is terrified of how it might end.
So, I pull my laptop into my lap, staring at the blank screen.
The evening plays over and over in my head, the way they moved around me like I already belonged.
And then I remember the sleep conversation. The pointed questions. The smug looks.
I groan, covering my face. They read the blog.
Dirty dogs.
Well… two can play that game.
I grin, flex my fingers, and start typing.
