Page 67 of Knotted By my Pack
Then he kisses me.
It’s softer than I expect, but it doesn’t stay that way. He pulls me closer, tilting his head, mouth moving over mine like he’s trying to remind me of everything we didn’t say the night before.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie. He tastes like coffee and want and something sharp that makes my skin heat.
Eventually, he pulls back, breath shallow. I slide off his lap before I lose myself in it again.
He stands, walks to my tiny kitchen, and grabs a mug. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.” My voice comes out thinner than I’d like.
He brews it without asking how I take it. Of course he knows. When he passes me the mug, his fingers brush mine.
I settle on the arm of the couch, curling one leg under me. “What happened after I left?”
“I went back to Julian’s to drop off the truck and grab the things we left there yesterday. When he woke up, he lost his shit when he realized you were gone. I told him I drove you home.He wanted to call, but I told him to wait. Elias dipped back to his place not long after.”
I sip the coffee. Hot. A little too sweet. Just how I like it.
“You guys… talk about it?” I ask, not looking at him.
“Not really. No one knew what to say.” He watches me for a moment. “But I knew I needed to see you.”
He sits beside me, closer than before. His knee brushes mine. There’s something softer in his gaze now, but it’s no less intense.
“I mean it,” he says, voice low. “What I said earlier.”
I nod once. Then set the mug down and lean into him, wrapping my arms around his torso. His arms come around me instantly. His chest is warm and solid against my cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For last night. For helping me out. But… I don’t think it can happen again.”
His fingers tighten slightly against my back. “Don’t do that.”
I pull away just enough to look up at him, confused.
“Don’t pretend this wasn’t real.” He pulls me back into his lap, and before I can protest, his mouth is on mine again. His kiss is slower this time. Deep. His hands frame my waist, holding me still as he moves against my lips like he’s already won this fight.
He kisses along my jaw, then lower, brushing his mouth against my neck. A sharp breath escapes me as he finds the spot just beneath my ear and lingers there.
“You don’t get to act like it won’t happen again,” he says, voice rough. “Because it will.”
My protest dies as he grabs my hand and presses it to his chest. The thin fabric of his hoodie does nothing to hide the way his body reacts.
My palm rests over his heartbeat, steady and strong, and then he presses it lower, until it’s over the hard muscle of his pec, just to the side. His own hand covers mine. His eyes never leave me.
When his lips return to my neck, I gasp. A broken little sound escapes me before I can stop it. He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye.
“I know it’s messy,” he says. “But you’re lying to yourself if you think you don’t want this again.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
He kisses my forehead. A touch that makes my stomach tighten in a completely different way. I stare at him, everything inside me humming with confusion and need.
“Stop staring,” he says, voice low, teasing.
My face burns. I shift off his lap and grab my mug again, trying to ground myself. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Anything.”
