Page 85 of Knotted By my Pack
Steam curls around us as we step into the shower. The water’s hot, not scalding, but it sinks into my muscles and soothes the ache in my thighs.
Elias stands behind me, water pouring over his chest, his hands resting low on my hips. I tilt my head back to wet my hair. He lathers soap between his palms and starts to run it over my body, slow, unhurried.
I lean into his touch, eyes closed, lips parted. He kneels behind me, moving his hands down the backs of my legs, up again, sliding between them.
His fingers stroke through me, and I gasp, one hand slapping against the tile for balance.
He keeps going, two fingers slipping inside me, his other hand on my stomach, holding me steady as he builds the pressure again.
My moans bounce off the walls, echoing over the rush of water. I brace against him, rolling my hips into his hand.
I clench around him, thighs shaking as the wave takes me again. He kisses my lower back, murmurs something into my skin that I don’t catch.
By the time we’re dried off and dressed, my legs are still unsteady.
I’m in one of his flannel shirts and nothing else when I pad barefoot into the kitchen. He’s already there, sleeves rolled up, flipping something on the stove. Eggs. Bacon. Toast in the oven.
He hands me a mug of coffee, kisses the top of my head, and says, “Sit. Eat. I’m not letting you run on sugar and caffeine alone.”
After breakfast, I stretch with a satisfied sigh and stand. “I need to open the bakery soon.”
He wipes his hands on a towel and nods. “I’ll drop you off. I’ll bring your car over later.”
I look up at him, that familiar warmth building behind my ribs. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he says simply.
In the truck, his hand finds mine. His thumb moves over my knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of them.
Neither of us talks much, but it’s not awkward. There’s comfort in the quiet.
I glance at him every few seconds, watching the way the sunlight cuts across his jaw, the curve of his mouth relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before.
We pull into the lot just as Noah’s truck turns in behind us. I see him parking in his usual spot, climbing out with a cup of coffee in one hand.
Elias puts the truck in park but doesn’t move right away. His fingers tighten around mine.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. You?”
He leans in, presses a soft kiss to my lips. “We’ll talk later.”
When I climb out, Noah is watching us. He raises his brows, mouth twitching. I narrow my eyes at him, already knowing something smug is coming.
“So,” he says, drawing the word out, “I guess he’s staying in town.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’m smiling. I dig in my purse for the keys.
“Wait,” Noah says, suddenly alert.
I follow his gaze. Elias is walking back toward me, jaw set with purpose. He cups my face and kisses me again, deeper this time, until my knees weaken and my stomach flips.
His tongue brushes mine, and there’s heat again, simmering low and steady. By the time he pulls back, I’m breathless, lips tingling, and yeah… a little wet.
“Have dinner with me,” he murmurs.
“Okay,” I whisper back, dazed.
