Page 25 of Knotted By my Pack
I smile despite myself.
On the drive, I keep my eyes on the road. Mostly. Her dress rides up every time she shifts in the seat, and I catch the freckles on her thighs. Small. Scattered. I grip the wheel tighter and glance away.
Hollow & Ash is sleek, with dark wood beams and strings of warm lights overhead. Parking lot’s buzzing, but not packed. Just enough cars to know it’s alive.
We step out, and she pauses, tipping her head back to the night sky.
“It’s beautiful tonight,” she says softly.
I glance over, and she’s looking up at the stars like they’re only for her.
She leans into my arm, just a little, her shoulder against mine. “Thanks for bringing me out.”
My throat is dry. I nod.
Inside, the place is gorgeous. Exposed brick, velvet booths, low lighting. The bar glows amber with hanging lights and mirrored bottles stacked high.
Music thrums in the background, slow and sultry, not too loud yet.
We slide onto two barstools. A Beta bartender comes over—tall, tan, too polished. He clocks her instantly. Leans in. Starts laying it on thick.
My chest tightens. This is the kind of man she usually leaves me for. If I know her, she’ll probably disappear with him at some point in the night.
The thought of his small hands running over her body makes me clench my jaw tight, but all I can do is sit back and watch it unfold.
Cora laughs politely, accepts the drink he mixes just for her, and leans into me. Her voice is low against my ear, warm breath brushing my skin. “I’m taken tonight.”
That lands in my chest like a strike. Quick and deep. I don’t say anything, just nod, take another drink of my beer to mask the reaction.
Then I listen to her talk my ear off about Julian and the bakery and the new recipes she’s eager to try.
We move to the dance floor an hour later, buzzed from the drinks. She orders something fruity and bright. I stick to whiskey.
The music shifts, bass turning darker. Lights strobe softly above us, colors pulsing slow.
She starts moving to the rhythm, easy and confident. Her back is to me, hips swaying in circles that make my mouth dry. Her arms lift above her head, fingers tangled in her hair.
I step in closer, hands hovering at her waist.
When she presses her back against me, everything inside me tilts. I grip her hips, grounding myself in the contact, her body moving against mine like it’s always belonged there.
Her skin is warm, flushed with heat and laughter. Her ass brushes against me, slow and purposeful, and I swear I see stars.
I lock my jaw and breathe through my nose. Control, control, control.
She tilts her head and looks back at me, her lips parted just slightly. There’s heat in her gaze. Challenge. Maybe curiosity. My hand tightens just a fraction on her waist, and she responds by grinding a little harder.
Everything narrows to her. The lights blur. The music fades into something pulsing and low. My body’s strung tight. Every brush of her skin is gasoline.
I lean in, mouth at her ear. “Cora.”
She hums, not slowing down. Her hips roll again.
“You keep doing that,” I mutter, “and I’m going to do something about it.”
She pauses, barely, then leans back even more. Her hair brushes my jaw. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Fuck.
