Page 41 of Knotted By my Pack
And then—his lips brush against the spot where his fingers just were. A soft, sinful kiss that makes my stomach clench.
Before I can stop myself, I move.
I climb onto his lap, straddling him in one swift, reckless motion. The steering wheel digs into my back, but I barely register it. All I feel is him.
His thighs firm beneath me. His hands gripping my hips like he’s been dying to touch me. The heat between us is instant, electric.
“Cora,” he growls, like my name is both a warning and a prayer.
His hands roam upward, skimming over my drenched top, fingers sliding beneath the hem to touch bare, heated skin.
I rock against him, the pressure between my thighs almost unbearable, and when his hips jerk up in response, a sharp breath escapes me.
I grind down again, chasing that friction, and his head drops back with a guttural curse. His arousal presses hard against me, and I swear, I can feel every inch of him even with the layers between us.
His hands find my breasts, cupping them through the soaked fabric, thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks.
Then he pulls my top over my head, revealing the lace bra underneath—black, thin, and almost completely see-through.
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes devouring me.
His mouth is on my chest in seconds, lips grazing the curve of my breast, tongue flicking along the edge of the lace.
I rock against him again, harder this time, and the sound he makes—raw, desperate—spurs me on.
His teeth graze my collarbone, a sharp bite followed by a soothing kiss, and I moan, clinging to his shoulders like I’m about to fall.
And then—BLARE.
The horn screams, splitting the moment like a knife. I jolt, eyes flying open. Reality crashes back, ugly and cold.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, scrambling off his lap like the seat’s on fire. My heart is racing, my chest heaving. “What the hell am I doing?”
He says my name again, softer this time, reaching for me—but I shake my head.
“No. No, this was a mistake,” I whisper, voice cracking.
I fumble for the door, flinging it open and slipping out before I can change my mind. I run toward the house, not daring to look back.
Inside, I lean against the door, eyes wide, pulse still frantic.
What thehelljust happened?
And why do I want more?
13
ELIAS
The streets are slick with last night’s rain. Puddles reflect the gray morning sky, broken only by the tires of passing cars.
I sit in my truck outside the bakery, engine idling low. It’s early, the kind of quiet that makes you think twice before speaking too loudly. She’s not here yet, but I wait. I always do. The cab pulls up, and I know it’s her before she even steps out.
Cora swings the door open and climbs down like she doesn’t know the town’s watching her.
Oversized cream sweater hanging off one shoulder and a brown skirt clinging to those hips, doing dangerous things to my concentration.
Her red hair is a mess of curls down her back, bouncing as she walks, wild and soft and screaming for my hands to be in it. She looks like autumn walked out of a painting and decided to break my damn resolve.
