Page 64 of Knotted By my Pack
“Then don’t,” Julian says, breath hitching. “Finish outside. Just don’t stop yet.”
Noah keeps going. He lowers himself fully on top of her, moving with slower strokes now, as if coaxing the last of her heat from her body.
His hand slides under her knee and lifts it, adjusting her angle. Her body opens under him, every inch of her bared and marked with our attention.
She cries out again, her voice hoarse now. Her legs start to go limp, her hips only barely responding. And then it happens.
Her body tenses once more, thighs clamping around him, her breath catching. She lets out a long, broken sob of release and then collapses beneath him, boneless.
Her heat cracks like a storm breaking. We all smell it at once. The shift. The edge of desperation slipping into a sated calm. Her scent changes. No more fire. No more wild ache.
Noah pulls out just in time, releasing across her stomach with a low groan, his muscles flexing from the effort not to knot.
Julian and I finish seconds later, stroking through the last of it, panting. Watching her. Watching each other.
Her body glistens, limp and warm on the couch, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. She’s out. Not unconscious. Just overwhelmed. Wrecked in the best way.
I wipe her clean with a towel I grab from the kitchen. Noah lifts her into his arms carefully, pressing a kiss to her hair.
“She needs rest,” he says.
Julian runs a hand through his hair, nodding once. “Let’s take her to my room.”
And we move, quietly now, the three of us padding through the house like something holy just happened. And maybe it did.
19
CORA
The sheets cling to my skin.
Warm, damp. I’m buried in a bed that smells like them—Elias’s sharp spice, Julian’s deep musk, Noah’s cedar and clean rain.
It’s everywhere. On me. In the air. I shift, and a sharp ache pulses between my legs, a reminder of the night before.
My body hums low, heavy with something that’s not quite pain. Soreness. Exhaustion.
Bits and pieces float in, like scattered memories—Elias’s voice close to my ear, Julian’s mouth between my thighs, Noah pressing into me so slow I wanted to scream.
My fingers curl into the blanket as heat flashes through me again. Not the same kind. Something quieter. It’s over.
I blink slowly, letting the room come into focus. It’s not mine. The sheets are dark gray, the comforter soft and worn.
Julian’s room, then. I can tell from the books stacked along the far wall and the scent of his cologne faint on the pillow beside me.
My body is bare under the blanket, skin kissed with faint bruises and raw pleasure. I pull the covers up to my chest just as the door opens.
Noah.
He steps in carefully, like he’s not sure I’m awake. A worn T-shirt hangs from his fingers. His eyes flick to mine and stay there, his mouth parting slightly when he sees me sitting up.
“Hey,” he says. “How are you?”
I clear my throat, my voice catching. “Okay. I think.” I search his face. “How long have I been out?”
“A couple of hours.” He walks in, quiet, gaze slipping to the floor, then back to me like he’s forcing himself. “You passed out. We all did, eventually. But I wanted to stay up, make sure you were alright.”
There’s a tight flutter behind my ribs, something strange knotting in my chest. I swallow it down and glance away. “Where are the others?”
