Page 29 of Knot Forever

I hold my breath as he leans in, warmth caressing my ear. “I want you, Nova Chevnik. And I always get what I want.”

I force the words out. “I’m not a sure bet, Asher.”

He licks his lips as his eyes drop, feeling like a caress against my face despite the fact that he’s not even touching me. “Maybe not, but I am. Bet on me, Nova. On us. And find out what freedom tastes like.”

His words sink into my bones, into my veins, settling there like a comforting blanket as he pushes back, holding his arm towards the store for me to pass him.

I’m still dazed as we enter, and an assistant rushes towards us with a wide smile. “Miss Chevnik? Mr King? We have your area all set up for you, if you’ll follow me.”

“Area?” I mutter to Asher out of the side of my mouth as we follow her through the store. He doesn’t respond, but a smile tips the corner of his mouth as the assistant unclips a red velvet rope, ushering us into a space separate to the rest of the store.

“Is this space acceptable, Mr King?” she asks. Her eyes flick between us, but she doesn’t move until Asher dismisses her with a nod as I take it in.

Deep wine-colored chairs sit in the center of the room, surrounding a gold table. The bucket on top holds what looks like champagne, two crystal glasses to the side.

It’s lovely, but my attention snags on the piles and piles of… everything, scattered around the room.

Candles, toiletries, bedding, cushions, soft toys… and so. Many. Blankets. Every color and material and type is here, all waiting patiently for somebody to look through them.

My eyes widen as I turn to Asher. “Did you do this?”

I bought the materials for my first nest at home from here, but I did it by shopping the aisles like everyone else. I’ve never even heard of something like this. It’s like my own private store, and I’m a little in love as I dart forward, examining one of the blankets that’s caught my eye.

My hand pauses in mid-stretch, but a large hand nudges gently at my back, encouraging me to step forwards and grab the violet, soft fleece. I hug it against me, my hands stroking over the silky material.

“All for you, little one.” Asher looks serious when I glance at him, but his eyes are soft. “Take as long as you want.”

The joyful squeak that erupts in my throat is pure, omegawantas I sink down, my hands running excitedly over the offerings in front of me. There are dozens here, each one more beautiful than the last, and I force myself to think about which colors I want in my nest.

No pink. Anything but pink.

Nothing that reminds me in any way of the fuchsia horrors of my bedroom that my mother insisted on me having. Quickly, I sort through and put anything even remotely related to pink to the side.

Asher appears next to me, handing over a glass of champagne. Taking it with a smile, I sit back on my heels, taking a sip of the fizzy golden liquid. “Thank you.”

“No pink?” he asks directly. He settles next to me on the floor. His suit jacket has been discarded over on the chair, and he undoes the buttons on the sleeves of his black shirt, rolling them up above his elbows and revealing thick forearms with a light dusting of hair.

I don’t realize I’m staring until a finger brushes against my lips. Yanking my head back, I give him an admonishing, slightly pleading look. “Time.”

He looks unrepentant, but duly drops his hand. “I’m a sure bet, remember? Now tell me why you don’t like pink.”

Clutching my violet blanket in one hand and my glass in the other, we sit for hours as Asher coaxes all sorts of information out of me. My favorite foods, drink, colors, films, and music. Everything he possibly can.

“Stop,” I declare eventually, waving my hands at him. “You must be bored of hearing about me by now.”

He doesn’t look away. “Every single thing about you is interesting, Nova. All of these little details build up into a picture of you. How could I possibly be bored?”

Well. Color flares high in my cheeks as I glance away from his eyes.

“What about you?” I ask softly. “You know pretty much everything about me now, but I know nothing about you.”

He pauses, but I give him a pleading look, and he sighs.

“Fine,” he says, but I detect a grumble in his tone. “Ask your questions.”

Setting my glass down, I give him my full attention.

“How old are you?”

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