Page 73 of Hard Knot

Squinting in the darkness now, I pat around myself again, trying to locate my glasses. As my vision slowly adjusts, I realize we're not in the living room as I'd first thought.

We're in the garage.

Holmes's form of punishment, no doubt, for losing control of the situation last night.And he had lost, spectacularly so.Elizabeth had played him like a virtuoso, pushing every button with precision until his carefully maintained control had cracked.

I can't help but smirk, remembering his expression when she'd pulled away. He'd probably needed a very cold shower after that display and sensual experience, followed by at least thirty minutes of dealing with his knot. It's rare to see Holmes so thoroughly outmaneuvered, especially by an Omega.

But Elizabeth isn't just any Omega.

The way she'd handled the whole situation— from Victoria's presence to Holmes's silent treatment — showed a level of strategic thinking that went far beyond mere defiance. She'd assessed the battlefield, identified her targets, and executed her attack with devastating efficiency.

No wonder Carter's so taken with her.

Maybe I’m starting to warm up to her as well.

Speaking of Carter, I can hear him shifting on whatever surface he'd crashed on, probably one of the vintage leather car seats we keep meaning to restore in a new model. His breathing suggests he's still mostly asleep, probably dreaming about the way Elizabeth had praised him last night.

It's been years since I've seen him this... content. Like some part of him that had been locked away is finally breathing again.Falling back asleep so quickly was usually a struggle for him, but looks like he’s out.

Maybe being exiled to this academic hellhole won't be such a punishment after all.

A dull throb starts behind my eyes as I give up searching for my glasses in the dark. The slight headache reminds me we'd been drinking last night—not heavily, but enough beers and shots to leave their mark.

The memories flood back, crystal clear despite the lingering alcohol.

Elizabeth had been mesmerizing in that black silhouette bodysuit, the fabric clinging to every curve and muscle like it had been painted on. The way she moved was hypnotic — each gesture a perfect blend of classical training and raw sensuality.

Her platinum hair caught the low lighting as it fell in waves around her shoulders, creating a halo effect that made her look almost ethereal.

She'd collected Carter’s and Holmes’ ties like war trophies throughout the evening, draping them around her neck in a makeshift scarf that somehow made her look both playful and far too tempting.

The silk accessories swayed with her movements as she danced.

"São Paulo" by The Weeknd featuring Anitta pulsed through our premium sound system, and Elizabeth moved like she was born to embody the music.

Her body rolled with the beat, hips swaying in perfect time as she sang along. The Portuguese lyrics flowed from her lips without hesitation, her pronunciation flawless as she twisted and turned through the space between us.

She incorporated elements of different dance styles seamlessly—a ballet turn here, a hip-hop body roll there, all woven together into something uniquely her own. It was likewatching art come to life, the kind of performance that makes you forget to breathe.

All of this happening in our luxurious kitchen which seemed to heighten the unexpected performance.

Her training was evident in every move — the perfect control, the effortless transitions, the way she could make even the simplest gesture look graceful. But there was something else too; wild and untamed that no amount of classical training could contain.

When she spun, the ties would fan out around her like wings. When she dropped into a low move, her muscles would flex visibly beneath the bodysuit's fabric, showing those hidden muscled lines proving she did the work in the gym and wasn’t all show and curves.

Every movement was purposeful yet seemed completely spontaneous like she was creating the choreography on the spot.

Carter watched her with undisguised fascination, already shirtless from our earlier drinking games which I swear he initially lost in hopes of getting fully naked. His chiseled muscles — usually hidden beneath designer shirts —caught the light as he leaned forward in his chair, completely captivated.

I couldn't blame him as I observed in a chair on the sidelines.

Elizabeth commanded attention without seeming to try, her presence filling the room in a way that had nothing to do with typical Omega allure and everything to do with pure talent and confidence.

At one point, she'd incorporated the ties into her dance, using them like props in a burlesque show — but there was nothing vulgar about it. Instead, it was playful and artistic, turning simple accessories into extensions of her movement.

"How many languages do you speak?" Carter had asked, his eyes tracking her every move. "Besides Russian?"

The question came after she'd been singing along not just to the Portuguese parts of the song, but to several other international tracks that had played earlier.

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