Page 56 of Knot Their Arrangement

"Oh no, the ice cream! I made you waste such nice vanilla ice cream. Please, let me cover the bill for?—"

"It's not necessarily a waste when melted," Damon interrupts, his voice carrying that dangerous smoothness that makes my skin tingle. "Just because it's in liquid form doesn't mean it's no longer valuable."

He’s…right.

It’s as if he needs to remind me that I won’t get in trouble or scolded for being the reason such delicacy of sweetness was “wasted”.

A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.

"We could use it like they do in the books I read..." The words slip out before my brain can catch up with my mouth. "But I guess this isn't the right place to be playing with melted anything." I pause, then add without thinking, "Whipped cream is sweeter anyway."

Oh goddess.

The moment my brain registers what I've just said, heat floods my cheeks. My eyes dart to Kieran first, then Damon, finding matching sinister grins that confirm they've caught my meaning exactly.

"I-I didn't mean it like that!" I stammer, then backtrack. "Well, maybe I did...but not to be weird or horny or anything!"

A whine of embarrassment escapes me as I cover my face.

"This is so embarrassing..."

Damon's chuckle is rich and dark, like melted chocolate.

"And what if we were fine with you meaning exactly what you meant?" His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Would you be down to enjoying a sweet taste of what could be offered?"

My jaw drops as I stare at him, suddenly hyperaware of the tension crackling between us. It's odd how natural this feels, how right, despite how different we are.

Damon Castellano.

His name alone carries weight, speaks of power and danger and things I probably shouldn't want.

The rational part of my brain catalogs all the reasons this is a terrible idea – he's clearly involved in criminal enterprises, moves in circles far above my status, could probably ruin my life with a single phone call.

But what if it just remains like this?

"A quick fling of pleasure and lust," I muse aloud, "and then we go our separate ways?"

Even with all I've shared about my past, it's not like these men have the time or inclination to use it against me. They probably don't even care about the secrets of one runaway Omega.

"And what would be beneficial in such a frisky one-night connection like this?" I whisper, the question emerging soft and uncertain.

Damon's smile spreads wider, but it's his eyes that capture me. They've darkened to the color of aged whiskey, yet remain locked solely on mine with an intensity that makes my Omega instincts purr. This isn't the objectifying stare I'm used to from Alphas. This is different –focused, appreciative, filled with desire but not degradation.

He answers by reaching for a spoon, managing to capture some still-solid ice cream. The way he brings it to his mouth first is deliberate, calculated to build anticipation.

Then he's closing the distance between us, and everything else fades away.

The first touch of his lips against mine is electric – cold from the ice cream but somehow burning hot. The vanilla melts between us, sweet and cold and perfect as it mingles with the natural heat of our mouths.

A moan escapes me before I can stop it, soft and needy against his lips. The sound draws a responding groan from him, and suddenly the kiss transforms from teasing to desperate.

I expect to feel overwhelmed, to want to submit to his obvious dominance. Instead, something stubborn and defiant rises in me. I find myself pushing back against his authority, matching his intensity with my own.

This isn't submission – it's a dance.

The realization is both frightening and empowering.

Every romance novel I've devoured spoke of this kind of connection, this perfect balance of give and take. But reading about it could never prepare me for the reality.

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