Page 16 of Knot My Type

The mattress dips when I sit down next to her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin but not quite touching. My heart's hammering so hard I'm sure she can hear it.

"It's okay," I say, reaching out to brush some hair away from her flushed face. My fingers barely touch her cheek, but she leans into it with this soft sound that goes straight through me and settles somewhere low in my gut. "You're safe. I'm here."

"I can smell you," she says suddenly, eyes fluttering shut. "You smell like home. Like safety." Her hand finds mine, fingers lacing together with surprising strength. "Is that normal? For a beta?"

My scent has never been anything special—not like the commanding thing alphas have or the sweet pull of omega pheromones. But something's definitely changed in the last few minutes. I feel more solid somehow, more present, like her need is pulling something out of me I didn't even know was there.

"I don't know," I admit. "But I feel it too. This connection."

She opens her eyes then, studying my face like she's trying to memorize it. The intensity makes me feel completely exposed. "Will you stay? Please? I know you don't have to, I know this isn't your job, but I—"

"Hey." I squeeze her hand. "Of course I'm staying. As long as you need me."

The relief that hits her face is so intense it steals my breath. She shifts closer, and I can feel the tremor in her muscles, the way her body seems to be at war with itself. Without thinking, I open my arms, and she flows into them like water, like she was always meant to be there.

The second our bodies line up, something clicks. Her soft curves mold perfectly against my smaller frame, her head finding that spot on my shoulder like it belongs there. The sweet scent of her heat mixes with something earthier, warmer—something that's definitely coming from me, and I'm slowly realizing this is my body responding to hers.

"Better?" I ask, lips brushing her hair.

She nods against my throat, and I feel her breathing start to even out a little. "How is this possible? I thought betas couldn't... that they didn't..."

"Yeah, me too." My hand finds her back, tracing slow circles through the soft fabric of her sweater. The wool is so thin I can feel the heat of her skin underneath. "Maybe the rules aren't as set in stone as everyone thinks."

We stay like that for a while, and I watch the tension slowly drain from her body. She's still flushed, still burning up, but that desperate edge to her breathing has calmed down. She's soft against me now, trusting in a way that makes my chest tight.

Her room feels like a cocoon around us. The fairy lights she has strung around her mirror cast everything in this warm, golden glow. There's a half-finished puzzle on her desk, somelandscape thing with a thousand pieces, and her easel in the corner has a painting she's been working on—abstract swirls of blue and green that somehow look exactly like how I feel right now. Her bookshelf is crammed full, books stacked horizontally on top of the vertical ones, and there's a coffee mug with old tea in it sitting on her windowsill.

"Tell me what you feel," I murmur against her hair. "Help me understand."

She's quiet for so long I think she might not answer, but then her voice comes, soft and wondering. "Like I'm not in my own skin. Like there's something inside me that needs completion. And you..." She tilts her head to look up at me, her eyes clearer now but still dark with something that makes my pulse skip. "You make it quiet. When you touch me, when you hold me, it's like all the noise in my head just stops."

I get it more than she knows. The constant hum of thoughts in my head has settled into something deeper, more focused. Every sense feels cranked up to eleven, all of them tuned specifically to her. I'm aware of every shift in her breathing, every tiny movement she makes, the way her scent changes as she relaxes.

My hands seem to have a mind of their own, one still tracing patterns on her back while the other plays with her hair. It's so soft, softer than I imagined it would be, and when I run my fingers through it, she makes this quiet sound that makes me want to do it again.

"Is this what bonding feels like?" she asks, her fingers playing with the buttons on my shirt.

The word hits me like a bolt of lightning. Bonding. I've heard about it, sure—that rare, intense connection that can happen between people during vulnerable moments. I always thought it was an alpha-omega thing, something tied up with dominance and control and all that bullshit. Not whatever this is.

"I think so," I answer honestly. "Though this feels different from what I've heard."

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to study my face. Her hair falls in dark waves around her shoulders, and the movement makes her sweater slip, showing off that elegant line of her collarbone. I have to clench my free hand to keep from tracing it with my fingers.

"Different how?"

I try to find the right words for what's happening between us. "All the stories make it sound violent. Overwhelming. Like losing your mind." I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, amazed by how soft it is. "This feels more like finding something I didn't know I was looking for."

Her smile is fucking radiant, transforming her already gorgeous face into something that stops my heart. "Yes. Exactly like that."

The heat is still there—I can see it in the flush painting her skin, feel it in the way her body moves with this unconscious sensuality that's driving me crazy. But it's not the desperate, painful thing it was when I first walked in. Now it's something warmer, more purposeful.

She leans down, and for a second I think she's going to kiss me. My heart pounds against my ribs as her face gets closer, her breath warm against my lips. But instead, she presses her forehead to mine, eyes closing as she breathes me in.

"I can feel you," she whispers. "Not just physically. Inside. Like you're becoming part of me."

I know exactly what she means because it's happening to me too—this slow, sweet interweaving that seems to be going on somewhere deeper than thought. My brain keeps trying to analyze it, to figure out the mechanics of what's happening, but every time I get close to an explanation, the sensation gets stronger and my thoughts scatter.

The room feels smaller now, more intimate. Her bedside lamp casts long shadows across the walls, and outside I can hear the wind picking up, rattling the old windows. But in here, wrapped up in each other, it feels like we're in our own world.

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