Page 127 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

Oh shit…I think I’m going to need to come.

We’re so lost in each other that we don’t immediately notice the new presence in the kitchen. It’s only when I open my eyes, head tilted back to give Finn better access to my throat, that I see Ren standing in the doorway.

He’s just come from the shower, his dark hair still damp, a few water droplets clinging to his neck. He’s dressed simply in a black t-shirt and jeans, feet bare against the hardwood floor. But it’s his expression that arrests me—that signature ice-blue gaze heated to molten as he watches us, his jaw tight with what might be restraint.

“Ren,” I breathe. Before, I might have pulled away from Finn at the fact we’re being watched. Right now, after everything, I don’t.

Finn turns, following my gaze, his hands still possessive on my hips. “Hey,” he says, voice rough. “We were just…”

“Making pizza,” I finish for him, a breathless laugh escaping me at the absurdity of the statement given our obvious activities.

Something like amusement flickers across Ren’s features. “Interesting technique.”

Finn grins, unabashed. “Very hands-on approach.”

The moment should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t.

Still, I notice the way Ren maintains his distance, positioning himself against the counter across from us rather than approaching. Always watching, rarely touching. I’ve noticed. And…it hurts.

“How’s the plan progressing?” Finn asks, shifting slightly to give me space while keeping one arm loosely around my waist.

Ren’s expression grows more serious. “Stone texted. The drive is planted. Now we wait.”

“And Jax?” I ask, nodding toward the window where our pack leader is still visible, pacing the perimeter.

“Being Jax,” Ren says with a slight shrug. “Securing everything three times over.”

The oven beeps, signaling it’s reached temperature. I slide off the counter, smoothing my rumpled shirt as I cover the dough with a clean towel to rise.

“We made too much filling,” I say, gesturing to the various chopped toppings spread across the counter. “Anyone want to sample?”

Finn immediately reaches for a slice of pepperoni, popping it into his mouth. “Quality control. Very important.”

I laugh, selecting a piece of pineapple and holding it out to Ren. “Try this. Tell Stone that pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza.”

It’s a simple gesture, the kind of casual interaction that would be unremarkable with anyone else. But as I extend my hand toward Ren, he freezes, his entire body going rigid.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable—the slight widening of his eyes, the tension that instantly coils through his frame, the way his gaze fixes not on the offered fruit but on my hand itself, as if it presents some kind of threat or challenge he doesn’t know how to meet.

The moment stretches, awkward and painful, before he finally reaches out, careful to take the pineapple without letting our fingers touch. “Thanks,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

But the damage is done. The easy atmosphere has shattered, the playful mood evaporating like morning dew in harsh sunlight.

Finn shifts uncomfortably beside me, clearly sensing the change but uncertain how to address it. I see him exchange a glance with Ren, some silent communication passing between them that I can’t quite interpret.

And suddenly, I’ve had enough.

“Why?” I ask, the word sharp with a frustration I’ve been suppressing for days. “Whywon’t you touch me?”

Ren’s expression shutters instantly, that familiar mask of detachment sliding into place. The one that made me afraid of him in those first few days, not knowing what he was really hiding underneath. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“You know what I mean.” I step forward, deliberately entering his space in a way I know makes him uncomfortable. “You’ve been avoiding any physical contact with me since we got back from the cabin. You’ll talk to me, you’ll look at me, but the moment I get close enough to touch, you pull away.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say anything. In fact, his silence only fuels my growing sense of hurt and confusion.

“If you don’t want me, that’s fine,” I continue, but my voice wavers slightly despite my best efforts. “If the bond was just…I don’t know, adrenaline or obligation or whatever, just say so. But don’t keep looking at me like…like you’re starving and I’m a feast you won’t let yourself taste.”

Finn makes a small sound behind me, a mixture of surprise and something like approval at my directness. It bolsters my courage to press on.

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