Page 20 of Knot Your Sugar

I know that's the reasonable thing to do.

So why am I already looking around to see if anyone would notice me slipping onto that path?

* * *

I am so, SO stupid.

Five minutes later, I’m walking down the narrow path into the small woods that border the south side of the festival grounds, cursing my complete lack of willpower with every step.

This is theexact oppositeof what I’d resolved, not ten minutes ago, I wouldn't do. But his scent, that damned intoxicating alpha cocktail, seems to have bypassed my brain and plugged directly into some ancient, primal homing beacon deep inside me. My DuoBlocks, bless their usually reliable little hearts, are clearlyon strike. Or possibly, they’ve just thrown up their tiny chemical hands in surrender.

The path is little more than a faint track winding between tall, whispering grasses and shadowy trees. The lively jazz music from the festival’s main stage fades with each step, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the rhythmic chirping of crickets. The night air is cool against my skin, but it does nothing to cool the inferno raging inside me.

Suddenly, the path curves around a massive oak tree. Moonlight filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows across the ground. That’s when I see them—just ahead, in a small clearing. The roses, climbing and tumbling in brambles, their pale pink blooms glowing in the ethereal light.

"You came."

I spin around so fast I nearly fall, only to find Dorian stepping from the shadows, his expression hidden in the half-light. I didn't sense him, but now, standing just feet away, his scent crashes over me again, like a tidal wave.

"You gave me excellent directions," I say, surprised by how seductive my voice sounds. I was going for casual, but somehow it came out sounding like I was auditioning for a sex hotline.

"It seems I did." He takes a step closer, the moonlight now revealing the intensity of his gaze.

My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I should leave. Right now. Before I do something stupid. Again. "This is a mistake."

"Probably," he agrees, taking another step. "Tell me to go, and I will."

The words stick in my throat. I can’t tell him to go. Because, god help me, I don’twanthim to. My body is thrumming with a desperate energy, responding to his proximity in ways it never has before, not even before I started taking DuoBlocks. It’sterrifying. It’s exhilarating. I close my eyes for a brief second, and I can almost see invisible threads pulling us together.

"I can't..." I begin, not even sure what I'm trying to say.

"Can't what, Elena?" He's close now. So close I can see the faint pulse at the base of his throat. "Can't resist this? Can't stop thinking about the other night, about what happened in your apartment? Can't ignore this… current thrumming between us?"

"All of it," I whisper, honest at last.

His hand rises slowly, giving me time to retreat, but I remain frozen in place as his fingers graze my cheek. The contact sends electricity racing across my skin, and I can't stop the small sound that escapes me.

"I've been thinking about you,sugar," he murmurs, his thumb now stroking gently along my jawline. "Far more than is professional."

Sugar?A distant alarm bell rings in the recesses of my brain. He's the second alpha who's called me that today. Is it a coincidence or a reference to my actual smell?

But right now, the concern feels about as urgent as remembering to buy milk when your house is on fire—utterly irrelevant next to the overwhelming reality of Dorian’s touch

"We shouldn't," I say, even as I step closer to him.

"No," he agrees, his other hand finding my waist. "We really shouldn't."

And then words are irrelevant, because his mouth is on mine, and the world tilts on its axis. We crash together, my back hitting the rough bark of the oak tree as he kisses me with a desperation that mirrors my own. It’s hungry, almost frantic, all the unspoken tension, the simmering awareness that’s been building between us since that first night, exploding in a single, incandescent moment of contact. His hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, fingers splayed against my scalp, thengliding down my sides, over my ribs, pulling me tighter, closer, molding my body to his.

His lips leave mine to blaze a fiery trail down my neck, finding that ridiculously sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me gasp, my nails unintentionally biting into his shoulders through his clothes. The sound, my helpless little gasp, seems to trigger something primal in him. A low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest as he presses himself more insistently against me, the hard ridge of his arousal shockingly evident, even through our clothes.

"Elena," he breathes against my skin, my name a raw, ragged prayer on his lips.

A single, solitary functioning brain cell, my last bastion of self-preservation, suddenly flares to life.Stop!I can't let this go too far. I know the script. I know what happens next: clothes discarded, skin against skin, maybe even an out-of-control claiming bite that I can't allow, no matter how much my body might be screaming for it in a few minutes.

I guide his hands to my hips, keeping them outside my clothing as I shift against him, creating friction that makes us both moan. It's a compromise, not giving in completely, but not denying either of us what our bodies are demanding.

"Like this," I whisper, showing him what I need with the roll of my hips against his. "Just like this."

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