Page 129 of Chain Me Knot

Her nest is alive with us. The clothing she has chosen is rich with our scents tangled among the wool and the fleece, reinforcing her space. It’s not just fabric. It’s comfort, protection, and memory braided together. My dark coffee, Asher’s whiskey and dry leather, Soren’s woodsy smoke mix with Emma’s wild honeysuckle and the freshness of vanilla—the scents blend in the closed, soft air, turning the room into a haven none of us have ever truly known before now.

She drops to her knees, determination and longing splayed across her features, and buries her nose in the blanket before she weaves it into the design. She arranges the pillows, stacking and layering them, each placement precise, building up the borders and softening the middle. Her hands work with a gentle purpose, her whole being poured into this act of creation.

“So fucking beautiful,” I breathe.

This is more than beautiful. This is sacred, raw, drenched in everything she’s fought to reclaim. I’m in awe. She is, right now, everything an omega should be, and we get to witness it. Be part of it. A lump rises in my throat as I stand at the threshold, overwhelmed by the courage, beauty, and love radiating from her and the space she’s claimed as her own.

Emma rises to her feet, her hands twisting in the fabric of the last pillow. She’s agitated, skin flushed, chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths. The air shimmers with her need, tension radiating from her. She whines as her gaze snaps to Asher, our bond flaring with desire before she moves to him.

She presses her nose to the side of his throat and inhales. She rubs her cheek along his jaw and down toward his collarbone, marking him with her scent. The sound that comes out of her is low, urgent. A distinctly feminine omega growl, rich with possession and ownership.

Then her hands fist in the hem of his shirt, tugging. She snarls when it doesn’t come free, the impatience and agitation spilling out of her in a frustrated whine.

“Here, Moonbeam, let me,” he starts, but she cuts him off with another omega growl. He gets the message and peels off his shirt, then stands motionless as she yanks at his waistband, demanding the rest of his clothing.

She nearly tears his pants apart in her urgency, leaving him bare. Asher shudders, his hand wrapping reflexively around his thick cock, arousal written clear in his eyes as he watches her scoop the pieces of clothing that aren’t splattered with blood and hauls the bundle back to the nest where she layers it carefully on the base, each piece becoming part of her growing haven.

Then her gaze fastens on Soren. His own desire simmers under tight control as she comes to him. She wraps herself around him, breathing in his scent, nose trailing from his neck to his chest as she devours him with that same hungry, instinct-ravaged fervor. Her hands are rough, tearing at his jacket, shirt and pants until he’s bare, too. Soren leans down, catching her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste him as she rips away his clothing piece by piece.

With his scent added to her prize, Emma turns back to her nest, working quickly, layering Soren’s clothes with Asher’s, building the walls stronger, higher, more complete.

Then she lifts her head, pinning me with her brilliant, black-blown gaze. The entire world narrows down to the space between us. I can’t move. My heart pounds as she steps closer, grips my shirt, and yanks it open.

Chapter Fifty-One

Phoenix

Ican’t move. Can’t fucking breathe. My heart hammers against my ribs like it wants to break free, to hand itself over to her on a silver platter. If she demands it, she’ll get it. I’ll gladly rip it out of my chest and hand it to her with a smile on my godsdamned face.

“Off,” she says. Just that. One word.

And fuck, it’s an order I’ll follow for the rest of my life and beyond.

I let her strip me bare inch by torturous inch. The cotton catches on my watch, and she growls—actuallygrowls—tugging harder until it gives way, flinging it aside like it offended her.

“Shoes,” she demands, pointing atmy feet.

I toe them off without looking, my eyes locked on hers. On the way her pupils swallow all that pretty blue, leaving only hunger.

Her hands go straight for my belt, popping the button of my pants. The snick of the zipper is obscenely loud in the quiet room and when she shoves them down my hips, my cock springs free so fast it slaps against my abdomen.

She’s all liquid grace and omega certainty until she's kneeling between my spread legs, her small hands braced on my thighs. The overhead light catches the light gold in her hair, the flush spreading down her chest, the way her throat works as she swallows hard.

So beautiful.

Every muscle in my body is locked when she wraps her delicate fingers around the base of my cock. The contrast nearly kills me, her soft skin against the throbbing veins of my hardness, her slender wrist twisting as she gives one experimental pump. The feel of her palm around my knot shoots liquid need through me.

The groan tears out of me before I can stop it. Her fingers are so small, so soft, but the way she grips me, firm and possessive, sends lightning streaking down my spine. She strokes me, slow and exploratory, her thumb swiping over the swollen head, smearing the bead of pre-cum gathered there.

When she looks up through her lashes, her pupils swallow the blue until all that's left is dark, endless want and I’m done. Gone.

“Fuck,” I choke out, my hips jerking instinctively.

“Mine,” she whispers, and the word isn't a question.

“Do whatever the hell you want to me, Tough Girl,” I rasp, my voice shredded. “I’m so totally yours. Now and for fucking ever.”

Her rosebud lips part on a shaky exhale, her breath ghosting over the head of my cock where it stands rigid against my stomach. Her breath quickens and that brilliant gaze goes dark with hunger. Her scent blooms around us with her arousal, thick, syrupy-sweet honeysuckle, and I swear to the gods, my knees almost buckle as her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips.

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