Page 60 of Knotting the Cowboys

The fierce dominant Omega who's been caged too long, finally ready to break free.

"I don't want you to stop," she breathes, and her hands come up to fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. "I'm so tired of stopping, of being careful, of pretending I don't want?—"

I swallow the rest of her words with my mouth,and Christ,the taste of her.

Sweet like honey mead, with an edge of coffee from whatever she drank in town. But underneath, the unique flavor that's pure Willa—something wild and untamed that makes me groan into the kiss.

She gasps at the sound, lips parting, and I take the invitation to deepen the contact.

My tongue slides against hers, and she meets me with enthusiasm that destroys any thought of keeping this gentle. Her fingernails dig into my chest through the cotton, holding on like I might disappear if she lets go.

She makes these tiny, broken gasps—like every cell in her body just remembered how badly she’s allowed to want. Maybe she’s always sounded like that when she let herself go, like there’s this secret language of hunger and hope hidden under her defiance, but hell if I’d ever heard anything better. It’s not the breathy, practiced moaning of those barroom hookups who used to angle for a place in our bed and our will. There’s no performance here, just pure, involuntary need, every sound stripped raw and sent straight to my nervous system.

The first whimper cracks open every piece of restraint I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours welding shut. The second—high, sweet, and totally unselfconscious—settles in my gut like a grenade. I want to swallow every one of her noises, to learn them by heart, to see how many different kinds I can pull from her thenext time we’re alone and I’m not worried about who’s watching from the porch.

She’s trembling now, but not with fear. I can feel it in the way her lips catch and stutter against mine, the way her hips shift restlessly even held in place by the seatbelt. It’s anticipation, it’s want, it’s the promise of what we could do to each other if I let myself off the chain. Some part of me is vaguely aware that Mavi and River and Austin could walk by at any second and see their usually uptight, ironclad Alpha losing his goddamn mind for a girl he barely knows. That should embarrass me, or at least stop me from chasing her taste like I haven’t eaten in weeks.

But it doesn’t. All I care about in this moment is the way Willa’s mouth opens for me, the way her pulse hammers under my thumb as I tighten my hold on her jaw, the way her hands tangle in the front of my shirt like she needs me to keep her afloat. She’s letting me lead but she’s not letting me dominate; every time I try to set the pace, she meets me with equal force, pushing back with a stubbornness that makes me want to ruin her and build her up a thousand times in the same breath.

My brain is static, everything white noise except for the knowledge that she’s here, real, wanting this as much as I do. I can taste it in her exhale—fear and hope and the faint, inexplicable sweetness of maple that clings to her skin even now. If I weren’t so far gone, the softness of it might break my heart. Instead, it just drives me harder.

I angle her head to take the kiss deeper, my other hand finding her waist, pulling her as close as the console allows. She arches into me, soft curves pressing against my chest, and I can feel the heat of her through our clothes. The urge to haul her into my lap, to grind against her until she's sobbing my name, nearly overwhelms what's left of my control.

"Been wanting this," I growl against her mouth, unable to stop the words. "Since the moment you stood in our kitchen looking lost and fierce and so fucking beautiful it hurt."

She moans at that, the sound vibrating through both of us, and her tongue tangles with mine in a way that suggests she's been thinking about this too. Imagining it, wanting it, fighting it just like I have.

The spark between us detonates, ignition instant and absolute. She parts her lips, and the need that surges through both of us is nuclear—hot, frantic, untamable. The first brush is gentle, a test, but we both fail the restraint immediately. She drags me downward, nails biting into my chest, and I go with her, helpless to the gravity well she’s become in my universe. My mouth crashes into hers and the taste is intoxicating: maple and ozone, a hint of fear, a drug-smuggler’s boldness. She moans and I inhale it, oxygen and invitation and challenge. Every closed-off, lonely year gets poured out on my tongue, and I drink it down greedy and grateful.

We lose the thread of thought, the script of first kisses and tender patience. It’s teeth and tongue and hunger instead. The console digs into my hip, but I lean in anyway, bracing her to the seat with a hand at the base of her skull. She tilts her chin higher, wanting more, and I give it, deepening the kiss until she’s panting. My other hand comes up, sliding under the curtain of auburn hair to cup her jaw, thumb stroking the hinge. Every tiny tremble, every catch in her breath, rewires the animal inside me. I want her to feel safe, yes, but I want her to feel wanted more. I want her to know I see the walls she keeps up and crave what’s burning behind them.

She matches me, beat for beat, gasp for gasp. Her fingers clutch the fabric of my shirt until the seams threaten to split, and she hauls me closer, a low, frantic whimper simmering in her throat. I’m past the point of shame, of worrying what the otherguys might see or think. Let them witness. Let the wind carry her scent and make them jealous. I want the whole damn county to know that Willa James is mine, that she’s found her place and it’s right here in our hands, our arms, our lives.

She breaks away first, only a fraction, lips swollen and glazed, pupils enormous in the half-light. There’s a wildness in her eyes now—fear, yes, but also hope, and underneath it the simmering promise of all the ways we could wreck each other. The sound of her name, heavy and thick, rumbles out of me before I can swallow it. She shudders, nails scraping a path down my sternum, and I nearly come undone right there.

Because this isn't just a kiss. It's years of longing, of silence, of being the odd woman out in every pack she’s ever survived. It’s every time she’s been left behind, every time she’s been told she’s too much—too smart, too stubborn, too broken. I want to erase those words with my own, with my mouth and my hands and the promise that she’s never going to go without again.

My hand slides from her waist to her back, finding bare skin where that damn sweater has slipped. She's furnace-hot under my palm, and the feel of her—soft and real and here—makes me growl possessively. Mine, every instinct screams.

This Omega is mine to protect, to pleasure, to worship with hands and mouth until she never doubts her place again.

I break the kiss only to trail my lips along her jaw, finding that spot just below her ear that makes her whole body shiver. "You have no idea," I murmur against her skin, "what you do to me. How hard it's been to keep my hands off you. How many times I've imagined this since you’ve arrived. My desperation to just scoop you up and make you ours."

"Cole," she gasps, and hearing my name like that—breathless and wanting—nearly breaks me. "Please, I?—"

A door slams somewhere near the house, loud enough to penetrate our bubble. We freeze, remembering where we are,who's waiting, all the reasons this shouldn't be happening in the front seat of my truck like teenagers who can't wait.

Even though it feels like we can’t.

I pull back slowly, reluctant to lose contact but knowing we need to stop before this goes further than either of us is ready for.

Willa's lips are swollen from my kiss, her hair mussed from my fingers, and she looks thoroughly claimed even though we've barely started.

Fuck…she’s so damn gorgeous…

The sight makes something primal and satisfied purr in my chest.

"We really do need to go in," I say, voice rough with want. "Before Mavi comes looking and finds us like this."

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