Page 61 of Knotting the Cowboys

She nods, still breathing hard, fingers slowly releasing their death grip on my shirt. But her eyes hold mine, dark with promise and heat that matches my own. I can see the internal battle, the way she’s hesitating to speak as her lips open partially but no words come out.

Then there’s that flicker of defiance. The unraveling beauty of her confidence beginning to spark in those wild eyes.

"This isn't over," she says, and there's that defiant flame again, the dominant Omega showing through. “Understood?”

Good.

"Yes, Boss" I tease, thumb brushing her swollen bottom lip one more time because I can't help myself. "Noted."

The truck door closes with a soft click that might as well be a gunshot for how it echoes through my body.

Willa's scent lingers—vanilla and maple and the ghost of her arousal that no expensive underwear can fully hide—while I watch her walk toward the house with careful steps, like she doesn't trust her legs.

I don't trust mine either, not with my cock straining against denim hard enough to leave permanent impressions, not with the taste of her still burning on my tongue like whiskey and want.

She pauses at the porch steps, one hand gripping the rail, and glances back.

Just for a second, but it's enough to see the flush still painting her cheeks, the way her lips remain swollen from my kiss.

Then she's gone, disappearing inside to "wash up before dinner" like we didn't just set fire to every boundary between us.

I exhale hard, letting my head fall back against the seat.

My dick throbs with each heartbeat, pressing against my zipper like it's trying to break free on its own. The ache runs bone-deep, worse than any injury I've taken on the job, because this one's self-inflicted.

I did this to myself, kissing her like that, tasting what I can't have—not yet, not until she's ready for everything that comes with letting an Alpha claim her.

Letting each of us into her life the way a pack should.

Movement catches my eye, and I turn to find Mavi leaning against the passenger window, arms crossed, watching me with that look he gets when he's cataloging evidence. Of course he's here. Of course he saw everything. The man's got a sixth sense for drama and terrible timing.

"Fuck," I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Not now, Mavi."

He doesn't move, just raises one eyebrow in that infuriating way that says he's not going anywhere until he's satisfied his curiosity.

Through the glass, I can see the slight smirk playing at his lips.

Bastard's enjoying this.

I shift in my seat, trying to find a position that doesn't make my cock scream for attention, but it's useless.

Every movement just increases the friction, sends another pulse of need through my system. My balls feel heavy, tight with the need for release, and my knot—Jesus, I can already feel it starting to swell at the base, responding to the Omega pheromones that cling to every surface she touched.

"Fuck it," I mutter, reaching for my belt.

If Mavi wants a show, he can deal with the consequences.

The zipper sounds obscenely loud in the quiet cab, but the relief when I free my cock makes me groan.

I'm harder than I've been in years, the head already dark and dripping, veins standing out along the shaft like they're trying to escape my skin.

One stroke has me hissing through my teeth, oversensitive from denial and the lingering ghost of Willa's touch.

I close my eyes, letting the fantasy take over.

In my mind, she's still here, but the console's gone and she's straddling my lap, that white sweater pushed up to reveal perfect breasts tipped with dusty pink nipples.

Her pussy hovers just above my cock, hot and wet and ready, while she makes those broken little gasps that nearly ended me during our kiss.

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