Page 76 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“I see through the whole performance,” I bite back. “Because you’re not here for them.”

I wait a beat. Let it land.

“You’re here forme.”

Her smile flickers, and she sets her mug down slowly. She tilts her head, lashes fluttering as she elongates her neck.

“Someone’s very sure of himself,” she practically purrs. “If I didn’t know better, Wes, I’d say you were…jealous.”

“Youwish.”

“I'm just calling it like I see it. After all,you’rethe one keeping a log of my sock rotation like it’s a tactical threat.”

I crowd her back against the counter, and my nose brushes the curve of her jaw before I can talk myself out of it.

“There’s that scent,” I murmur. “Every time. The second I’m close, your body goes traitor.”

And there it is: that telltale omega tremble. The one she can’t control.

“You know what your problem is?” I ask. “You keep trying to play me. You want to act like you’re in control; like you can tease and bait and fuck your way through this house without consequences.”

I pull back just enough to see her face; and the crack in her mask isglorious. She’s wrecked and fuming and already melting down from the inside out. Her fingers curl against the edge of the countertop, white-knuckled and trembling.

“But your omega knows,” I say, dragging my body tight against hers until she’s flush with every hard, straining inch of me. “Doesn’t she?”

I can feel the way she’s clenching her thighs, how close she is to rubbing herself on me without even realizing it.

“You remember,” I say, my voice low and vicious, just for her. “You remember exactly what it’s like. Me growling your name into your neck. My hand yanking your hair. When your knees go out and you can’t even speak—just make those pathetic little noises and beg me not to stop.”

I lean in until my lips brush her cheek. “When I knot you so deep, you forget your own name.”

Her body betrays her with every twitch and tremble. She brushes against my cock through my jeans and gasps.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she manages, but it’s breathy and cracking at the seams.

She’s shaking.

And I’m winning.

“Too late,” I growl, pressing even harder into her until there’s no space left to pretend. “You think I haven’t noticed how you smell when you come back from your little dates? You come home all slick and smug, like you’re testing me. Like you want to see how long I’ll let you get away with it.”

I drop my mouth near hers, and her lips part on instinct, her chin tipping up toward me.

“Well, here’s your answer, sweetheart.Not. Fucking. Long.”

Her hands fly up as though she’s about to shove me off, but they don’t push: they just land on my chest andstay, her small fingers fisting the fabric of my shirt.

“And you want to talk about jealousy?” I laugh, quiet and mean. “You want to haunt me? Live rent-free inmyhouse, inmypack, inmyhead?”

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, and our noses almost touch.

I want to bite her mouth. I want to kiss her until she cries.

“Well, congratu-fucking-lations, Aimee. You succeeded the moment you walked in smelling likemine.”

“I’m not yours,” she whispers, even as a shiver rolls down her spine.

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