Page 73 of Knot Their Safe Haven
"Forever's a long time."
"Not nearly long enough."
She stretches up, and I meet her halfway, our lips meeting in a kiss that tastes like chocolate and wine and seventeen years of patience finally rewarded.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard, our scents so intertwined that we smell like one creature instead of two.
"Inside," she manages. "Before your female Alpha reviews the footage and comes to kick your ass for misbehaving."
"Technically, you kissed me."
"Technicalities won't save you from her wrath."
That has us chuckling in agreement.
We move toward the doors, hands linked, steps synchronized.
"Thank you," she says suddenly. "For this. For dinner. For—" She gestures at everything. "For making me feel like I'm worth the effort."
"You're worth everything."
We reach the door, and she pauses, looking back at the table with its candles still burning, at the night sky now brilliant with stars, at the life waiting to begin.
"One more thing."
"Anything."
"When Alexis gets here? I want to learn how she does it. How she exists as a female Alpha without apology."
"She'll love that. She's been dying for another woman in the pack. Says we have too much testosterone and not enough fashion sense."
"Well, she's not wrong about the fashion. Those twins dress like they're auditioning for a mob movie."
"That's actually intentional."
"Of course it is."
We enter the cottage laughing, our joined scents filling the space with the perfume of compatibility, of possibility, of plates being cleared and new courses being prepared.
The first date ends, but everything else?
Everything else is just beginning.
THE GRAVITY OF DANCING
~VELVET~
The last threads of sunset cling to the horizon like a lover reluctant to leave, painting the glass house in shades of amber and rose gold.
Stars pierce through the darkening canvas above, each one reflected in the windows until we're surrounded by cosmos both real and mirrored.
Alessandro's suit jacket weighs on my shoulders—warm, expensive wool that smells of him.
Leather and storm clouds, power and promise.
The fabric swallows my frame, transforming me into something claimed without violence, protected without cage.
His hand rests at the small of my back, the other cradling mine as we move to Miles Davis bleeding from hidden speakers.
