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"Present."

"We should stop."

"We should do a lot of things."

"You're still recovering."

"I'm recovered enough."

"Alexis will actually murder me."

"I'll protect you."

He laughs against my lips, and I swallow the sound, greedy for every part of him I can steal.

We kiss like teenagers, like adults who know better, like mates who've found each other after searching in all the wrong places.

The fireplace pops, sending sparks up the chimney, and we break apart just enough to breathe. His forehead rests against mine, both of us panting like we've run marathons instead of kissed for—how long? Minutes? Hours?

Time has gone liquid, meaningless.

"We should slow down," he says, but his hands are still moving, tracing the shape of me through silk.

"Probably."

"You're agreeing?"

"I'm acknowledging your statement. Very different from agreement."

"Velvet."

"Alessandro."

We stare at each other, sexual tension so thick it has physical weight. His scent has gone dark, possessive, Alpha pheromones flooding the space until I'm swimming in them.

My omega biology responds enthusiastically, preparing for something my mind knows can't happen tonight.

"You're going to be the death of me," he mutters.

"Mutual destruction. Very romantic."

He kisses me again, quick and fierce, then steps back.

The loss of contact makes me whimper before I can stop it.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice rough. "Alexis arrives tomorrow. You should meet the pack before we... complicate things."

"This isn't already complicated?"

"This is beautifully simple compared to what happens when I finally get you in bed."

The promise in his voice makes me clench around nothing, and from his sharp inhale, he can smell the effect he has on me.

"Cocktease," I accuse with a huff.

"Prudent strategist."

"Same thing."