Page 69 of Knotted By my Pack
I slow the car, staring for a second too long.
She’s hiding. Probably still sore, probably nursing that post-heat haze with a heating pad and contemplating what a bad idea this was.
If she thinks I’m going to chase her, she’s sorely mistaken.
In my office, the light bleeds in through the blinds, strips of pale gray slashing across the floor. I sit behind the desk, switch on the monitor, and try to focus.
Numbers blur. Reports don’t make sense. I run a hand down my face and toss the stack of paperwork into the drawer.
This Omega wrecked me. One night, and I’m acting like I’ve been cursed.
I lean back in the chair, eyes shut, and all I see is her: flushed skin, mouth parted, hair messy from my hands.
She let me do whatever I wanted. Took everything. Gave me more. And when it was over, she didn’t cling or cry or ask me to stay. She just slipped away like she was never even there.
And that’s the part I hate the most.
Because something in me noticed.
I’m not built for softness. I’m not built for the slow, sugar-coated pull of someone like her.
I came to Driftwood Cove to secure the land for my father’s expansion, make us a fuckload of money, and get the hell out. That was it. The plan was simple.
So why the fuck did I let her touch me like that?
I push up from the desk and pace the room. Her laugh drifts through my memory—light, caught somewhere between nervous and curious. She looked up at me like she wanted to unravel everything I spent years holding together.
And worse, she almost did.
I pour myself a drink and sip it slowly, trying to chase the taste of her out of my mouth.
But I’m back on the couch with her, her knees spread, making that ridiculous sound when I pressed my mouth to the softest part of her.
It’s the way she begged, barely holding herself up, the heat of her skin, her fingers tugging my hair like she needed me, that undid me.
Fuck.
I adjust myself through my slacks, jaw tight. It’s not about her. It’s the Omega scent, still tangled in my sheets, still clinging to the inside of my car.
That’s what this is. Biology. Chemistry. A rut spiraling longer than it should’ve because I got careless.
She’s not important.
I finish the drink and toss the empty glass into the sink. The crash echoes in the space, loud and sharp, and I stare at it for a moment before turning away.
Tomorrow, I’ll meet with Lockwood. Push the permits through. Remind the town why I’m here. Once the contracts are signed and the paperwork’s cleared, I’ll leave.
And Cora?
She’ll be exactly what she was always meant to be.
Temporary.
The harbor looks like hell.
Piles of torn asphalt, twisted scaffolding, and steel rods are sticking out of the ground like bones.
Machinery hums low in the background, and the smell of salt and diesel mixes in the air. Water laps just beyond the edge of the debris, but there’s nothing peaceful about the view now.
