Page 40 of Stuck with my Pack
When I wake in the early morning light, I’m nestled in Tyler’s arms, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm against my back.
For a moment, I let myself enjoy the warmth of him, the safety I feel in his embrace.
But then reality crashes in. Ethan. Brodie. The inn. My emotions swirl, a tangled mess of guilt and longing and confusion.
Quietly, I slip out of his arms and tiptoe toward the door.
17
BRODIE
It’s been a few days since anyone has seen Sophie. We know she’s trying to deal with everything. Giving her space is fucking driving everyone insane. Tyler is so lovesick that we don’t recognize him anymore. Ethan is brooding alone somewhere, licking his old wounds, but through the old bond, I can feel his pain.
I just need to work. Work keeps me sane and busy. This is what brought me to the inn at first light. And the hope of seeing Sophie today. I’m still reeling after her mini-heat. I can still taste her and smell her all over me.
I run my hand over the weathered banister, tracing the faded carving and imagining how it looked in its prime. The intricate patterns feel like a glimpse into a forgotten time, and I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship. Restoring this piece of the inn feels important, like I’m piecing together a part of Sophie’s dream.
I focus on my work, measuring the worn edges and sketching patterns to replicate the original design. The rhythm of it calms me, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. But no matter how focused I try to be, Sophie lingers in the back of mymind—her laugh, her scent, the way her cheeks flush when she’s excited or caught off guard.
“Thought I’d see what the master craftsman is up to,” her voice cuts through the quiet, light and teasing. And my heart literally jumps for joy. Oh, God, I’m done for.
I glance up, and there she is, standing in the doorway with a paintbrush in hand, her smile soft and warm. Seeing her makes my chest tighten, a familiar ache I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to. “Thought I’d come help you today.”
“Just trying to give some of this old work a second chance,” I reply, my smile tugging at the corners of my lips as she steps closer.
She kneels beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she leans in to study my sketches. Her scent hits me, sweet and grounding with that wild, untamed edge that always leaves me restless.
My Alpha stirs, eager and attentive, but I force myself to stay focused on the task at hand.
We spend the next couple of hours working on stripping, scraping, and sanding all the old, old paint, dirt, and years of misuse off. Sophie working hard on painting the wall above the stairs.
We are both dirty and sweaty, but the pleased smile she has on her face tells me she is enjoying herself. My Alpha struts at having pleased her.
“This is incredible,” she murmurs, coming over and running her fingers over the carving in the wood I’ve just sanded and cleaned. “You really have a talent for this.”
Her praise sends a burning warmth through me, but it’s the easy way she touches me that makes it hard to breathe.
“Careful,” I tease, “You might give me a big head.”
Sophie laughs, the sound light and unguarded. “ I think it’s too late for that,” she says, and before I realize what she’s doing, she dabs a streak of paint on my arm.
I raise an eyebrow, my smirk widening. “Oh, you’re playing dangerous games now.”
She grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and I retaliate with a flick of water across her cheek. A playful shove follows her gasp of mock outrage, and suddenly, we’re caught in a messy, laughter-filled battle.
Paint streaks across her arms, my shirt, and even the banister, but I don’t care. Her shirt dripping with water. For a moment, it’s just the two of us, laughing like kids and forgetting everything else.
As the laughter fades, I realize how close we are. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are bright with something I can’t quite name. My chest tightens as I reach out, brushing my thumb against her cheek to wipe away a streak of paint.
“You’ve got paint…right here,” I murmur, my voice low. But my hand doesn’t stop at her cheek. It slides down her side, skimming her hip and settling on the curve of her ass. “And here.”
She exhales sharply, her breathing uneven as she leans into my touch. Her scent spikes, rich and intoxicating, and my Alpha growls low in my chest, primal and possessive.
I can’t resist anymore. I pull her into me, my lips finding hers in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens. She responds instantly, her hands tangling in my hair as she presses closer, her Omega instincts matching the need roaring through me.
I guide her back against the double doors to the parlor, pushing through into the next room, our lips never leaving each other. I break contact and bring my hand around her neck. Igently squeeze, holding her still as I guide her to the workbench in the corner of the room.
“My pretty little Omega, your shirt is filthy.”
