Page 80 of Stuck with my Pack
My bark sits heavy in my throat, the need to command her to understand, to make her feel how much she means to us, clawing at me.
My hands curl into fists against the table, my body rigid with the effort to hold it back. She flinches slightly, her eyes flicking up to mine, wide and uncertain, and I force myself to take a breath.
I will make her understand how fucking perfect she is, but not with dominance, not with instinct.
“Sophie, I will spend the rest of my life lying at your feet and treating you like the fucking miracle you are until you never, not even for a second, feel like you aren’t enough. And then, I’m going to go out and murder every motherfucker who ever made you feel like you weren’t worth it.”
She freezes, her breath catching. I see the way her throat works as she swallows hard, the way her pulse kicks up beneath the delicate skin there.
Then, slowly, she sets the mug down carefully, like she needs a second to gather herself. Her hands press into her lap, gripping the fabric of her sweater, grounding herself, but her gaze stays locked on mine—wide and glassy, something raw flickering behind the emerald depths.
For a long, charged moment, she just stares at me, and then, just as I start to wonder if I’ve said too much—if my Alpha scared her—she moves.
Not away.
Not in fear.
But straight into my arms.
With a broken little noise that shatters something in my chest, she throws herself into my lap, her hands fisting in my shirt, her face pressing into my throat as she breathes me in like she needs my scent to keep her upright.
And fuck—if I don’t feel the same damn way.
Tyler moves first, slipping his hand under her chin, tilting her face up toward his. His thumb brushes over her bottom lipbefore he leans in, scent-marking her with slow deliberation, making her shiver.
“Sophie, I don’twantanyone else. You areitfor me.” His voice is steady, sure. “This place, this life? It’s everything.”
She sways slightly, her body instinctively reacting to the strength of his words.
I don’t hesitate. I cup the back of her neck, brushing my lips over her temple. “And me?” I murmur, voice low, rough. “Sweetheart, my life doesn’t work without you in it.”
Her breath catches, and she stares up at me, something flickering in her gaze—hope, relief, love, all tangled together.
Tyler grins, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “So. When are we starting on that nest room?”
Sophie groans, dropping her face into her hands as we all laugh. But the sound is lighter now, full of something real.
Something permanent.
35
ETHAN
We’ve been at this all week. The inspector is coming in three days, and we are so close to having every asinine box checked on his list. The rhythmic sound of hammers and saws fills the crisp morning air.
I wipe the sweat from my brow that has appeared despite the lingering chill, and take a step back, surveying the work we’ve done. The porch railing is nearly finished, the front door gleams with fresh paint, and the once-dilapidated walls are now sturdy and strong.
My gaze drifts to Sophie, balanced on a ladder, brush in hand as she meticulously paints the top of a window frame. She’s been like this all morning—determined, focused, lost in the work.
But then, just as I think she’s got it handled, the ladder wobbles slightly. Instinct kicks in before my mind fully registers it, and I cross the porch in three strides, gripping her waist before she can tip too far.
“Careful,” I growl, my grip tightening just slightly on the curve of her hip. She smells like fresh paint, warm honey, and something purelyher—that sweet, maddening scent that’s been driving me insane since the moment she came back into my life.
My restraint is hanging by a thread, my self-control fraying at the edges as I fight the primal urge to bury my face against her, to scent her properly, to breathe in the honeyed heat clinging to her skin.
Sophie glances down at me, her cheeks flushing as she catches the way I’m looking at her. She clears her throat, shifting slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.
“I had it,” she says, voice a little too steady, and I know she feels it too—the tension strung so tight between us it might snap.
