Page 91 of Knot So Sweet
"I'm a very good student." Violet watches his hands. Then looks at all three of us. Heat in her eyes. "You've all taught me so much already."
Fuck.
This is going to be a very long game.
And I can't wait.
23
VIOLET
The first round, I fold immediately when Liam raises the bet by two pretzels. "Too scary."
I arrange my cards face-down with exaggerated care, letting my fingers linger on the edges. The cardstock is smooth and cool, still holding a faint smell of ink and paper. Truth? I could've taken that pot blindfolded. Dad taught me poker on rainy Sundays while Mom was at church, the two of us huddled around the kitchen table with a bag of M&Ms for chips. But where's the fun in ending the game early?
Garrick's brow furrows across from me. His aroma shifts immediately, warm bread edged with burnt sugar. Sharp. Frustrated. The change is subtle but unmistakable, filling the small room with the smell of a baker who's just watched his soufflé fall.
I bite my lip to hide my smile, looking down at the polished wood like I'm embarrassed by my cowardice.
Xaden only tilts his head to my right, watching me with those dark, assessing eyes. His pine-and-rain fragrance stays cool, controlled. Like he's studying me as much as my strategy, cataloging every micro-expression. The weight of his attention makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Liam chuckles from across the felt, the sound warm and indulgent. His cedar and vanilla notes curl across the space between us, mixing with the lingering smell of coffee and chocolate from the bakery proper. "Don't worry, gorgeous. You'll get the hang of it."
It takes effort not to lean into those notes. Not to close my eyes and just breathe him in like oxygen.
The space heater in the corner hums steadily, pumping out warmth that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. Outside, wind howls against the windows, rattling the old frames. Snow pelts the glass in rhythmic gusts that sound like thrown handfuls of sand.
By the second round, Garrick leans forward to explain the hierarchy. His elbows rest on worn wood, bringing him closer, and I can feel the warmth radiating off his body. His tone is steady but tight, like he's trying not to lose patience with the helpless omega who can't tell a flush from a straight.
"So a full house beats a flush," he says, using those flour-dusted knuckles to gesture. White powder still clings to his skin even though we've been at this for over an hour, caught in every crease. "And a straight flush beats everything except a royal."
I pretend to hang on every word, wide-eyed and sweet, though I've known this since I was twelve. "What about four of a kind? Where does that go?"
"Between a full house and a straight flush." He demonstrates with the deck, laying them out in order. His fingers are long and capable, moving with the same precision he uses when shaping dough. "See?"
"Oh!" I lean forward like I'm fascinated, which has the added benefit of giving him a better view down my sweater. "That makes so much more sense now."
His gaze drops. Just for a second. Just long enough for desire to flare in those brown depths before he drags his attention backto the demonstration with visible effort. The corner of his mouth twitches like he doesn't quite buy my act, but he keeps talking anyway.
I imagine those capable fingers kneading dough. Strong. Patient. Thorough. The same way they'd gripped my hips this morning, digging in possessively while his mouth had done wicked things to my neck.
The room suddenly feels hotter despite the draft whistling through the window frame.
Xaden's watching me again. I can feel his stare like a physical caress, tracking the flush creeping up my throat. When I glance at him, he's got that knowing look, the one that says he sees right through my innocent act.
His palm finds my thigh under the felt. The contact is casual, proprietary, his skin warm through my jeans. He doesn't move it, doesn't stroke or squeeze. Just leaves it there like a brand, a reminder that he knows exactly what game I'm playing.
My breath catches audibly.
"You okay?" Liam asks, dealing the next round. His amber gaze is sharp, curious. "You look flushed."
"Just the heater." I fan myself with my new cards, very aware of Xaden's grip still resting on my leg. "It's really going."
"I can turn it down," Garrick offers, half-rising from his seat.
"No!" The word comes out too fast, too desperate. All three of them pause, looking at me with varying degrees of amusement. "I mean, it's fine. Perfect. I like being comfortable."
Xaden's thumb strokes once across my thigh. Deliberate. Claiming. The caress sends electricity straight to my core.
