Page 98 of Knot So Sweet
The word hangs in candlelit air, heavy with implication. This isn't one alpha claiming an omega. This is pack. All of us choosing each other, bonding together in the oldest way possible.
"Yes." No hesitation in her voice now. "Yes, please. I require all of you."
The permission breaks something loose in the room. I feel it in the way Garrick's scent spikes, in the soft sound Liam makes low in his throat. In the way my own discipline frays at the edges, alpha instincts clawing free.
"Xaden first," Garrick says quietly. His dark gaze meets mine across Violet's nest. "He's best at staying controlled. Can talk her through it."
It makes tactical sense. I possess the most experience keeping my head during chaos, maintaining focus when everything falls apart. But looking at Violet curled in her nest, flushed and needy and trusting us completely, I'm not sure how much discipline I actually have left.
"That okay with you?" I ask her. Because even now, especially now, she gets a choice.
"Yes." No hesitation. "Please. I require you, Xaden."
The please breaks something in me.
I stand, toeing off my boots and leaving them beside the couch. My hands locate my belt buckle, pausing. "Have to take these off. That okay?"
"God, yes. Please." She watches my hands like they're the most fascinating thing she's ever seen. Her brown eyes track every movement, pupils dilated so wide they swallow the color.
I unbuckle slowly, deliberately. Pull the leather free of loops with a soft whisper of sound. Pop the button on my jeans. Slide the zipper down tooth by tooth. Peel denim down my legs and step out, leaving me in just black boxer briefs.
Violet's gaze drags up my body, lingering on places that make heat pool low in my stomach. The candlelight plays across my skin, highlighting old scars and muscle definition. When her eyes meet mine again, they've gone molten.
"You're beautiful," she whispers.
"That's supposed to be my line." But the compliment settles warm in my chest.
I settle on the edge of her nest, one knee on the couch. The blankets feel soft beneath me, scented with her and us mixed together until I can't tell the difference anymore. Ideal.
"Can I touch you?" The question matters. I require her consent even though she's asking for this.
"Please. I ache for you to touch me. Ache for it so much I can't think."
My palm cups her face again, cradling her feverish cheek. She leans into the contact with a sound that's half relief, half longing. Her own hand comes up to cover mine, holding me in place like she's afraid I'll pull away.
"You're burning up," I observe.
"I know." Her eyes flutter closed. "Everything's too hot. Too tight. Like I'm going to explode if something doesn't change."
"We'll change it," I promise. "But first, this sweater has to come off. You're overheating."
She nods frantically, already reaching for the hem with clumsy fingers. I help, bunching soft blue knit in my hands and pulling it over her head. Static makes her hair fly everywhere, dark strands sticking to her flushed cheeks and the sweat-dampened skin of her neck.
Beneath, she wears a simple cotton bra. White. Practical. Nothing fancy. But the sight of her soft curves spilling over the cups makes my alpha purr. Raw appreciation. Her breasts rise and fall with rapid breaths. Pale skin flushed pink with fever.
"Better?" I ask.
"So much better."
Music to my ears. All I want is to protect her. Love her. Like no one has ever done before. She deserves it.
25
GARRICK
Four AM. My hands know the rhythm before my brain wakes. Flour. Water. Salt. Yeast. The sourdough starter bubbles in its jar. Alive and hungry after last night's feeding.
Kitchen's dark except for one lamp over my worktop. Storm continues outside. Wind screaming against windows. Trying to claw its way inside. Snow piles against the glass. Blocking half the view. We're buried. No one's going anywhere.
