Page 150 of Knotting the Firefighters
I straighten slightly, projecting professional competence while internally celebrating this development.
"We can handle that. Just baking cookies, which requires oven time and patience. Nothing we can't manage unsupervised."
Nothing we can't manage.
And several things we definitely can manage better without supervision.
Margaret emerges with purse and keys, already halfway to the door.
"Perfect! I'll lock up so you're not disturbed—your pack members mentioned they'd help fix the fence out back since it's been broken for months. So hard to find reliable help from young Alphas these days!"
Lock up.
She's locking us in.
Alone.
With complete privacy.
This day keeps improving.
She departs with a cheerful wave, the door chiming behind her. The distinctive sound of the key turning in the lock follows—a mechanical click that somehow sounds louder than it should, that emphasizes our sudden isolation.
I turn slowly, deliberately, finding Wendolyn's eyes already tracking my movement.
"So—" My voice carries weight that has nothing to do with cookies. "—are we baking cookies?"
Not actually asking about cookies.
Both of us know I'm not asking about cookies.
Her blush intensifies, spreading down her neck in ways that make me want to trace the path with my tongue. She's taken off her apron at some point, leaving her in just the dress—thin fabric that's clearly revealing her body's reaction to our proximity, hard nipples evident through the material despite her attempt at casual posture.
She's affected.
As affected as I am.
Good.
She attempts boldness—leaning against the work counter with deliberate nonchalance, trying for seductive confidence despite obvious nervousness.
"Well, if you're really interested in baking, we could manage a quick side quest once the cookies are in the oven."
Side quest.
Gaming terminology for a sexual encounter.
She's actively propositioning me.
In a locked vintage shop.
While our pack fixes the fence outside.
I approach slowly, predator stalking prey that isn't actually trying to escape, each step measured for maximum impact.
My eyes track over her deliberately—clinical assessment transformed into obvious appreciation, medical professional detachment abandoned in favor of pure Alpha want.
"I don't think I can wait long enough to make these cookies to not fuck you, Wendolyn."
