Page 136 of Knotting the Firefighters
Doesn't begin to capture the way looking at her makes my body react, makes my brain short-circuit, makes every possessive instinct I possess scream for claiming.
My hand moves from her chin to her bottom lip, thumb tugging gently on the soft flesh while my eyes seek permission for what I'm about to suggest.
"I'd gladly show you what I love about this body, Firefly," I murmur, voice dropping to register that broadcasts exactly what kind of demonstration I'm offering. "But I'm very confident we'd be banned from this establishment permanently."
Her smirk is devastating—playful confidence replacing insecurity, the particular expression that means she's about to do something that will absolutely destroy my self-control.
She catches my bottom lip between her teeth, mimicking my earlier gesture, tugging with just enough pressure to send electricity straight to my cock.
We share a look—an extended moment where communication happens through attention rather than words,where consent is negotiated through eye contact and body language rather than explicit verbal agreement.
Then she blinks slowly, deliberately, transforming her expression into innocent doe-eyed seduction that's absolutely calculated to demolish whatever resistance I'm attempting to maintain.
"Can you show me a glimpse?" The question emerges breathy, deliberately provocative. "Just enough to understand what you mean without getting us banned?"
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I can smell her arousal building—sweet vanilla and wildflowers intensifying with slick that's probably already dampening her underwear, threatening to scent the entire changing room with evidence of her desire.
My nostrils flare involuntarily, Alpha biology responding to Omega arousal with programmed enthusiasm that bypasses conscious control.
The growl that rumbles through my chest is pure instinct—possessive, hungry, barely restrained need to claim and pleasure and mark her as mine in every way biology allows.
I close the remaining distance, capturing her mouth with mine before either of us can reconsider this catastrophically terrible decision.
So much for professionalism.
So much for appropriate boundaries.
So much for not seducing pack Omega in a semi-public location.
The kiss is desperate, consuming—my tongue demanding entrance, she grants immediately, her hands finding my hair to pull me closer, closer, eliminating any remaining space between us.
She tastes like the coffee we'd consumed hours ago, like sweetness and heat and everything I've been craving since she first appeared wearing my shirt like a proclamation of belonging.
Mine.
This Omega is mine.
Ours.
Pack's.
But right now, in this moment, specifically mine.
I break the kiss reluctantly, both of us breathing hard, lips swollen, and eyes dark with desire that's spiraling rapidly toward consequences we'll definitely regret later.
But I can't stop—can't walk away when she's looking at me like that, when her scent is flooding my senses, when every instinct I possess is screaming to pleasure her until she forgets every cruel word Gregory ever spoke.
I lower myself to my knees slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact while I descend.
The position is worshipful—Alpha kneeling before Omega, submission disguised as domination, the particular power dynamic that makes this moment feel sacred despite the mundane setting.
Changing room floor.
Questionable cleanliness.
