Page 184 of Knot So Lucky
Elias strokes my hair—the gentle rhythm of it, like petting a nervous animal or coaxing a runaway engine back to idle. His voice is soft, but under that calm is a steel edge that makes the words feel like a blood pact.
“You’ve got me now,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Officially. No going back. You’re it, Lane. You’re the whole story.”
I want to laugh, or tell him not to be so dramatic, but my throat is wrecked and I can barely manage a hoarse,
“Good. You’re mine too, you realize.”
He grins, wide and a little wild.
“I hope so. Cale still thinks he’s ahead on points, but… not anymore.”
He shifts me a little on his lap, making sure the knot is still locked, and god, the sensation is obscene in the best possible way. We’re wet, sticky, ruined. The scent in the room is pure Omega-Alpha chemistry, sweet and sharp, so tangled there’s no point trying to separate out the notes.
His hand slides up my back—light, almost absent-minded, tracing the knobs of my spine. He looks at the bruise bloomingon his shoulder and his eyes go dark again, pride and want sparking in the depths.
“I want you safe,” he says. No joke, no filter. “Want you protected. I’d burn the world if it meant no one ever got near you again.”
I believe him wholeheartedly.
We drift for a while, his arms never letting up, the knot still anchoring us in place. The exhaustion creeps up on me in waves—first just muscle fatigue, then the blanket of sleep threatening to drag me under.
I don’t fight it.
I let my forehead rest against his, feel the brush of his breath on my lips. My eyes close and open and close again, and each time the world gets a little softer, a little more distant. I hear him murmur something—Italian this time, or maybe just nonsense—and I let the words carry me away.
At some point, the knot subsides. I don’t know how long it takes; time is meaningless. Elias is careful, so fucking careful, guiding me off his lap and onto the bed. I whimper at the loss of connection, but he hushes me with gentle kisses, stroking my hair and my cheeks until I can blink back the sting of tears.
He cleans us up with damp towels and soft words.
The praise doesn’t stop—he just modulates it, making it a lullaby instead of a shot of adrenaline. When he tugs one of his shirts over my head, I don’t protest; I just nuzzle deeper into the fabric, soaking up the scent and the warmth like it’s the only air I know how to breathe.
He spoons up behind me, arm heavy across my waist, hand resting possessively on my stomach.
His heart beats steady against my back, and every time I think I can’t possibly relax more, he finds a new way to make it happen—soft kisses to my shoulder, palm smoothing over my skin, words that burrow into places I didn’t even know existed.
I fall asleep, hard.
Dawn scrapes its fingers under the blackout curtains, the room tinged pale gold. I wake up slow, blinking like a hangover victim and trying to piece together why my body feels like it’s been rebuilt from the ground up.
Then I remember.
Elias.
His arms are still around me, anchoring me to the bed, one hand tucked under my shirt and splayed across my belly. His breathing is slow and even—he’s dead asleep, for once. I wonder if I could get used to this. Waking up safe. Wanting to stay. I can only imagine what it would be like to sleep with all of them in one space.
Hell…having a nest would be nice…
And then reality kicks in—Work. Racing. The schedule.There’s probably already seventeen texts from Richard, three from Luca, and one very pointed meme from Roran about not being late to your own career resurrection.
I should get up.
Need to get up and start the day like a good racing Omega that should appease the world…
I try to move, even thinking about untangling myself from Elias’s grip, but he just tightens his hold and drags me back against his chest with a sleepy grumble.
Goddamn it.
I could fight. Could slip out, get ready for work, put on the mask and the armor and pretend the world hasn’t shiftedon its axis. I could be the ultra-professional Omega who does everything right, never slips, always shows up first and leaves last.
