Page 27 of The Knotheads Next Door
"I'm fine," she insists, jerking her wrist from my grasp. She fumbles with the door handle, nearly falling out in her haste to exit the car. "I just need some air. And I need those flowers for Crystal. Just... wait here."
Before I can stop her, she's out of the car, straightening her dress with shaking hands and marching toward the entrance of the wholesaler.
I watch her go, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. Her scent lingers in the car, making it difficult to think clearly. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen when she told me shewas latent. Unpredictable hormonal spikes, emerging omega characteristics, and three unmated alphas in close proximity.
It's a disaster waiting to happen.
And yet, as I watch her disappear into the building, her shoulders squared with determination despite what must be a confusing and frightening experience, I find myself feeling something…unexpected.
Respect.
And something more dangerous alongside it—a fierce, protective instinct that has nothing to do with being a responsible housemate and everything to do with being an alpha in the presence of an emerging omega who smells like everything I've ever wanted.
This is definitely going to be a problem.
Chapter 9
Rowan
My body is heavy with warmth and the lingering scent of alphas surrounding me. The nest feels endless, soft and perfect beneath me. The first touch is feather-light, barely there—lips pressed to my ankle like a whispered promise. I try to focus, to see which of them it is, but everything is soft-edged and hazy.
"So beautiful," a voice murmurs against my skin, and I think it might be Theo but I can't be sure. The voice seems to echo, to multiply, becoming all of them at once. "So perfect."
The kisses trail higher, patient and reverent, mapping the sensitive skin of my calf with deliberate attention. Each press of lips sends small sparks of sensation up my leg, making me arch slightly in the nest of pillows and blankets.
A second mouth joins the first, or maybe it's the same mouth in a different place. This one finds the spot behind my knee that makes me gasp, that secret place that always makes me melt. Fingers ghost along my skin, tracing patterns I can feel but can't quite see.
"Please," I whisper, though I'm not sure what I'm asking for. More, maybe.
"We've got you," comes the reply, and now I'm certain it's all three voices speaking in unison, a harmony of promise and desire. "We'll always take care of you."
The kisses continue their slow journey upward, along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. There are definitely multiple mouths now—I can feel the different textures, the varying pressures. One gentle and careful, one more demanding, one that finds the spots that make me tremble and focuses there with single-minded intensity.
My body responds, heat building low in my belly, my breathing becoming shallow and quick. I can feel their scents wrapping around me creating a cocoon of safety and desire.
"Ours," one of them murmurs against my thigh, the word vibrating through my skin. "Always ours."
"Always," I agree breathlessly, my hands fisting in the soft fabric beneath me.
The kisses reach the crease where my leg meets my hip, so close to where I need them but not quite there yet. They take their time, these alphas, mapping every inch of skin with reverent attention, building anticipation until I'm trembling with need.
"So responsive," another voice observes, and I feel a breath ghost over heated skin. "Look how she reacts to just our mouths."
I want to protest that it's not just their mouths—it's them, it's the way they make me feel cherished and desired and completely claimed. But the words get lost in a gasp as lips find that perfect spot high on my inner thigh that makes my back arch off the nest.
"There," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. "Right there."
"Here?" A tongue traces the spot, slow and deliberate, and the sensation sends electricity straight through me.
"Yes," I breathe, my body moving restlessly beneath their attention.
They lavish attention on that sensitive skin, taking turns or working together—in dreams, it doesn't matter which. All that matters is the building heat, the way my body responds to their worship, the whispered words of praise and possession that make my heart race as much as my p-
I wake up from the dream gasping. My sheets are tangled around my legs, damp with sweat. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like I'm burning from the inside out. And there's a low, insistent ache deep in my belly that makes me press my thighs together in a futile attempt for relief.
The digital clock on my nightstand reads 3:17 AM. The same time I saw the night my life imploded. Apparently, the universe has kept its twisted sense of humor.
I stumble to the hallway bathroom, careful not to wake anyone. The cool tile feels heavenly against my bare feet as I splash water on my face. In the mirror, my reflection looks feverish—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, curls sticking to my neck with sweat.
