Page 84 of Pack Frenzy
“I want you—all three of you.” Her eyes don’t waver. “Rowan, Cassian, you. The whole messy package. I’m not here to cherry-pick. I’m here because—” She swallows. “Because you feel like home. All of you.”
I kiss her then, hard and sure, because words aren’t enough for what’s pouring through me. She makes a small sound of surprise that melts into something warmer, hungrier, her hands fisting in my shirt.
When I pull back, we’re both breathing hard.
“You know they’re going to wake up soon,” she says.
“Probably,” I agree.
“We should stop.”
“We should,” I echo, which is not the same thing aswe will.
She turns her face up to mine. I oblige her like it’s a ritual. The second kiss isn’t chaste. It’s slow at first, then not. She hooks two fingers in the collar of my shirt and draws me the inch she wants. Lust flares; I let it, meeting her mouth, parting for her, tasting lemon and salt and the warm reality of her tongue against mine.
My hand finds her thigh where the sweatshirt ends, thumb skimming the inside above her knee; warmth answers under my palm, a slow yes that makes my cock harden.
Her breath hitches—a small, helpless sound I make a map of.
We stop because the kitchen is not a place for the next thing, at least not the first time I’m with her, and also because I like the almost more than I should. It stretches a bright thread between us.
A couch groans in protest. Cassian coughs, swears, then goes silent. Rowan shifts and mumbles something about wolves and waffles that I will never let him live down.
Jess bites her lip to keep from laughing. I kiss that, quick and unrepentant.
Rowan scrubs a hand over his face, eyes slitting open. He looks at Jess, at me, takes in the distance between our bodies and the color in our faces, and the faintest, smallest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he schools it away.
“Hmm,” he says, eloquent as ever.
“Dinner at nine,” I say, because schedules make everyone feel safe. “If you’re hungry by then.”
Cassian glares like I’ve insulted him personally. “I’m always hungry.”
“Greens and healthy,” I warn.
He groans like he’s been shot. Rowan smirks, and Jess bumps my hip with hers, conspirator to the crime.
Small victories. The kind that stitches a day into something you can wear tomorrow. I’ll take them. I’ll take all of them.
CHAPTER 20
JESS
The last crab leg cracks clean in my hands, butter running warm over my knuckles. Eli’s at the cabin sink, scrubbing the pot like it mouthed off; steam kisses his face as he works. I’m the last to finish, but it was so good, I wanted to take my time.
After I clean the debris off into the trash, load my plate in the dishwasher, I hip bump Eli and he laughs, giving me room so I can wash my hands.
“Thanks for dinner, it was amazing.”
“No problem.” He winks, and I dry my hands.
Then, I hold up my paperback, spine wrecked from lunch.
“Finished the murder book, and it was really good if you wanted to read it.”
He nods. “Love thrillers and detective novels. Hey, anything you want to do today? We have to head back tomorrow afternoon.”
“I was thinking beach, but it’s almost three.”
