Page 99 of Pack Frenzy
Jess leans until her head touches my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, slow enough to telegraph everything: not a claim. Not a demand. Just here.
The warmth humming between us isn’t possession. It’s belonging.
I let my eyes burn and don’t wipe them. In the silver light, I think helplessly: I thought I’d have to teach her how to feel safe. Turns out she’s teaching me what it feels like to be chosen.
Jess
The credits are a river I can’t read. The theater smells like sugar and old carpet and Eli—clean linen and bergamot—along with my scent and Rowan’s sandalwood, rain, and Cassian’s leather, amber, and black pepper.
My thighs still tremble under his jacket. When the air system kicks on, the cool rush across my skin jolts another after-shiver.
Earlier with Cassian, sex was louder. This felt… sharper. Like learning a new kind of quiet I want more of. My blood hasn’t figured out which man to stop echoing.
I should be embarrassed that he touched me in public with Rowan and Cassian next to us, but I’m not. Maybe I’m done apologizing for wanting what I want.
I wantthem. Plural. I want to belong somewhere that isn’t conditional on sanding off my edges.
We don’t talk on the way out—just walk side by side, Rowan’s hand brushing mine once, deliberate. While Cassian gives me a grin that threatens to make my knees weak.
Eli’s arm stays around me, heavy, warm. He’s careful, and it makes my throat tight. He didn’t take. Hecould have.He didn’t even chase what my body kept offering.
He’s still hard under his jeans. I can tell by the way he keeps his jacket draped over the arm that’s not touching me, and angled over his crotch. He didn’t press or ask for anything.
Held me like my satisfaction was the entire point—like there was no ledger, no debt, no expectation I’d pay him back in kind.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He tilts his head like he didn’t hear, then nods like he did. “Anytime.”
People shuffle out of the theater. Rowan steps ahead to throw away our trash, and we head outside.
When we pile into the car and I make a point to pull Eli into the backseat with me. Then I graze my hand up this thigh.
Eli goes still.
“I want to take care of you,” I say. Not coy. Not bargaining or payback.
His breath hooks. His gaze flicks—Rowan at the wheel, pulling out of the movie theater parking lot, then at Cassian, whose mouth tilts like he already knows.
Eli’s voice is low and careful. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” My fingers press higher, testing.
He closes his eyes, counts to something behind his teeth. When he opens them, they’re bright.
“Then here,” he murmurs, shifting just enough to give me room, “but not to pay me back. Because you want to.”
“I do.”
I work his button and zipper under the drape of the jacket, slow and sure. The heat of him in my palm makes my mouth water. He buries his face against my hair.
“Jess,” he says, like a warning that’s really a thank-you.
I stroke him the way he touched me—no showing off, just pressure and rhythm and permission.
His restraint is its own kind of heat. One hand anchors on my thigh under the jacket; the other fists tight on the car door handle until his knuckles must hurt.
Rowan keeps his eyes on the road like it owes him something. Cassian slouches lower, pretending the dash lights are fascinating.
