Page 38 of Pack Frenzy
She’s wearing her crop top and those khaki pants cling to her hips. Bare feet on the concrete, like she knows better than to step into my space without asking and is doing it anyway.
“Those boards’ll give you a splinter.” The words claw up my throat before I can stop them.
She glances down at her feet, then back up at me. Doesn’t move. “You worried about me, Cassian?”
My name coming out of her does something to my spine.
Her mouth curves, and it kills me. “What are you doing?”
“Fixed a hinge.” I thumb toward the fence. “It was complaining, but also, I noticed some boards were loose.”
She takes two steps closer. Her scent cuts through the air.
“Can I help?” she asks.
“No shoes, no entry.”
She raises a brow. “House rules?”
“Mine.”
She doesn’t retreat. “What do I get if I follow them?”
“Respect.” Safer than the first five answers that tried to crawl out.
That makes her pause. She tips her head. “You always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Bossy.” Her eyes flick to my mouth, like she’s checking if I’ll bite.
“Careful,” I say, letting the word land. “If you’re going to stand there, at least hold this.”
I hand her the hammer even though I’m done, but I figure there are a few loose boards I can work on.
She takes it, and our fingers brush. My hand swallows hers, calluses catching on skin so soft it’s obscene.
Her scent spikes—vanilla heating into something richer, headier. That’s arousal. That’s her body telling mine exactly what it wants.
I pull back before I do something stupid like hold on. ‘Cause I could snap her wrist without thinking. The thought makes me sick and hard in the same breath.
She doesn’t pull back. She also doesn’t do the thing most Omegas have done with me, which is act like I can’t control my Alpha side.
I get three boards done before I run out of excuses.
“About earlier,” I say.
Her shoulders register it before her face does. Not a flinch…more like a soft brace. “Reflex,” she says, easy. “You already said.”
“Doesn’t make it right.” Period. I live by rules because the alternative spills blood.
Her mouth does that slow thing she does when she’s tasting a word. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s mine,” she says, and I have to look up because that lands like a nail set. “If I’d been scared, you’d have let go faster than you did.”
The truth of it sits between us and expands.
