Page 61 of Knot the Last Chapter

She turns and smiles, and I almost forget how to breathe. When she laughs, brushing flour off my shirt like we’ve done this a hundred times—like we will do this a hundred more times—I let myself imagine a future where this isn’t stolen time. Where she’s here, with us, always.

And maybe, one day, I won’t have to hold back.

But for now? I cook. I breathe. I wait.

Because when she’s finally ready to be taken… I’ll be the one waiting with open arms and a steady hand.

And I’ll make her mine. Right here. On the damn kitchen floor, if that’s what she wants.

For now, though, I pass her a plate. Our fingers brush again.

This time, I’m the one to pull away. Between the storms and three alphas, I’ve go an unfair advantage on her. If she wants me,reallywants me, she’s going to have do more than be coy.

From the smile she gives me, she knows exactly what I’m doing. And she only seems happier for it.

I bite back a groan and try to focus back on cooking, a near impossible task with her so close, helping me seamlessly, leaving me to wonder what other activity we could do seamlessly together.

Chapter thirty-four

Lila

Supper was delicious. I think.

It’s hard to focus on flavors when every bite is laced with the scent of three alphas sitting around me like a storm waiting to break. Tyler’s smug smirk, Corwyn’s calm but calculated intensity, Rhys’ brooding silence—all thick with the scent of strength and desire. It’s all too much—and somehow, not enough.

They joke and tease over dessert, the warm fire casting shadows on the walls, laughter bubbling up between sips of wine and forkfuls of sweet cream and berry cobbler. I laugh when I’m supposed to, but my mind drifts. My body hums with the pressure of suppressed heat, the kind that creeps up slowly, licking at the edges of my control.

When the table is cleared, Corwyn leans back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine. “Game night?”

Tyler groans, but there’s a grin tugging at his mouth. “What are we, teenagers?”

“Come on,” I say, nudging him with my foot. “Something light. Fun. I could use a distraction.”

Rhys eyes me across the room, slow and assessing. “You sure you can handle the way we play?”

“Try me.”

We migrate to the den. The couch is huge, low and plush, the kind you sink into and never want to leave. Pillows are thrown everywhere, the fire casting gold across our skin, the windows dark with storm clouds.

Corwyn pulls out a battered deck of cards, the corners worn and some of the prompts handwritten. “House rules: pick a card, do the dare. No backing out.”

“And if someone chickens out?” I ask, reaching for the wine.

Tyler leans forward, grin dark. “Then someone else picks for them. And it won’t be nice.”

The first few rounds are fun. Silly, even. Truths about first kisses, dares to dance or imitate embarrassing movie scenes. We laugh until our cheeks ache.

The tone shifts when Corwyn pulls a card and reads, “Describe your most illicit fantasy.”

His gaze slides to me. Purposeful.

I arch a brow. “That’syourcard.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “A good omega,” he says, voice low and smooth, “tied down, blindfolded, helpless—while three alphas take their time with her. She begs, but we draw it out. Make her come apart again and again.”

Silence. Absolute.

Tyler lets out a low whistle, but his eyes are on me.