Page 15 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Ten

Chloe

I tilt my chin up in invitation, and my eyelids flutter closed as Dominic draws nearer, the anticipation almost unbearable. His breath ghosts across my lips, warm and sweet, a whisper of contact that’s not quite a kiss.

As his mouth meets mine, the world narrows to this single point of connection.

His lips are soft, the pressure gentle as he tests the boundaries of this new territory between us. It’s a question, not a demand. A beginning, not a claiming.

My free hand, the one not still held in his grasp, lifts of its own accord, finding the solid warmth of his shoulder. His muscles tense beneath my touch, but he keeps the kiss light, restrained, giving me control over how far this goes .

I press closer, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He responds by releasing my wrist, his hand sliding up my arm to cup the back of my neck. The touch sends shivers down my spine, little sparks of electricity that pool in my belly.

The kiss deepens by degrees, his lips moving over mine with growing confidence as I respond. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him, allowing the kiss to transform from sweet to hungry in the space of a heartbeat.

I taste mint and something unique to him, a flavor I’d forgotten, and now wonder how I’ve lived without it.

A sound escapes me, half sigh, half moan, and his smile forms against my mouth.

The hand at my neck tightens, angling my head to fit his, sending fresh waves of sensation as his tongue twines with mine, exploring, tasting, remembering.

The towel I’d been using to mop up water slips from my fingers and falls to the floor. Everything beyond this moment—the spilled water, the food we’re waiting for, the complications of our situation—fades to insignificance.

There’s only Dominic’s mouth on mine, his hands holding me with a gentleness that contradicts the hunger in his kiss. Our pheromones mingle in the air around us, growing richer and more complex with each passing second .

I’ve been kissed before by him, years ago, but nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing has ever reached so deep, as if he’s kissing away all the hurt between us, kissing away the wounds left by our past.

When we pull apart, both breathless, his lashes stay lowered, shadows fanning the sharp lines of his cheekbones in the lamp’s glow. I keep my own eyes open, drinking in the sight of him so close.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you again,” he confesses, his voice rough.

I believe him. The truth is written in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he’s holding himself back even now. He wants more, much more, but he’s giving me space to decide how far this goes.

Traditional courting offers the chance for both of us—for Holden, Blake, and Nathaniel, too—to show our intentions before any binding Marks are made. But as his thumb traces the line of my jaw with exquisite care, I wonder how I’m supposed to think clearly enough to make any decisions at all.

His lashes flutter with uncertainty. “Chloe?”

I respond to his uncertainty by pressing my mouth to his once more, a briefer kiss, but no less meaningful.

When I pull back, his eyes open, heavy with hunger, and my heart stutters .

“That wasn’t a mistake,” I tell him, needing him to know. “I didn’t turn away this time.”

He smiles. “I noticed.”

The air between us crackles with years of unfulfilled desires.

He shifts, and the blanket slips on his lap, revealing the way his zipper strains over his hard cock.

His thumb strokes my jawline, urging my head backward as he leans in, planting another kiss, this time on the sensitive spot behind my ear. He inhales deeply, dragging my scent into his lungs. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” I confess, the words tumbling out now that I give myself permission to want him again. “Even when I hated you for turning your back on me, I missed you.”

Dominic catches my hand, entwining our fingers and pressing our palms together so our heart lines meet. “I’ll never turn my back on you again.”

The promise hangs between us, fragile and enormous.

I shift closer, rising higher on my knees, the last inches of distance evaporating. Our thighs touch, his slacks stiff against the soft fabric of my leggings. Even after all this time, my body remembers the slight tilt of his head when he’s about to kiss me.

And that’s what he does, his lips finding mine again, hungrier this time, with none of the gentle coaxing for permission. Now, his tongue sweeps in, claiming the deepest crevices of my mouth, tasting all of me.

His fingers on the back of my neck rise to tangle in my hair. Our joined hands tighten with bruising force. Ten years of separation, of wondering, of missing, pour into the connection between us.

A small moan rises from my throat, and Dominic tenses, his heartbeat quickening when I press my hand flat on his chest. The frantic thunder matches mine, the rhythm creating a feedback loop of desire spiraling between us, building with every passing second.

The taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him all floods my senses, and my legs tremble as warmth pools between my thighs. His hand in my hair applies gentle pressure, drawing me closer still, and I rise off the floor to straddle his lap, needing no space between us.

Time loses meaning as we relearn each other’s contours, the world beyond the circle of his arms ceasing to exist. There is only the press of his mouth on mine, the heat of his skin, and the rumble in his chest when I nibble at his lower lip.

We break for air, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath in the narrow space between us. His pupils are fully dilated, black with desire, and I wonder if mine look the same, pink irises reduced to thin rings around expanded darkness.

“Ten years,” he murmurs against my lips. “Ten years I’ve wanted to do that again.”

I untangle our fingers to cup his face with both hands, thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “No more waiting.”

Growling, he kisses me again, his arms around my hips, pulling me forward until the hard proof of his desire nudges my center. My hands slide into his hair, loosening what remains of his braid until the strands fall free around his face.

After so much holding back, I now have a decade of starvation to make up for. As if he feels the same, he licks his way into my mouth, and I moan again, my hips rocking over him.

Dominic’s hands span my waist, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh with just enough pressure to have me gasping. The sound triggers something in him, and his grip tightens, taking control as he grinds up into me.

The motion sends sparks skittering across my skin, goose bumps rising in their wake.

The heat of him sinks through our clothes, all hard body pressed to my softer curves.

His hands slide lower, fingertips grazing the strip of skin where my shirt has ridden up above my leggings before dipping beneath.

The sound of a doorbell shatters the moment, and we freeze, lips still touching, breathing ragged.

The doorbell rings again, insistent.

“Ignore it,” Dominic murmurs into my mouth, his fingers pressing into my hips. “They’ll leave it in the hall.”

For a heartbeat, I consider it, consider leaving our food outside so that the man beneath me can feed a different hunger.

Then the doorbell rings a third time, followed by a knock. They’re not going to leave it outside and go away.

“They want their tip,” I sigh, reluctantly pulling away.

“This is why we should have used the app,” Dominic grumbles as his hands loosen their grip, allowing me to slide off his lap. “We’re not done.”

“No.” I smooth my hair with trembling fingers and straighten my shirt as I back toward the door on unsteady legs. “We’re definitely not done.”

The doorbell rings again as I turn, leaving Dominic on the couch, his hair loose around his face, his lips swollen from our kisses. The image burns into my memory. Something to revisit later, after lunch, after everything else disappears.

The second I sign the receipt and leave a hefty tip, the delivery guy leaves in a flash of cash with a mumbled thanks. As I carry the brown paper bag into the kitchen, my mouth waters at the heavenly scents rising from it.

Steam escapes as I open the bag and pull out containers, waffling on whether to dirty plates versus eating from the containers with the chopsticks provided. Clean up would be easier but eating messier.

“Need help?” Dominic’s voice comes from closer than I expected, and I turn to find him in the kitchen doorway, one shoulder propped on the frame.

“Plates are in the cabinet above the dishwasher.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, and I pat myself on the back for being such a good adult in this situation.

He pushes off from the doorframe, moving into the kitchen with fluid grace. But as he reaches for the cabinet door, he squints and winces from the brighter lights in the kitchen .

Protective instinct unfurls within me. “You should be sitting down.”

Dominic ignores this, retrieving two plates and setting them beside the bag of food. “I’m fine.”

“The doctor said?—”

“The doctor said mild activity is fine.” His mouth quirks into the half-smile that used to melt my teenage resolve. “This won’t kill me.”

He steps closer, crowding me against the counter. The edge presses into my lower back as he places his hands on either side of me, caging me in with his arms. His scent intensifies in the enclosed space, wrapping around me like a physical touch.

His head dips until his lips hover near my ear. “I don’t recall the doctor saying anything about kissing restrictions.”

My body responds to his proximity before my brain can intervene, heart accelerating, skin warming, a liquid heat pooling between my thighs.

But behind the desire comes concern, and I place my palms on his chest, the steady thump of his heart pounding beneath my fingertips. “You’re not supposed to exert yourself.”

Dominic’s gaze drops to my mouth. “I swear I won’t.”

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, half amusement, half exasperation. “Is that supposed to convince me?”

He groans and drops his head to my shoulder. “No, that was bad. Can I have a redo?”

“Nope.” I push his chest. “Back to the couch, Sterling. Food’s getting cold.”

I grab the paper bag and brush past him, the brief contact sending another jolt through my system in a reminder of what we started.

Dominic follows me back to the living room, carrying the plates. The soft lighting welcomes us back, but the atmosphere has shifted, the raw edge of our earlier passion tempered by the interruption.

I settle onto the couch, reaching for a fuzzy teal pillow and wedging it between us as Dominic sits down.

“Really?” He raises an amused eyebrow at the pillow barrier.

“If you end up back at the hospital, I won’t kiss you again for a month.” I open the food containers, the aroma of garlic and soy sauce filling the apartment to offset our pheromones. “Maybe two.”

“I waited a decade, you think a month will stop me from crossing that line if it means more kisses right now?”

“I’m serious.” I pass him a plate loaded with mu shu pork, thin pancakes, and egg rolls, complete with sauce cups. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

His expression softens, humor giving way to vulnerability. “I know. And I won’t push my limits and land myself back in the hospital.”

“Good.” I reach for the remote on the side table and turn on the TV mounted above the electric fireplace. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

Dominic settles back and grabs another of the pillows to hold his plate on his lap. “What are we watching?”

“Something unsexy.” I pass him the remote, careful to avoid touching his fingers again. “Since you’re the invalid, you can choose.”

He scrolls through the options, settling on an action movie we’d both loved in high school.

It was one of the last films we watched together before everything imploded.

The familiar opening sequence fills the screen, and another knot in my chest loosens at this small connection to a happier moment of our shared past.

“Good choice.” I settle deeper into the couch cushions, careful to maintain the pillow barrier between us.

Dominic starts rolling a pancake. “It has seven sequels now. Have you seen them?”

I dunk an egg roll in neon-orange sweet-and- sour sauce. “Only the first three. Once the main character died, I lost interest.”

He gasps in mock offense. “But they brought him back to life in the sixth movie.”

I smile at him. “Then we’ll just have to watch them all from the beginning to see how that happens.”

He studies me, his expression so soft my heart hurts. “Yes, we will.”

We eat in companionable silence, the familiar movie providing the background for this unfamiliar new territory we’re stepping in to. Halfway through the movie, Dominic sets his empty plate on the coffee table and stretches his arm along the back of the couch, fingers grazing my shoulder.

“How’s your head?” I peek over at his profile. “Is the TV hurting your eyes?”

“It’s okay for now.” His voice drops lower. “But cuddling would make it better.”

I scoff, but can’t ignore the flutters the simple statement sets off. “Flirting won’t sneak you past the pillow barrier, Sterling.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying.” He shifts, wincing as he adjusts his position.

The wince doesn’t escape my notice. “You should take the painkillers the doctor prescribed. ”

“They make me fuzzy. And we need to be ready when Kyle calls.”

I check my phone for the time. “Should be soon.”

“Good thing we have all the sequels to this in our theater room.” His fingers tickle the back of my neck. “Where there’s a loveseat.”

I poke him with the blunt end of my chopstick. “I see what you’re doing.”

He rolls his head toward me and gives me a puppy dog expression I’ve seen too often on Blake and Quinn’s faces. “But I’m injured. You need to keep me company.”

“Hmm, I’ll consider it.” I lean back to encourage his touch. “Now, watch the movie. It’s getting to the good part.”

But when the good part arrives, I can’t bring myself to focus on it. Dominic may think waiting is easy, but now that I’ve tasted him again, it’s going to be hard to resist doing it again.