Page 16 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Eleven

Dominic

T orture has never felt so sweet.

The weight of Chloe’s head rests on my shoulder, her pink hair tickling my neck, and a warm, damp spot grows on my shirt with each exhale.

I remain frozen in place, afraid that the slightest movement might wake her and end this borrowed moment of closeness.

My focus shifts to the decorative pillow barrier between us on the sofa. It digs into my hip, a crushed lump between us. Chloe wiggles in her sleep, halfway on my lap now and determined to be on top of me before the credits finish rolling on the movie we were watching.

The evening light filtering through her apartment windows casts everything in amber, softening the edges of her face. Her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks, and I resist the urge to brush away a strand of pink hair that sticks to the corner of her mouth.

I glare at the pillow barrier between us.

Would it be overstepping to remove it? She’s already draped across me, a warm, sweet-smelling blanket. My fingers twitch with the need to hold her, to close the last bit of space that keeps us apart.

Her breathing changes rhythm, and she shifts, one hand curling into the fabric of my shirt.

The movement draws her even closer, and my throat tightens.

Even as children, Chloe always nodded off during movie nights, then gravitated toward me in her sleep.

Before our families tore us apart. Before I let it happen.

The memory stings, my remorse deep for all the years lost because I didn’t stand up to my mother sooner. Because I chose the path of least resistance.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I extract it with surgical precision, careful not to disturb Chloe.

The screen lights up with a message.

Kyle

Boat won’t be ready until morning. Needed to order a part .

I send back a thumbs up, then stare at the text, a knot forming in my stomach.

We’ll have to stay the night, but will I have to leave this cozy apartment to sleep somewhere else?

The knot tightens.

I don’t want to leave, but the thought of imposing myself on Chloe’s space fills me with uncertainty. She may have kissed me, but I don’t want to presume that means everything is good between us again or that she trusts me.

I should wake her. Let her decide if she wants me to stay or go.

She shifts again, her nose nuzzling into the crook of my neck. A soft snort escapes her, the sound so familiar that my chest aches with it. She used to do that as a kid, too. Deny she was falling asleep, then snort herself half-awake when her head dropped too suddenly.

Some things never change.

Then she moans, a quiet, sleep-thick sound, and I worry she’s having a nightmare. But when her scent shifts, the floral notes deepening, sweetening, I realize it’s far more dangerous than bad dreams.

Desire. Warm and honey-thick.

My body responds before my brain can intervene, blood rushing south with embarrassing speed. I grit my teeth, trying to focus on anything else. The geometric pattern of her area rug, the stack of mail on her coffee table, and the distant sound of traffic outside her window.

None of it helps. Not when that moan comes again, her hips shifting restlessly. Not when her pheromones fill the air, calling to the Alpha in me that wants to answer.

This is bad. Whatever she’s dreaming must be a good one, and I have no right to be affected by it. No right to imagine I’m the cause of those sounds. I need to wake her before this gets any more uncomfortable.

Gently, I shake her shoulder. “Chloe.”

Incoherent mumbles rise from her, and she burrows closer.

The heat in my veins spikes, and I shake her harder. “Chloe, wake up.”

Her eyelids flutter, and she blinks up at me, confusion giving way to recognition.

Then she covers her mouth in a yawn. “I wasn’t asleep.”

A laugh escapes me. “You most certainly were.”

“Nope.” She straightens, pulling away, and I miss her warmth. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Resting them so hard you were snoring.”

Her hand flies to her face, rubbing at her cheek where a crease from my shirt left a mark. “I do not snore.”

“Snort, then.”

The pink of her cheeks deepens. “How long was I out?”

“About forty minutes. The movie ended.”

Chloe runs her fingers through her hair, untangling a few strands. The movement releases another wave of her scent, and I shift, grateful now for the pillow covering my lap.

“You drooled on me a little.” I point to the damp spot on my shirt.

Her mouth drops open in indignation. “I did not!”

“You absolutely did. Put me right back to our childhood.”

She wrinkles her nose at me, the gesture so familiar that my heart stutters. “That’s a lie. I’ve never drooled a day in my life.”

“Tell that to my shirt.”

She swats at my arm, her dimples appearing in the sleep crease on her cheek.

“You’re adorable,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I fear I made a mistake .

Then her nose wrinkles again, and she fidgets with the edge of her shirt. “Shush, you.”

The setting sun catches in her hair, turning the pink strands to rose gold. She appears soft in this light. Touchable. And for the first time in years, the distance between us feels surmountable.

I clear my throat. “Kyle texted. The boat won’t be ready until morning.”

She studies me, and I hold my breath, waiting for Chloe to tell me to leave. My fingers dig into the cushion beneath me, prepared for rejection and the reasonable suggestion that I head to my hotel room for the night.

“You can stay,” Chloe says, the words so simple for the impact they have on me. “So long as you behave.”

Relief floods my system. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“You’d better be.” She stretches, arms reaching toward the ceiling, and her shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of skin at her midriff.

My cock twitches at the sight, behaving already proving to be a challenge.

I need a distraction from the sudden ache straining my zipper. “We should probably figure out dinner. ”

“Let me grab the menus.” Chloe swings her legs off the sofa and pads to the kitchen.

She bounces back with them clutched in her hands and plops onto the cushion beside me. “Any preferences?”

“I’m open to anything,” I say, and mean it in ways that extend beyond food.

She pulls out several options, spreading them on the counter. “Thai? Indian? Italian? We also have a decent pizza place nearby.”

I scan the offerings. “What about Indian? That’s another one that Holden doesn’t cook often, and I love naan.”

She finds the menu. “Good choice. I haven’t had Indian in forever. I wonder if they’ll deliver chai?”

“You already power napped,” I caution. “Don’t add caffeine, or you’ll never sleep tonight.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

My heart melts. “Sure, keep lying to yourself.”

She changes the subject instead. “The lamb vindaloo here is excellent. Do you want to split a garlic naan?”

“Sounds good.” With her pheromones settling, so does my response, and I toss the offensive pillow off to the side so she can’t wedge it between us again.

Content with what we have now, I lean back as she calls in the order. Her voice shifts when she speaks to the restaurant employee, raising a touch and becoming more formal. I catalog this new detail about her, adding it to my mental collection.

With dinner ordered, Chloe pulls up another movie on her streaming service, another one with enough action to keep us entertained but not so engaging that we can’t talk through it. The familiar rhythm of an evening spent together settles around us.

As the opening credits roll, Chloe tucks her feet beneath her, angling her body toward mine, and she doesn’t comment about the missing pillow.

“So… How did you and Nathaniel become friends in university? He’s so…” She waves her hand, searching for the right word.

“Nathaniel?” I supply with a grin.

“Exactly! I mean, I’m falling for him, but he was a tough nut to crack at the beginning, and you’re…” She scans my face, and heat creeps up my neck.

“I’m what?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.

She shrugs. “Different. Sociable.”

I settle deeper into the sofa. “We met at some of the parties my parents dragged me to.”

She shudders. “Don’t miss those. ”

“Yeah, me, either.” I acknowledge. “But we weren’t close. Then, freshman year, we ended up in several of the same classes. Business fundamentals, economics, that sort of thing.”

Her lips twitch. “Riveting.”

“Oh, absolutely. Edge-of-your-seat stuff.” I match her sarcasm. “But we got paired for a project, and I discovered that beneath all that starch and propriety, Nathaniel has a wicked sense of humor. Dry, but lethal.”

She hums with surprise. “Really?”

“Really.” I tap my fingers on my knee. “We started studying together, then grabbing meals. By the end of that first semester, we were hanging out most weekends.”

“And Blake?” Curiosity brings her closer, and I enjoy the way she wants to learn more about our pack. “He and Nathaniel were close, right?”

“Connected at the hip.” I purse my lips. “Blake was wary of me at first. Protective of Nathaniel.”

“Jealous,” she translates.

“Yes.” I turn toward her and draw up a knee, draping my arm across the back of the couch. “Blake and Nathaniel had been a duo since birth. When I came along, I think Blake worried I was replacing him.”

“And the pack bond? ”

I laugh. “Yeah, he wasn’t a fan of that, either. There was an adjustment period.”

On the screen, explosions paint the room in flashes of orange and red, but neither of us pays attention.

“What happened?” Chloe asks.

“Blake confronted me, actually. Cornered me after class one day and demanded to know my ‘intentions’ toward Nathaniel.” I laugh at the memory. “It didn’t help that Blake and I had already had an altercation over how I treated Holden in the beginning. He had a right to be wary of me.”

Chloe leans forward, invested in the story. “What did you say?”