Page 33 of Knot So Lucky

We're both naked—gloriously, unapologetically naked—the sheets tangled around our legs in evidence of last night's steamy shenanigans. My body aches in all the right ways, the kind of pleasant soreness that comes from being thoroughly fucked by someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

His chest is pressed against my back, one arm slung possessively over my waist while his hand rests on my hip. His other arm is tucked under my head, serving as a pillow that probably cut off circulation hours ago but he hasn't moved. His breathing is soft and even against the nape of my neck, eachexhale stirring the short hairs there in a rhythm that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat.

His scent is everywhere.

Burnt cedar and dark coffee and raw amber, mixed with the musk of sex and sweat and something purelyus. It's soaked into the sheets, into my skin, into my lungs with every breath I take. My Omega instincts are practically purring with contentment, drowsy and satisfied in a way the suppressants usually prevent.

For a moment—just one perfect, crystalline moment—I let myself enjoy it.

The warmth of his body against mine.

The weight of his arm anchoring me in place.

The safety that comes from being held by someone who knows every secret I'm hiding and hasn't run away yet.

But reality is a persistent bitch, and she's currently manifesting as the knowledge that I need to get up early to prep for work.

I sigh, the sound barely audible, and carefully begin the extraction process.

Cale's a heavy sleeper after sex—one of the few times his Alpha instincts actually let him relax completely—but he's also got reflexes that would put a cat to shame. I have to move slowly, deliberately, sliding out of his embrace inch by careful inch.

His arm tightens reflexively when I start to move, and I freeze.

"Mmph," he grumbles into my hair, still mostly asleep.

"Shhh," I whisper, running my fingers along his forearm in soothing strokes. "Still early. Go back to sleep."

He makes another incoherent sound, but his grip loosens, and I seize the opportunity to slip free. The cool air of the bedroom hits my naked skin like a shock after the warmth of his body, raising goosebumps across my arms and back.

I grab my phone from the nightstand—somehow it survived the night despite being tossed aside in favor of more interesting activities—and pad toward the bathroom on silent feet.

The marble floor is cold against my bare soles, and I can feel the sticky evidence of last night between my thighs. My inner thighs are marked with fingerprint bruises that will fade in a day or two. My neck has a particularly spectacular hickey that I'm going to have to cover with makeup before work.

Worth it.

So fucking worth it.

I close the bathroom door behind me with a soft click and immediately attend to the necessities. Pee, because sex is great, but biology is biology. Wet wipes to clean up the mess we made. A moment of staring at myself in the mirror, taking inventory of the damage.

My hair is an absolute disaster—sticking up in seventeen different directions, product-free and natural in a way it never is when I'm being Rory. My lips are swollen and slightly chapped from kissing. There's a faint red mark along my collarbone where Cale bit down hard enough to leave an impression.

I look thoroughly debauched.

I also look happy as fuck.

The realization makes something warm and complicated bloom in my chest, and I quickly shove it down before I can examine it too closely.

I grab my toothbrush—the electric one that cost more than it should because apparently my parents believe in premium oral hygiene—and start the process of making myself feel human again. The brush hums against my teeth as I open my phone with my free hand, thumb swiping through notifications with practiced efficiency.

Seventeen new emails since I went to sleep.

Most of them are the usual—team updates, supply chain confirmations, a passive-aggressive note from Pemberton about "professionalism in the workplace" that I'll ignore with extreme prejudice.

But one catches my eye.

Subject line:URGENT: ONLINE USER NEEDED

I pout around my toothbrush, tapping the email open with growing curiosity.