Page 26

Slowly, as if every movement might fracture the fragile hush binding us together, I crane my head to the side, my cheek brushing the heat of his chest. My gaze tilts upward, searching until the world narrows to the fathomless storm of his eyes.

I see every unspoken word there, every silent battle, every echo of want that trembles between us.

It’s a look that makes my breath hitch—a glance that leaves me suspended in the vulnerable gravity of this moment, tethered by nothing but the fragile hope flickering between us.

I lick my lips, wetting them. I watch as his eyes drop down to the movement. He shifts even closer. His pupils dilate with feral hunger. The muscles in his jaw move as he grinds his teeth.

“I … I don’t know what you want.”

“I want everything.”

His answer hangs between us, a live wire, and before I can draw another trembling breath, his lips descend onto mine.

My eyes close as I give myself over to the feeling.

The world stills—a single heartbeat stretching into eternity—as the warmth of his mouth eclipses every sorrow, every ache.

His kiss is gentle at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid I might vanish beneath the weight of it.

But I don’t pull away. I can’t. Instead, I dissolve.

Every line I’ve drawn between blurs in the heat and hush of this moment.

His lips move with inexorable softness, coaxing, persuading, the question of want answered in the press and part of mouths searching for solace. My hands finally leave the mug, reaching for him, desperate to anchor myself to something real.

The kiss deepens, stealing my breath, and I let myself fall—just for an instant—into the wild, impossible hope of us. The world narrows to the taste of him, the electricity of his touch, the way his breath mingles with mine until I am nothing but longing.

His hands, warm and certain, find my waist—fingers spanning the trembling space between hesitation and surrender.

With a gentle insistence, he guides me, the world tilting as I yield to his silent directive.

The air stills, shimmering with anticipation, as he turns me toward him fully, aligning my uncertain heart with the steady pull of his.

Then, without a word, his grip tightens—protective, reverent—as he lifts me in one smooth motion.

My breath stutters as I break the kiss. My eyes snap open, startled, as he settles me atop the cool counter.

The distance between us vanishes; he claims the space, stepping between my spread thighs, anchoring me with the press of his body.

His hands remain, splayed at my hips, grounding me in this sudden elevation, this heady closeness that makes the world tilt and pulse with possibility.

He takes my lips once more, anchoring one of his hands into the thickness of my hair. He guides me, controlling the kiss. He takes it deeper, his tongue darting out to run along my lips. My lips open for his immediately, allowing our tongues to duel.

He breaks the kiss, murmuring, “You’re so beautiful,” before he reclaims my mouth and fights for dominance.

A shaky laugh escapes me, the sound caught between disbelief and yearning as his words settle over my skin, branding me with their reverence.

His breath is hot against my lips—each exhale a promise, each inhale a plea.

The world blurs at the edges, reality dissolving in the incandescent hush between heartbeats, until all I can feel is the fevered press of his mouth, the wild cadence of our mingled longing.

His hands roam with growing urgency, one cradling the nape of my neck, the other spanning the small of my back, pulling me closer, impossibly closer. Heat coils low in my belly, igniting a wildfire where his fingers skim exposed skin.

Our kiss becomes a fevered collision of hunger and hope, mouths sliding, tongues tangling, breath stolen and surrendered in equal measure. Every barrier burns—every protest, every fear—leaving only the raw, trembling need that pulses between us.

He murmurs my name, worshipful and rough, and it sends a bolt of molten want through me.

I clutch at his shoulders, desperate to keep him tethered, to lose myself in the dizzying heat of his touch.

His lips claim mine over and over, unrelenting, until reason is a distant memory, and all that remains is the consuming blaze of this kiss—this moment—where we are undone and remade in each other’s arms.

Nothing else matters but this. Not the fact that they don’t want me as their omega. Not the fact that they stood me up last night. Not even the fact that they refuse to see what’s in front of them.

Nothing.

All I can focus on is this. The sweet glide of his lips on mine as he coaxes my pleasure to the forefront. All I see, feel, and hear is the need buried deep inside of us as it fights to break free of its cage.

We may be two people, but when we’re together, we’re one.

Without a word, his arms slip under my ass.

I gasp, my heartbeat skipping as he lifts me effortlessly, as though the weight of my longing is nothing at all.

My arms loop instinctively around his neck as my legs wrap around his waist, clinging to the familiar heat of him, breath trembling between us as our gazes meet.

He holds me there, suspended in the hush of possibility, his eyes searching mine for permission, for direction. The question is silent, etched only in the soft arch of his brow and the gentle press of his lips: where?

I tip my head, barely more than a nod in the golden hush, and his smile—small, secret, reverent—tells me he understands.

He carries me forward. Footsteps slow and certain, every movement a quiet vow.

Even without words, he asks, and even without words, I answer.

In this moment, the path ahead is illuminated only by the wild, unspoken promise between us.

He crosses the threshold of my room with a certainty that steals my breath, the world narrowing to the space between us.

He doesn’t pause to look around, as if the room and its details are inconsequential compared to the urgent gravity drawing us closer.

His focus is absolute—unwavering and intent—as he strides straight to the bed, his hands steady and guiding.

With gentle insistence, he sits me down on the edge, never letting my gaze slip from his.

For a heartbeat, the hush between us thrums with anticipation, his presence filling every corner, every shadow.

In that quiet moment, it is as if he's carrying not just my body but all my longing into this sanctuary.

Here, in the warm hush of the room, we are tethered by the wordless promise that this is where we belong—together, at last.

“Tell me no,” his rough, gritty voice drifts through the silence of the bedroom. “Tell me to leave.”

I should.

I shouldn’t have let him inside my home. Nothing good will come from this. He doesn’t want the things I want. He doesn’t yearn, with everything inside of him, to belong to someone, to be all that person can see, feel, and taste.

Knox, Boone, and Tripp don’t want me as an omega. They actually want to break the match on Select-A-Mate so they can hopefully find another.

Even with all of that, I can’t bring myself to ask Tripp to leave. I have this need burrowed deep inside of me that’s clawing to be set free. If this is all I can have, then I’ll take it.

I’ll take everything he has to offer and hope in the end that it’s enough.

“I … can’t.”

Tripp’s eyes hold mine, a question shimmering in their depths, and I answer with a trembling exhale.

He steps back, his hands finding the hem of his shirt.

With unhurried certainty, he lifts it, the motion deliberate—almost reverent—as fabric glides up over sculpted abs and the hard plane of his chest. Shadows play along the lines of muscle, each movement revealing strength honed by silent intention.

When the shirt slips away, I see him—truly see him.

Inked patterns ripple across his skin, stories etched in swirling black and indigo, coiling around his biceps and trailing down his ribs.

Some are bold and fierce, others delicate, half-hidden beneath the curve of his shoulder or the gentle rise of his collarbone.

He stands, bare and unguarded, the beauty of his form a tapestry of secrets.

Then he comes for me. In my sweatshirt and pajama pants, I’m about as unsexy as it can get, but he’s looking at me as if I’m everything. Gripping the bottom of my sweatshirt, he pulls it up and over my head. I have nothing on beneath, and when he sees that, his eyes take me in from the waist up.

“So, so beautiful,” he croaks, his hands sliding down the skin of my ribs to settle on my pajama pants. With an expert tug, he takes them along with my panties. I maneuver so it’s easier for him to remove them, feeling the silk slide along my skin like butter.

Then he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.

His lips land on the skin of my naked shoulder, his plump lips gliding with barely-there kisses.

I lean back on my hands, my head falling back as his kisses turn rougher, harder.

His touch scorches me from the outside inward, and I want nothing more than to burn for him.

With more strength than I knew he possessed, one arm wraps around me, pulling me toward the headboard as he climbs onto the bed. His strength turns me on, making me wet between my thighs. I’m molten liquid, a puddle of want and need underneath him.

He settles between my spread thighs. He leans away from me and looks down the length of my body, a barely there smile ghosting along his delicious lips. I watch as he licks them, taking the bottom one between his teeth as he releases a groan of need.