Page 111 of Knot Their Safe Haven

"Something that might not be on the menu."

Her eyes darken, catching the implication immediately. "Oh? And what makes you think I'd be interested in... off-menu options?"

My hand finds her thigh under the table, fingertips tracing patterns on those ridiculous pumpkin stockings. "Call it hopeful speculation."

She shifts, thighs pressing together, and I catch the subtle change in her scent—interest blooming into want.

The waitress reappears with timing that suggests she's been watching. "Dessert menu?"

"Please," I respond without breaking eye contact with Velvet. "We'll call when we're ready to order."

Pink stains the waitress's cheeks as she processes the weight beneath those words. "Of course."

She flees with admirable speed.

"You're making it obvious," Velvet whispers, though her hand covers mine on her thigh, preventing retreat.

"If I wanted obvious, I'd already be under this table."

"Alessandro—"

I lean in until my lips brush her ear, voice dropping to frequencies only she can hear.

"So are you going to let your Alpha do some exploring?" I let the syllables curl around her like smoke, savoring the way her breath stuttered, then hitched, then went shallow and quick beneath my palm.

Her grip on my hand spasmed, not in panic or refusal but in a wordless plea for more, her pulse singing against my thumb. The air between us charged, an electric field of anticipation where the ambient aroma of coffee and maple syrup could barely keep pace with the sharp, honeyed spike of her want. Anyone who passed our door—even the inattentive, the old, the jaded—would know exactly what was happening, what was about to happen, what had already happened in the way her pupils eclipsed the brown of her irises, in the way she couldn’t keep from shifting to let my touch press deeper.

I didn’t let her finish the thought. My hand on her thigh slid higher, tracing lazy arcs just under the hem of her skirt until I found the seam of her stockings, the delicate band of lace barely concealed by the orange sweep of fabric. I dipped my head, lips grazing the curve of her ear with a deliberate slowness, so she felt every word before she heard it.

"You know," I murmured, "I bet this place has never seen anyone risk a public indecency charge before breakfast service is even over."

She made a strangled sound, equal parts protest and invitation, then lifted her chin, meeting my gaze with a fierceness that always thrilled me. "Alessandro, if you so much as try anything more, I will?—"

"You’ll what?" I threaded my fingers between hers, pinning her wrist gently to the table.

She narrowed her eyes, lips parted. I watched the battle unfold behind her lashes—a duel between the dignified Queen ofthe Rebellion and the Omega who secretly, desperately wanted to surrender for just a minute, just with me, just right here. She tried to reach for control, but it slipped through her grasp like water.

"God, I hate you," she whispered, biting down on the last word as if it were a curse—her body, however, betrayed the lie.

I smiled, slow and victorious, then used my free hand to slide the dessert menu into her field of view. She tried to act unaffected, but her hands trembled as she reached for it, and her knee nudged mine under the table, seeking the kind of friction only I could provide.

"You know," I said, voice barely above a hum, "we could order the pumpkin spice cheesecake, and I could feed it to you bite by bite until you beg me to stop."

"I will never beg," she shot back, but her cheeks were painted with a flush so deep it made her freckles stand out like fireflies.

"We’ll see. I’m very persuasive."

The waitress lingered in the doorway, her attention skimming over us with a practiced air of neutrality, but even she couldn’t ignore the heat bleeding off our booth like a space heater set to inferno.

I glanced her way, offering a subtle shake of my head—no need for witnesses, not yet—and she vanished, pretending not to notice how Velvet’s palm had drifted up my thigh in retaliation.

"Here? Now? With half the town trying to photograph us?"

"You know that isn’t going to stop me."

He purposely drops a spoon there, the sound so subtle.

“I best pick that up. Don’t want to be rude.”