Page 20 of Knot Their Safe Haven

Respecting boundaries that kept us all miserable.

Until I'm doing stupid shit like stalking the Omega I'm obsessed with at the wee hours of the night to sustain this "respectable" distance that does nothing but make us all suffer.

Her apartment smelled like her—black orchids and spiced wine, with that underlying sweetness that was purely Velvet. I moved through the familiar space, noting the changes since my last visit. New curtains, darker than before. Another empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

The hallway to her bedroom was lined with photographs, and I paused despite myself. Here we were at Knox's gym opening twenty years ago, her smile bright and genuine before she'd learned to armor herself. There was the beach trip to Morocco eight years back, Adyani's arm around her waist, both of them laughing at something off-camera. A candid shot from last year's medical conference, where she'd been my "plus one"—the quotation marks had been her addition to the invitation.

We looked happy in these frozen moments.

Like a real pack.

If only.

Her bedroom door was cracked open, and I could hear her restless movements, the whisper of silk against skin. I pushed it open slowly, my eyes adjusting to the darkness.

She was ethereal in her misery.

Purple curls spread across the pillow like spilled wine, silver and white roots showing at her temples where the dye had faded. The silk nightgown had ridden up to her waist, exposing the generous curves that haunted my dreams. Her breasts strainedagainst the delicate fabric, nipples still hard from her earlier activities.

My cock throbbed painfully in my slacks, and I bit back a groan. This was such a bad idea. Such a monumentally stupid, unethical, dangerous idea.

But I was already moving toward the bed, already justifying what I was about to do. She needed this. Needed touch, needed release, needed to feel wanted even if she couldn't consciously accept it. And I needed to give it to her, needed to provide what her body craved even if she'd never let me when awake.

We were all cowards in this dance, but maybe in the darkness, in the space between sleep and waking, we could be honest.

I slipped off my shoes, shed my lab coat—always wearing the damn thing like armor, even at 2 AM—and carefully eased onto the bed behind her. The mattress dipped under my weight, and she stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

"Shh," I whispered, pulling her back against my chest. "It's just me."

She inhaled deeply, her body recognizing my scent even in sleep—eucalyptus and mint from the medical bay, clean linen from my obsessive need for order. The tension bled out of her muscles as she settled against me, and something inside my chest cracked.

"Mal?" Her voice was thick with sleep and pills, barely conscious.

"I'm here," I murmured against her hair, breathing in her scent like a drowning man. "I've got you."

She made a sound that might have been my name or might have been nothing, burrowing back against me. The movement pressed her ass against my erection, and I had to bite my lip hard to stay quiet.

Another whimper, this one distinctly sad, and my heart clenched. Even in sleep,drugged,she was hurting.Needing.Empty in ways that went beyond the physical.

My hand moved without conscious thought, sliding over her hip, fingers tracing the curve of her waist. She was so soft, warm, and so fucking perfect I could barely breathe.

"What do you need?" I whispered, knowing she couldn't really answer, knowing I was asking myself as much as her.

She shifted restlessly, thighs pressing together, and I could smell her arousal—thick and sweet and calling to every Alpha instinct I possessed.

Who am I kidding? I know what she needs. So desperately in the depths of this lonely night.

My hand moved lower, gathering the silk of her nightgown, pushing it up slowly.

This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong. But?—

"Please," she mumbled, still mostly asleep, and that single word shattered my last restraint.

Fuck...is she even aware it's me?

Deep down, I know that doesn't matter to me. Not with how horny I'm currently aiming to please her. To make those whimpers of sadness morph into sounds of pleasure.

My fingers found the edge of her panties, already soaked through.