Page 29 of Knot Their Safe Haven (The Omega Rebellion Movement #3)

He seemed to sense the challenge. He nipped my chin, my jaw, then kissed the spot just below my ear, tongue flicking at the sensitive skin.

His stubble set off fireworks against my neck.

I arched into it, greedy for more, for all of it, and he laughed against my collarbone—a sound so rich and private it sent a pulse of electricity straight down my spine.

Was this what it felt like to lose? Or had I already won?

My brain, the part that wasn’t turning to liquid, was busy cataloguing the ways this was different from every kiss before: the lack of calculation, the absence of an endgame, the way I had absolutely no plan and wanted none.

I didn’t care about what happened next, what it meant, if it would add up to anything.

I just wanted to keep kissing him until the world faded or the sun came up or both.

He seemed to have the same idea. He moved us, spinning in a slow, clumsy circle until my back hit the nearest wall—glass, cold, slick with condensation, the outside world murky and irrelevant beyond it.

He pressed me there, full body, his thigh sliding between mine, and the contact lit up every nerve ending in my body.

I gasped, nails digging into his scalp, and the pain only urged him on.

He held me pinned, mouth hot on my throat, and I had a flash of all the times I’d ever been caught, cornered, hunted.

This was nothing like that. This was the opposite of fear: I was so alive I thought I might combust. I wanted to claw him open and crawl inside.

I wanted to mark him and be marked, to let the world see the evidence of what we’d done to each other.

He pulled back, barely, just enough to see my face. His lips were swollen, kiss-bitten, and he grinned at me with every tooth in his head.

"Still dangerous?" he asked, voice shredded and lovely.

"You have no idea," I whispered, and pulled him down for another kiss, harder this time, all pretense burned away.

His hands didn’t stay still: one gripping at my waist, the other fisting into my hair, using it to angle my head for deeper access.

Our bodies pressed together so close I could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, matching the chaos in mine.

He tasted like secrets and decisions, the kind that changed a person forever.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if Knox would have ever kissed me like this, if Adyani would have even tried, if Malcolm would have dared. I decided it didn’t matter. This was a new thing entirely. This was a thing that could not be compared.

"Alessandro," I managed, but the rest of his name got swallowed by his mouth reclaiming mine. He moved his thigh, and I swore, the friction sending a shockwave through every muscle I had. It was embarrassing how ready I was for him, how my body betrayed every defense I’d ever built.

He broke the kiss, just enough to let our noses brush, “You’re shaking," he murmured, and I realized I was.

"Not from fear," I said, and bit his lip again for punctuation.

He made the sound again—animal, desperate—and it thrilled me to know I could do that to him.

He shifted, hands moving to fully cup my ass, hauling me up and onto him so my feet dangled above the polished floor.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, letting him hold all of me, surrendering not out of weakness but because I knew I could take it, and more.

He pressed me tighter to the glass, and the cold shocked through my dress, a slice of clarity that made everything else burn hotter.

I raked my fingers down his neck, leaving faint red scratches, and he hissed, then laughed, then bit the line of my jaw in retaliation.

We were a tangle of teeth and hands and need.

I realized I was grinning like a lunatic. He looked at me, caught the expression, and grinned back, devil and angel all at once.

"You like being manhandled," he teased.

"I like being handled by you," I shot back.

He made a pleased sound, almost a purr, and kissed me again, softer for a moment, as if to remind me he could go gentle if I wanted. But when I opened to him, he took, and the taking was as sweet as anything I’d ever known.

I let myself melt into it, into him, feeling every sharp edge and hungry point between us. His scent was everywhere, inside me now, and I wondered in a mad flash if this was what soul-matching felt like—a slow chemical burn with no antidote.

He slowed the kiss, pulling back with reluctance, and brushed his lips over my cheek, my eyelids, the tip of my nose. For a second, the only sound was our breath and the distant tick of the antique clock on the mantle. I realized I was shaking for real now, adrenaline and want fighting for primacy.

He didn’t let me go.

"Still want to kill me?" he asked, voice a blend of hope and mockery.

"Give me five minutes," I said. "I might change my mind."

He laughed, full-bodied and rich, and it made me laugh too, because nothing about this made sense and that was the point. For once I didn’t have to make sense. I just had to be here, in this moment, wanted by a man who could kiss me into oblivion and make me feel invincible at the same time.

He set me down, gentle, like I was fragile glass. I steadied myself on his shoulders, refusing to let go entirely. He seemed just as unwilling: his hands trailed up and down my sides, as if he needed to remind himself I was real.

"I’ve wanted to do that for too long," he admitted. His honesty was disarming.

"I could tell," I said, and kissed his cheek, a small, almost innocent thing compared to what had come before. It made him blush, a faint color on olive skin, and I found myself wanting to see how else I could undo him.

He leaned his forehead to mine, breathless, vulnerable.

"Don’t run from me?"

It wasn’t a question, not really.

It was a plea disguised as a demand.

"Don’t give me a reason," I replied, and the smile that broke over his face was so genuine it scared me.

We stood there, pressed between the glass and each other, and I realized I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay suspended here, outside of time, the rest of the world nothing but a backdrop.

I let my hands trace the line of his jaw, memorized the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, the way his mouth quirked. The sound he makes— part growl, part plea —shoots straight to my core.

We're moving backward, still kissing, until my back hits glass.

The window is cold against silk, a sharp contrast to Alessandro's heat pressing against my front. His hands frame my face, holding me steady as he takes control of the kiss, turning my initiation into his claiming.

"Velvet," he breathes against my mouth.

"Present."

"We should stop."

"We should do a lot of things."

"You're still recovering."

"I'm recovered enough."

"Alexis will actually murder me."

"I'll protect you."

He laughs against my lips, and I swallow the sound, greedy for every part of him I can steal.

We kiss like teenagers, like adults who know better, like mates who've found each other after searching in all the wrong places.

The fireplace pops, sending sparks up the chimney, and we break apart just enough to breathe. His forehead rests against mine, both of us panting like we've run marathons instead of kissed for — how long? Minutes? Hours?

Time has gone liquid, meaningless.

"We should slow down," he says, but his hands are still moving, tracing the shape of me through silk.

"Probably."

"You're agreeing?"

"I'm acknowledging your statement. Very different from agreement."

"Velvet."

"Alessandro."

We stare at each other, sexual tension so thick it has physical weight. His scent has gone dark, possessive, Alpha pheromones flooding the space until I'm swimming in them.

My omega biology responds enthusiastically, preparing for something my mind knows can't happen tonight.

"You're going to be the death of me," he mutters.

"Mutual destruction. Very romantic."

He kisses me again, quick and fierce, then steps back.

The loss of contact makes me whimper before I can stop it.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice rough. "Alexis arrives tomorrow. You should meet the pack before we... complicate things."

"This isn't already complicated?"

"This is beautifully simple compared to what happens when I finally get you in bed."

The promise in his voice makes me clench around nothing, and from his sharp inhale, he can smell the effect he has on me.

"Cocktease," I accuse with a huff.

"Prudent strategist."

"Same thing."

He laughs, moving to the fireplace to add another log.

The mundane action should break the spell, but watching him move— controlled power in an expensive suit— only makes the ache worse.

"More wine?" he offers.

"Trying to get me drunk?"

"Trying to keep my hands busy before I do something we'll both enjoy too much."

I’m giggling before I can stop myself.

"Coward."

"Strategic retreat. Very different."

I pull his jacket tighter around me, drowning in fabric that smells like him.

"Tell me about tomorrow."

"Alexis will arrive around noon. She'll want to assess you immediately—not medically, just to see if you're worthy of me."

"Worthy of you?"

"Her words. She's very protective."

"A female Alpha protective of a male Alpha. That's backwards."

"Everything about Alexis is backwards. It's what makes her perfect."

"And the twins?"

"Day after tomorrow. They're handling some... logistics in the city."

"Logistics sounds ominous."

"Only if you're one of the people who tried to break into your Haven."

"Alessandro."

"They're fine. Mostly. Probably."

"That's not reassuring."

"Wasn't meant to be." He returns to me, maintaining just enough distance to prevent immediate combustion. "The point is, you're safe. The Haven is safe. You have time to decide what you want without pressure or threats."

"Except the biological imperative of being scent matched."

"Except that."

We stand there, firelight painting us gold, jazz whispering from speakers, sexual tension a third party in our conversation.

"I should go to bed," I say, not moving.

"You should."

"Alone."

"Definitely."

"This is me going to bed."

"I see that."

Neither of us moves.

"We're very bad at this," I observe.

"Terrible. Worst self-control in recorded history."

"One more kiss?"

"One more will turn into twenty more."

"I'm very good at math. I can count."

"Velvet.” I’m thriving on pushing his buttons, but I doubt even with how sexually wired I am, I wouldn’t even last with how tired I am.

"Fine. Be responsible, appropriate, and boring," I tease with a huff, pouting my lips as I cross my arms like I’m going to have a hissy fit. Or an adult tantrum.

He crosses the distance between us in two strides, cups my face, and kisses me like the world is ending. My moan would probably be louder if it wasn’t lost in the hollows of his possessive mouth.

It's fierce and desperate and perfect, his tongue claiming my mouth while his hands stay frustratingly still on my face.

When he pulls back, we're both wrecked.

Yeah. We should sleep for our sanity…because this chemistry?

Lethal.

"Goodnight, Velvet."

"Goodnight, Alessandro."

I make it three steps before turning back.

"For the record? This was the best first date in the history of first dates."

His smile could power cities.

"Wait until you see what I have planned for the second."