Page 36 of Knot Their Safe Haven (The Omega Rebellion Movement #3)

She kissed me again, slower now, savoring the taste of my surrender.

Her hips rolled against mine, and I stifled a groan.

My hands found the curve of her waist, dragging her flush against me until our entire bodies hummed with anticipation.

She didn't shy away from the friction, didn't defer or deferentially yield—she pressed back, meeting force with force, until we might as well have been fighting for air.

Somewhere nearby, a breeze rattled the aluminum doors of the service garage, but it was nothing compared to the storm in my chest. I felt unmoored, unanchored—like everything in my life prior to this was just scaffolding for the moment Velvet Morclair finally let herself be held by someone who wouldn't break her.

I slid my hand up her back, fingers tangling in the silver spill of her hair.

The texture was impossibly soft, daring me to pull just a little.

She let me, eyes fluttering closed as I took gentle control, tilting her head for a better angle.

Our tongues tangled, the kiss deepening, until I couldn't tell where my hunger ended and hers began.

She tasted like lemonade and pistachio ice cream, a little sweet and a little bitter, but mostly like conquest. I devoured her, and she devoured me right back, no quarter given.

Her hands found my collar, yanking me closer until the plastic buttons strained.

She traced the line of my throat with her tongue, then grazed my jugular with the edge of her canine—a warning that she could draw blood if she wanted to.

The challenge in her eyes dared me to make the first move, but I was too enchanted to care.

I let my guard down, let my Omega have her fun.

She must've registered my surrender, because her lips softened, mouth gentling as she peppered my jaw with kisses. I blinked, trying to recover some semblance of composure, but she grinned at the sight—my pupils blown wide, breath hammering, cock hard and straining behind Savile Row wool.

"You look like you've been shot," she mused, tone teasing but reverent, like she was cataloguing evidence for a case only she understood.

"I think you just killed me," I managed, my voice embarrassingly raw.

She laughed, the sound unfiltered and real, and in that moment I would have promised her anything. The wind shifted again, and I caught a subtle note of vulnerability beneath all the bravado—a question she wasn't sure how to ask.

So I did what I do best: closed the distance, pressing my forehead to hers, anchoring us both.

For a heartbeat, the world went soft-focus, just the two of us and the aftershock of what we'd just done.

My phone rings.

The opening notes of "Flight of the Valkyries" mean only one thing—the twins.

"Ignore it," Velvet gasps against my mouth.

"They'll just keep?—"

It rings again.

Then again.

I pull back with a groan, fishing the phone from my pocket.

"Gatekeeping mother fucking assholes."

"Answer it,” she encourages now with an amused glint in her eyes. She's smiling, lips swollen and eyes dark. "Pack duty calls."

"Dante, this better be?—"

"We're at the airport." His voice carries amusement because he knows exactly what he's interrupting. "Private terminal. Come get us or we're taking a very public Uber and making sure everyone knows we're coming to see our omega."

"You wouldn't."

"Damon's already got the app open."

Motherfuckers.

"I hate you both."

"Love you too. Twenty minutes or we start posting."

He hangs up, and I resist the urge to throw my phone at something expensive.

"The twins?"

"Threatening social media terrorism if I don't collect them immediately."

Velvet laughs, pushing off the car with fluid grace.

"We should go get them then."

"We should leave them at the airport to think about their choices."

"Alexis." Her hand finds mine, fingers interlacing naturally. "Can we do this again? The racing, not the twins being dramatic."

"We can do whatever you want, whenever you want." I squeeze her hand, marveling at how small it feels in mine despite the power it commands. "Track's ours anytime."

Her smile could power cities.

"More adventures await?"

"So many adventures. Racing's just the beginning. Wait until you see what the twins consider entertainment."

"Terrifying or exciting?"

"Yes."

We walk toward the Bentley I'd driven here—more comfortable for four people than the McLaren. Velvet slides into the passenger seat with easy elegance, already comfortable in spaces that cost millions.

"For someone who's never had proper pack care," I observe, starting the engine, "you're adapting remarkably fast."

"Maybe because this pack doesn't require adaptation." She watches mountains blur past as we leave the track. "You just...accept. No conditions or amendments or twenty-year waiting periods."

"Novel concept, accepting people as they are."

"Revolutionary, even."

The drive toward the airport is comfortable, her hand resting on my thigh while I navigate mountain roads that would terrify flatlanders. The weight of her touch is grounding—reminder that this is real, she's here, we're building something.

"Tell me about the twins," she requests.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Starting with how one handles two Alphas who share everything."

"Carefully." I downshift through a hairpin turn, enjoying how her hand tightens on my thigh. "They're intense individually, overwhelming together. But they're also brilliant, loyal, and surprisingly romantic when they want to be."

"Romantic mobsters?"

"The family business requires certain... flexibility with traditional morality. But yes, they're absolutely the type to murder your enemies then bring you flowers."

"That's actually sweet, in a demented way."

"That's the twins perfectly—sweet in demented ways."

My phone buzzes with what's definitely a threat disguised as emoji from Dante.

"We're about to have so much chaos," I warn her. "The twins don't do subtle. They're going to worship you loudly and publicly."

"After twenty years of being hidden?" She squeezes my thigh. "Loud and public sounds perfect."

I glance over, catching her profile against afternoon sun. Silver hair catching light, leather and silk, confidence earned through survival—she's everything we've been waiting for without knowing we were waiting.

"Hey, Alexis?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For today. For the racing and the kissing and not letting me sit still long enough to panic about everything changing."

"That's what pack does," I echo her earlier words. "We keep each other moving forward."

"Even at dangerous speeds?"

"Especially then. Where's the fun in safety?"

Her laugh fills the Bentley as we race toward the airport, toward the twins, toward whatever chaos comes next.

The adventure is just beginning.