Page 40 of Knot Their Safe Haven (The Omega Rebellion Movement #3)

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 of the 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.”

I couldn't resist any longer.

The way her scent had been teasing me throughout breakfast, growing sweeter with each passing moment, had driven me to this point of delicious insanity. My hands gripped her thighs, feeling the slight tremor that ran through her muscles as I positioned myself exactly where I wanted to be.

"Alessandro, what are you—" Her protest died on a gasp as I pressed my lips to the inside of her thigh, just above where her stockings ended.

The pumpkin patterns on the sheer fabric had been driving me to distraction since we'd arrived, and now I could finally act on every filthy thought they'd inspired.

She tries to close her legs, but my hands are already there, firm on her thighs, keeping them spread just enough for me to settle between them. The tablecloth provides perfect cover, draping around us like a curtain, and I can't help the satisfied smirk that spreads across my face.

"What were you saying about demands?" I murmured against her inner thigh, my breath hot through the thin fabric of her stockings.

Her hand found my hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she tried to maintain composure above the table. The waiter had disappeared, but the diner wasn't empty—other patrons scattered throughout, completely unaware of what was happening in our corner booth.

"Alessandro, someone could see," she whispered, but her protest was undermined by the way her thighs trembled under my touch.

"Let them," I growled softly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her knee. "Let the whole town know you're mine."

I traced my fingers up her stockings, finding the edge where nylon met bare skin. She was burning hot there, and the scent of her arousal was intoxicating—black orchids and cinnamon intensified by desire. My omega, my scent match, wet and wanting just inches from my mouth.

"You're impossible," she breathed, but her legs parted slightly wider, giving me better access.

"I'm thorough," I corrected, sliding my hands higher until I found the edge of her underwear—silk, barely there, already damp with her need. "And I've been thinking about this since you walked into the diner looking like every fall fantasy I've ever had."

I hooked my fingers in the delicate fabric and tugged, not hard enough to tear but enough to make my intentions clear. Above the table, I heard her sharp intake of breath, followed by the soft clink of her coffee cup being set down with a trembling hand.

"Someone's going to notice," she warned, but her hips shifted forward slightly, seeking more contact.

"Then you'll have to be very quiet," I murmured, pressing my nose against her covered center and inhaling deeply. The scent hit me like a drug—pure omega arousal mixed with that unique essence that was purely Velvet. "Think you can manage that, Velvet?"

Her fingers tightened in my hair, and I took that as permission to continue. I pulled her underwear to the side, exposing her to my hungry gaze. She was perfect—pink and glistening, her arousal evident in the way she clenched around nothing.

"Fuck," I breathed, the word ghosting over sensitive flesh and making her squirm. "You're so wet already. Is this what I do to you? Just from some kissing and teasing?"

"You know exactly what you do to me," she managed, voice strained with the effort of staying quiet.

I rewarded her honesty with a long, slow lick from bottom to top, savoring her taste like the finest wine.

She was sweet and tart, like candied orchids with a hint of spice, and I immediately knew I'd never get enough.

Her thighs clamped around my head briefly before she forced them to relax, remembering where we were.

"Good girl," I praised softly, then set about taking her apart with methodical precision.

I explored her with my tongue, learning every fold and ridge, cataloging what made her breath hitch and her hips buck. When I found her clit and circled it slowly, she made a sound that was half-gasp, half-moan, quickly disguised as a cough.

"Everything alright over there?" a voice called from across the diner.

"Perfect!" Velvet managed, her voice only slightly higher than normal. "Just... went down the wrong way."

I smiled against her and sucked her clit between my lips, timing it perfectly with her words.

Her heel dug into my back, a warning and encouragement all at once.

I could feel her trembling, trying so hard to maintain the facade of normalcy while I devoured her under the table like she was my last meal.

I slid one finger inside her, groaning quietly at how easily she took it, how her walls clamped down immediately. She was molten silk around me, and I added a second finger, curling them to find that spot that would make her see stars.

"Oh God," she whispered, barely audible.

I worked her with lips and tongue and fingers, building a rhythm that had her rocking subtly against my face. The risk of discovery only heightened everything—every suppressed sound, every controlled movement, every drop of arousal that coated my chin.

Her walls began to flutter around my fingers, and I knew she was close. I increased the pressure, the speed, determined to push her over the edge right here in this small-town diner where anyone could catch us.

"Alessandro," she breathed, a warning and a plea.

I hummed against her clit, the vibration combined with a particularly deep thrust of my fingers sending her over.

She came with a violence that surprised us both, her whole body going rigid as she fought to stay silent.

Her walls clamped down on my fingers in waves, and I worked her through it, drawing out her pleasure until she was shaking.

Only when she tugged my hair in warning did I pull back, pressing gentle kisses to her thighs as she came down. I carefully rearranged her underwear and skirt, making sure she was covered before emerging from under the table with what I hoped was a casual air.

"Find what you were looking for?" she asked, voice rough despite her attempt at nonchalance.

"Absolutely," I confirmed, wiping my mouth with my napkin while maintaining eye contact. "Delicious."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she pressed her thighs together, probably still feeling aftershocks. I reached across the table and took her hand, thumb stroking over her knuckles.

"You did so well," I murmured, just for her. "So quiet, so good for me."

"You're going to pay for that," she promised, but her eyes were soft, satisfied.

"I certainly hope so." I brought her hand to my lips, kissing her palm. "But first, dessert? I believe they have excellent pie here."

She laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "You're insatiable."

"Only for you," I admitted, meaning it completely. "Only ever for you."

The waiter appeared as if summoned, and I ordered pie with ice cream, playing the perfect gentleman while Velvet's taste still lingered on my tongue. She watched me with dark eyes, promise and retribution swirling in their depths.

I couldn't wait to see what my omega would do to get even.

The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting everything gold, and I thought about seventeen years of wanting this woman. None of my fantasies had come close to the reality—Velvet Morclair, spread out like a feast in a public diner, trusting me enough to let go.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.

"That I'm the luckiest bastard alive," I answered honestly. "And that we should probably get back before Alexis sends a search party for leaning into her date time."

"Five more minutes," she bargained, squeezing my hand. "I'm not quite ready to share you again."

God, me neither my Omega.

"All the time you need," I promised, meaning it. "We have forever now."

The pumpkin cheese cake arrives, and we shared it like lovers do—stealing bites, laughing at nothing, hands intertwined across the table. To anyone watching, we were just another couple enjoying a late breakfast.

They had no idea I could still taste heaven on my lips.

She turns her head, our faces so close I can count individual eyelashes.

"Promise?"

"I promise,” I vow,” Like I also vow to explore every inch of you until you forget other Alphas ever existed once we get alone time again."

She’s red in seconds.

"Bold claim."

"Factual statement."

We're frozen in that moment, sexual tension thick enough to photograph, when familiar voices drift from the main dining room.

"—told you they'd be here?—"

"—owe me fifty?—"

"—both owe me hundred?—"

The twins and Alexis appear in the doorway, looking like they've coordinated outfits to within an inch of their lives. Burnt orange for Dante, deep brown for Damon, and Alexis in cream that makes her look like autumn's queen.

"Are we interrupting?" Alexis asks with a smile that says she knows exactly what she's interrupting.

"Yes," I respond flatly.

"Perfect. Scoot over."

They pile into the booth—twins across from us, Alexis forcing me to move closer to Velvet until she's practically in my lap.

"Subtle," Velvet observes.

"Subtlety is for people without private jets," Dante replies, already flagging the waitress. "We saw the photos. Francois is having a meltdown on social media."

"Good," Velvet and I say together.

"You two are becoming eerily synchronized," Damon observes. "It's adorable and slightly concerning."

"Says the identical twin," Velvet shoots back.

"Fair point."

The waitress returns, and the twins order enough food for a small army while Alexis demands their entire coffee supply. Conversation flows easily—plans for the festival, which vendors to visit, how many pumpkins the Bentley can realistically transport.

But beneath the table, my hand never leaves Velvet's thigh.

And judging by the way she keeps shifting, pressing into my touch while maintaining perfectly normal conversation above, we're both counting minutes until we can be alone.

"Earth to horny Alphas," Alexis says loudly. "We're discussing the pumpkin carving contest."

"Right. Pumpkins." I don't even try to sound interested.

"You two are hopeless," she declares, but she's smiling. "Fine. Finish eye-fucking each other. We'll handle the festival logistics."

Velvet chokes on her cider while I try to look offended despite the accuracy of the accusation.

This is what pack feels like—teasing and want and public displays that would have horrified us six months ago.

And underneath it all, the promise of exploration that has nothing to do with festivals and everything to do with the omega currently tracing patterns on my thigh that spell out words I fully intend to make her scream later.

The day is young.

The festival awaits.

But all I can think about is fulfilling every promise I've whispered against her skin.