Page 35 of Knot Today (Hiddenverse #5)

Willow

I should stay.

I should march out there and confront them—demand to know why the hell they think they get to decide who I sleep with, who I want.

But I don’t.

Instead, I yank on my jeans, shove my arms through a hoodie, and pull my hair into a quick ponytail, ignoring the little voice in my head that’s whispering this is a bad idea.

I need space.

I need air.

And I need to get the hell away from the alphas in my living room before I do something stupid.

Like kiss Carson again. Like pull Hunter into it just to watch him crack. Like push Graham until he snaps. Because none of those things are good ideas.

I grab my sneakers and move to the window, heart hammering. They’ll never let me leave through the front door. Not after last night. Not after that argument.

So I climb out onto the fire escape.

My muscles protest as I slip through the frame, stretching to find footing on the fire escape. My breath is fast, my pulse loud in my ears, but I don’t hesitate as the sounds of the city rise around me.

One step.

Then another. And another.

I make it to the last rung of the ladder, about to drop to the alley below, when strong hands catch my waist.

I freeze.

A slow, easy chuckle slides up my spine, curling around my ribs. It’s dark and sinister.

“Where do you think you’re going, little fire?”

Finn.

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening on the cool metal above me as his grip firms just enough to keep me from escaping. His touch is gentle, but his voice—his voice is pure possession.

"You always run to me when you’re feeling wild, don’t you?” he murmurs, head tilting. His eyes flick up the ladder—toward my bedroom window—before cutting back to mine. “What’s wrong, Willow? Alphas playing a little too rough?”

My stomach flips.

Because Finn knows.

I don’t have a single clue how he knows unless he’s been watching me. I hold back a snort—of course he's been watching me. That’s why my dad shackled me with the three alphas I just left behind in my apartment. My emotions got the better of me, and now I’m in a mess.

He might not be able to smell me like they can, but he’s been watching long enough to see what’s happening.

His hands slide from my waist to my hips, fingers pressing just enough to make my breath catch. “Tell me,” he whispers, his lips dangerously close to my ear. “Did Carson give you what you wanted? Or did he just leave you needing? It looked like he knew what he was doing, but maybe—”

I shiver, the heat of his words sinking beneath my skin, through my bones, straight to my core.

His lips barely graze my jaw as he whispers, "Let me take care of it."

There’s something about his absolute obsession that makes me crave what he’s offering, even here in the alleyway, with the pungent smell of trash nearby.

Before I can react, he twists me in his arms, pinning me between his body and the cold brick wall. The sudden shift knocks the breath from my lungs, but he just watches me, eyes dark and hungry.

His fingers trail up, brushing over my collarbone, along my jaw, leaving sparks in their wake. His focus is razor-sharp, memorizing me, carving me into him.

Then—click. The sound rips through me, a shiver down my spine. I blink up at him as he lowers the camera, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles along my jaw, touch so reverent it weakens my knees.

I should shove him away. I should. But instead I melt into it—into him. The way he sees me, the way his gaze wraps around me, whole and consuming, soothes something fractured inside me.

“Look at you,” he breathes, thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip, pupils blown wide. “You love it. Knowing I see you in a way no one else does.”

I suck in a shaky breath, pulse hammering, my skin burning beneath his slow, deliberate touch.

God help me, he’s right.

Finn sees me. Not as some untouchable, overprotected omega. Not as some fragile thing to be shielded and locked away. He sees me as I am.

And that should scare me.

It doesn’t.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, my lips parting on instinct. “You’re right.”

Finn stills.

Something shifts in his eyes, the teasing flicker gone, replaced by something more primal, more possessive. His fingers tighten just slightly around my jaw. “Say it again.”

I wet my lips, pulse hammering against my ribs. “You’re right, Finn.”

That’s all he needs.

He crashes into me, mouth claiming mine in a kiss so deep it steals my breath, so thorough it feels carved into my bones.

A moan rips out of me as my fists curl in his shirt, yanking him closer. He groans, body crushing into mine, hands sliding into my hair, gripping hard—anchoring himself, refusing to let go.

The world tilts, gone. All that’s left is him. His mouth on mine, hungry, desperate, devouring me as though I’m oxygen, as though he’s starving and I’m the only thing that could ever fill him.

And fuck—I love it.

A deep growl rumbles from his chest as his tongue slides against mine. My knees weaken, my body melting into his. And just when I think he’s going to fuck me right here against the brick, he pulls back.

Abruptly.

His chest is heaving, his hands still tangled in my hair. His jaw flexes as he inhales deep, trying to steady himself.

I blink, dazed, aching, my lips swollen and tingling.

“Not here,” he says, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “You deserve better than a dirty alleyway.”

His standards shouldn’t make me melt.

But they do.

I don’t have time to process it before he tangles his fingers with mine and tugs me away from the wall.

I follow him.

Willingly. Crazily.

Maybe I’m just as unstable as he is. Because I’m meeting his crazy right where he’s at. And I don’t want to stop.

Finn’s grip is firm, his fingers tangled with mine, staking his claim without a word. His hold says it all—mine. I’ve already won.

And maybe he has.

The morning sun filters through the buildings, casting long shadows across the pavement as he leads me out of the alley and across the street.

The city is waking up—horns blaring, people rushing to work, a man in a suit balancing a coffee and a bagel while attempting to hail a cab. It’s all so normal, so mundane.

And yet, here I am, willingly letting my obsessed stalker pull me toward the apartment that he probably rented just to watch me. My heartbeat pounds between my ribs.

I feel his eyes on me as we step into the lobby of his building, the scent of old carpet and stale coffee filling my lungs. The elevator is out of order, so we take the stairs, Finn walking half a step ahead of me, his grip never loosening.

There’s something different about him now.

A quiet certainty. A confidence that wasn’t there before. Because I already gave in. Because I’m following him willingly. He knows exactly what that means. At the top landing on the fourth floor, he stops in front of his apartment door and turns to face me.

"You’re not running anymore,” he says. And it’s not a question. “You finally figured it out.”

I swallow hard, my fingers still tangled with his. “Figured what out?”

His smirk is slow, possessive, and full of dangerous satisfaction.

“That you belong to me.”

The air between us crackles, an invisible thread tightening, pulling, binding us together in a way that should terrify me. My heart jumps, ready to free-fall straight into this. Whatever this is.

He lifts our joined hands, brushing his lips over my knuckles, his breath hot against my skin.

“I don’t have to chase you anymore, do I?” he murmurs. “You’ll come to me.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

The fact that I’m standing here, letting him pull me deeper into his world, says more than words ever could. His smile widens, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw, tilting my chin so I’m looking directly into his eyes.

“I told you, Willow,” he whispers, his thumb grazing my lower lip. “You were always going to come to me.”

My back meets the cool wood of his apartment door, and Finn follows, pressing into me without hesitation. His grip on my chin is firm but not forceful, his thumb still resting against my lower lip, memorizing the shape of it.

His touch is soft—too soft for someone like him. I expect him to take what he wants. To claim, to consume, to overwhelm.

But instead, he kisses me slowly this time. The kind of slow that seeps into my bones, into my bloodstream, into the very center of who I am.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, lips dragging slow against mine. Unhurried. Certain. Savoring every second, as though he’s waited too long to rush now.

My fingers slide up his chest, finding the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm. Solid. Real. The only thing keeping me grounded in the storm I created.

Finn groans low, pressing me harder into the door, his body flush with mine, heat sinking into my skin.

Then he rips back. Pupils blown, breath uneven, lips swollen from the kiss. He exhales sharp, reining himself in, dragging back from the edge of something dangerous.

His gaze flicks to the door over my shoulder, then back to me. A slow smirk curves his lips.

"Inside," he says.

He reaches behind me, his fingers working the lock with a quiet snick. Then he pushes the door open, his hand finding mine as he guides me inside. The door swings shut behind us, sealing us in together.

And I know—this is the point of no return.