Page 117 of Knotted By my Pack

“Then don’t.”

I sigh, cheek against his skin. “What are you doing today?”

“You,” he says immediately, voice lazy.

I laugh into his chest. “No, seriously.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re not going to the forge? Not checking in with your client in Portland?”

“Nope.”

I pause. “Wait. Really?”

“I cleared my schedule. You’re mine today.”

That warm tug coils inside me again, low and deep. I press a kiss to his collarbone, then another under his jaw. “Then can you help me reopen the bakery?”

His brows rise. “You want to do that today?”

“I don’t want to do it alone.”

He leans in and kisses me again, slower this time. “Then we’ll do it together.”

We stay in bed for a while longer, limbs tangled, until my phone buzzes across the nightstand. I lean over to grab it and see a new message in the group chat.

Julian:If this baby doesn’t shut up in the next ten minutes, I’m going to stage a hostage situation. Business class. Not economy. Business.

I snort and shove the phone into Noah’s hand. “Julian’s dying.”

“He deserves it,” Noah says, reading the text.

A thought crosses my mind, and I sit up straighter, breasts bouncing just enough to make Noah tilt his head like he’s memorizing the way they move.

“Hold them,” I say, grinning. “I want to send a picture.”

His hands lift automatically, cupping my breasts from behind as I straddle him, fingers brushing my nipples with just enough pressure to make me suck in a breath.

I grab my phone, hold it out, snap a quick photo with his big hands cradling me from behind. My lips are parted. My skin still flushed from earlier.

I send it to the chat.

Me: Morning. Julian, think about this next time you choose a flight without us.

It takes him less than a minute.

Julian: Group icon.

And now the image is cropped and tiny and hilarious in the corner of the chat. Noah groans behind me.

“You started this.”

“I regret nothing.”

“You’re going to regret it when Elias makes it his wallpaper.”

We shower together next, warm water sluicing over our skin. Noah soaps me slowly, carefully, like he’s trying to undo all the bruises with just his palms.