Page 145 of Knotted By my Pack

My back’s tight. My eyes sting. My body’s begging for sleep, or at least a beer I don’t have to drink in public.

Cora meets me at the counter. Her hair’s pinned up messily, neck flushed from the heat of the kitchen. She’s still in that soft pink top that dips at the collar, and my gaze sticks there a second too long before I drag it back up.

“You look like shit,” she says sweetly, sliding a glass of water toward me.

I down it in one go. “That’s because I’m trying to save this goddamn town.”

“You’re doing a good job,” she murmurs, stepping around the counter. She presses a hand to my chest and peers up at me like she’s weighing something. “Want to feel better?”

I blink at her. “What?”

Her smile shifts into something lazy and knowing. She curls her fingers in the front of my jeans and tugs. “Back room.”

I glance around, but the place is empty. Lights low. Music off. “You’re serious?”

“You’ve been carrying everyone for days. Let me take care of you.”

It’s not a suggestion.

She leads me to the back. There’s flour dust on the table, a few baking trays stacked off to the side, and that’s about all I notice before she drops to her knees in front of me.

“You don’t have to?—”

Her hands undo my belt, and she shushes me without a word. Her eyes flick up, dark and unflinching.

I let out a long breath. Rest one hand on the shelf behind me, the other in her hair.

She frees me from my jeans and wraps her hand around my cock, stroking slowly. It’s so intimate. Her thumb slides over the head, gathering slick, dragging it down.

The rhythm starts slow, steady, like she’s got all the time in the world.

I can’t look away from her. Her mouth parts slightly, like she’s thinking about using it, but she doesn’t. Just keeps her eyes on mine as her hand moves faster, tighter.

My legs start to lock. I’m not vocal. Never have been. But something breaks in me when her other hand presses against my thigh and her wrist flicks just right.

“Fuck, Cora!”

“Good,” she murmurs. “Let it go.”

I do. I jerk forward into her fist, groaning low, and she doesn’t stop until I’ve spilled across her knuckles, until I’m twitching and limp, barely able to catch my breath.

The door swings open behind us.

“Well, well,” Julian drawls. “What do we have here?”

I startle, tuck myself back in, but Cora doesn’t even flinch. She wipes her hand on a towel and gets to her feet like she just finished icing a tray of cookies.

Elias leans against the frame with a grin. “You do realize you’re a public figure now, right? Future assistant mayor can’t be getting caught getting his dick pulled in a bakery.”

Julian laughs, low and smug. “Imagine the headlines.Noah Callahan caught in a sticky situation—buns weren’t the only thing rising at Whisked tonight.”

“You assholes done?” I mutter, zipping up. My face is flushed, not from embarrassment, but because I actually needed that. Desperately.

Cora shrugs and heads toward the sink, washing her hands like she didn’t just reduce me to nothing with one palm. “Maybe you should install a lock on that door.”

Julian steps closer and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing good, Callahan. The old man’s flailing. You’re making waves.”

“Even the fishermen are onboard,” Elias adds. “I think they’d go to war for you. Jake really is doing a great job campaigning for you.”