Page 33 of Knotted By my Pack

Because Cora’s scent would still be in the air. In my lungs. Under my skin.

I slide my hand down, palm wrapping around my cock, and I stroke hard, fast, angry. The tile’s cold against my forehead. Her name isn’t on my tongue, but her scent is thick in my memory.

Vanilla and citrus, warm and clinging, the kind that always makes me want to sink my teeth in. I think about her mouth, the little gasp she would let out if I had her cunt on my tongue.

The curve of her hips in those silly little aprons. Her eyes burning green fire when she turned and walked away from me earlier.

My grip tightens. The way she said no. That quiet finality in her voice. Fuck this. Fuck her! I want to hear her whisper my name in the dark. I need to know every soft sound she makes when she breaks open under me.

I want that little Omega whimpering and begging for me.

I curse low, finishing with a grunt, panting against the shower wall. My hand slides from my body like it betrayed me.

I rinse off quickly, water beating down on skin that’s already turning red from the heat. I turn it off and step out, toweling off roughly, irritated by my own lack of control.

What the hell is wrong with me? She’s an Omega. That’s all she is. That’s all she ever should’ve been. Temporary. Forgettable. Nothing important.

And yet I’m standing in my bathroom, sore and bruised and angry, jerking off to the memory of a woman who can’t stand me. Who says no to me.

Me. JulianfuckingVance.

I toss the towel aside and stalk to the bedroom, pouring another drink as I go. I should call Brielle. I should set up a meeting with the crew the second they land. I should get back to work, make some damn use of this night.

But instead, I sit there, whiskey burning down my throat, her voice still echoing in the back of my mind.

No.

Like she has the power to deny me.

Like she doesn’t still want me.

She’s in my head. And no amount of work, no amount of whiskey, no other woman, is going to change that tonight.

10

CORA

Noah’s truck pulls up in front of the bakery, the engine rumbling to a stop as I gather myself in the dim light.

I let out a slow breath before swinging open the door and walking down the steps to meet him. He’s already out of the truck when I reach him, his brows knitted in concern.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer than usual. His eyes sweep over me, checking for any visible signs of distress.

I nod quickly, not trusting myself to speak. His concern, though genuine, only makes the guilt inside me grow sharper.

“Are you sure?” He sounds more insistent now, like he doesn’t believe me.

I snap. “I’m fine, Noah. Just drop it, okay?”

The words come out sharper than I intended. He looks a little taken aback, his hand hovering near my arm as if he’s unsure whether to reach for me.

I can’t stand it. I immediately feel the heat of shame rising in my chest. We climb into his car.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter quickly, guilt eating at me. “I didn’t mean to snap. A lot happened today. And my head hurts so bad, so I couldn’t drive… And… it’s been a long day. “

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at me like he’s weighing whether to push me further. The uncomfortable silence hangs between us.

Finally, he lets out a long breath, nods, and takes my hand. His touch is warm, reassuring. “What happened?”