Page 45 of Knotted By my Pack

I brace one hand against the couch, the other working my cock, and when I come, it’s with her name in my throat and her taste still on my tongue.

It hits hard, release tearing through me as my spine curves and I spill over my hand. I groan, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting.

My body goes still after, breath sharp and uneven, chest rising and falling like I just ran ten miles uphill.

I stare at the ceiling. My hand’s sticky, jeans halfway down my thighs, legs spread wide. I laugh once, soft and without humor. Fuck.

She’s under my skin. Every inch of her. And next time? I won’t stop at just my fingers. I’ll take her apart slowly.

I’ll have her dripping for me, saying my name like a prayer. Not in the back of a bakery, rushed and messy. No. Next time, she comes undone where I can see everything.

Hear every sound. Watch her fall apart for real.

Because I need to see it.

And I know she wants that too.

14

CORA

The clinic hallway is too cold and too quiet. I sit outside Dr. Avery’s office, my palms resting on my thighs, trying not to fidget, but the way my legs press together betrays me.

There’s something wrong. Has to be. This isn’t normal. Not for me.

First, there was Noah. My best friend. The man I’ve trusted since I was practically a kid.

His hands brushing mine and the way he looks at me when he thinks I won’t notice—lately, it does something to me.

I knew he had some kind of crush on me when we were younger, but damn did I choose the worst time for my own feelings to bloom.

Then last night, dry humping Julian like some hormone-drunk teenager. I’d barely said two words to him before I was grinding on his lap like I didn’t know better.

And today... Elias. His fingers. My body opening up to him without hesitation. The wet sound of it still echoes in my head, embarrassingly vivid.

My heat suppressants have worked for years. I’ve never had incidents. Never lost control like this.

And now, just being near an Alpha sends my body into overdrive. I exhale slowly, pulse flickering beneath my skin as Dr. Avery’s door finally opens.

“Cora? Come in,” she says with a kind smile. Her hair is swept into a low bun, and she’s wearing those same tiny glasses that always sit too close to the edge of her nose.

I nod and rise, slipping inside and taking a seat across from her desk. The room smells like lavender and sterile cotton. Safe. Clean. I wish I felt either.

“So,” she starts, folding her hands together. “What’s going on?”

I hesitate, then spill everything in a breathless rush. “My suppressants aren’t working. Or something.

I’ve been around a few Alphas recently, and it’s like—my body reacts before I can think. It’s not like me.”

Dr. Avery listens patiently, eyes scanning a chart on her tablet. She hums softly, the sound more clinical than comforting. “Any changes to your routine? Stress? Missed doses?”

“No. I’ve been good with my meds. But yeah, work’s been... intense.” I cannot tell a professional doctor that the one person stressing the living hell out of me is the same Alpha I was grinding against last night.

She taps her screen, then looks up at me with a steady expression.

“That could be a contributing factor. Stress interferes with hormonal regulation more often than people realize. Suppressants work, but they’re not immune to lifestyle shifts. Emotional build-up, exhaustion, even small changes in diet can make you more vulnerable.”

“So what does that mean? Am I going into heat?”