Page 65 of Knotted By my Pack

“Crashed on the couches. Julian’s half-asleep, but Elias is dead to the world.”

I nod once, jaw clenching as a flush creeps over my skin. I remember Julian’s hands holding me down. Elias groaning into my neck.

Noah—God. Him above me. Inside me. My thighs press together without meaning to, and I wince.

“Can you get me out of here?”

His eyes flick to mine again. “Yeah.” He holds up the shirt. “Your panties are useless. I can grab Julian’s sweatpants if you want.”

“Just get me out of here,” I whisper.

He nods, moving closer, then hands me the shirt instead of turning away. I slip it over my head as he politely looks at the floor.

It falls past my thighs, soft and worn and smelling faintly of him. I don’t bother asking for anything else.

We walk out without another word. My legs ache. I can still feel every stretch, every stroke, every breath against my skin.

Noah hands me a cold bottle of water once we reach the front door. I take it and chug half without stopping.

“I’ll drive you,” he says. “Julian’s truck. I’ll bring it back later.”

“Okay.”

He opens the door for me. I slide into the passenger seat, fingers pressed tight around the bottle, trying not to breathe too deeply.

The silence stretches between us, thick and uncertain. His eyes flick toward me once. Then again.

“This is the first time we’ve…” he starts, then cuts himself off.

“Yeah.”

His hands tighten on the wheel. The streetlights blur by. “What are you feeling?”

“Can we not?” I shift in the seat. My body is too sore for this conversation. My head isn’t clear enough. “I need time. I need sleep.”

He nods, gaze locked on the road. “Okay.” Then softer, quieter, barely loud enough over the hum of the car, “I’m just glad you’re okay now.”

I stare out the window until we pull up outside my place. Noah parks and kills the engine, but he doesn’t move. Neither do I.

His hand rests on the gearshift. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Finally, “Can I come in?”

“No.” I start to climb out, but he reaches for me, fingers circling my arm.

“Don’t run,” he says.

I turn back, breath catching when he leans in. His forehead presses gently to mine. Then he kisses it. Soft. Familiar. Something he’s always done. But this time, he doesn’t stop there.

His mouth brushes mine next. Gently. Searching. His lips are warm, lingering just long enough to make my chest tighten.

“I’ll check on you in the morning,” he says and places my keys in my hand.

I nod and climb out without answering.

The moment the door shuts behind me, I press my back to it, knees shaky. My whole body is still humming, overstimulated and raw.

I make it to the kitchen, turn on one light, and pause. The silence screams at me. My skin is still damp. I smell like sex. I smell like them.

My stomach twists.