Page 15 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

ELIAS

The streets are slick with last night’s rain. Puddles reflect the gray morning sky, broken only by the tires of passing cars.

I sit in my truck outside the bakery, engine idling low. It’s early, the kind of quiet that makes you think twice before speaking too loudly. She’s not here yet, but I wait. I always do. The cab pulls up, and I know it’s her before she even steps out.

Cora swings the door open and climbs down like she doesn’t know the town’s watching her.

Oversized cream sweater hanging off one shoulder and a brown skirt clinging to those hips, doing dangerous things to my concentration.

Her red hair is a mess of curls down her back, bouncing as she walks, wild and soft and screaming for my hands to be in it. She looks like autumn walked out of a painting and decided to break my damn resolve.

My jaw ticks. She’s too pretty to be out here alone this early. Too tempting for a man still recovering from the last time I saw her.

I glance at the bouquet on the seat beside me. Dahlias, creamy white with faded edges, some blush peonies, eucalyptus. Gathered them myself at dawn, and turned them into a bouquet at Haven’s Nook.

They’re wilting now. Fitting, maybe. I waited too long to make my move.

She doesn’t see me as she unlocks the door to the bakery. I wait till she’s inside before I move.

The bell jingles when I push open the door and step in, the scent of sugar and spice hitting me like it always does. But there’s something else layered beneath it. Thicker. Deeper. Masculine.

“We’re not open yet,” she calls over her shoulder, then turns. Her breath catches. “Oh. Hey.”

Something inside me stretches too tight. “Hey,” I say quietly. Like she might bolt. “You opening today?”

“Maybe for a little,” she says, adjusting something behind the counter, brushing flour dust off a tray.

I hold out the flowers. “These are for you.”

She freezes, then reaches for them slowly, like I might change my mind. “Thanks,” she says, the tips of her ears going pink.

“I wanted to apologize,” I say, watching her eyes drop to the bouquet. “For the last time. You shouldn’t have seen me like that. Especially not with Julian.”

Her cheeks go from pink to red. It clicks then, the scent I couldn’t place when I walked in. Him. It’s faint, but it’s there. And it ignites something low and primal in me.

My gaze sharpens, narrowing on her as she walks to the back to get a vase like nothing’s wrong.

I follow her.

She’s at the sink, filling the vase with water, humming something under her breath.

“Did you fuck him?”

The vase clinks hard against the sink as her hand jerks. She turns slowly, her body still, but her eyes flash. “What?”

“Did you fuck Julian?” I ask again. Clear. Sharp.

She crosses her arms, defensive now, chin tilted up. “You don’t get to come into my shop and ask me that like you own a single part of me.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Elias,” she warns. “You and Julian don’t like each other. I get it. But this? This is out of line.”

I step in. One stride, then two, until I’m close enough to watch her pulse jump under her jaw. “You smell like him.” I tilt her face toward me, fingers under her chin, watching her blink fast like she can hide behind her lashes. “Did he touch you?”

Gooseflesh dots her arms. She presses back against the counter, eyes defiant even as her body betrays her.

“You need to leave.”

“Answer me, Cora.” I drag my thumb across her lower lip, slow, savoring. Her breath hitches, and the scent changes again.

Her arousal is a goddamn drug. Sweet and hot and addictive. “Did that unwashed mutt lay a hand on you?”

“No,” she whispers. “He didn’t. My car still wouldn’t start, so he just drove me home yesterday.”

I don’t know what takes over me. I lift her by the waist and set her on the counter, pushing between her knees before she can protest.

Her skirt rides up, exposing soft thighs that clench when my fingers graze her skin.

“What are you doing?” she asks, breathless.

I turn her face and drag my tongue up the length of her neck, tasting the skin beneath her ear before closing my mouth around her earlobe and sucking it in, just hard enough to make her gasp.

Her hands grip my shoulders. “Elias. Fuck.”

“You smell like him,” I mutter against her skin, teeth grazing her neck before I soothe the bite with my tongue. “But it’s layered under this. This is mine.”

She arches when I slide my hands under her sweater, palms running up the curve of her waist. Her skin is soft and warm. I lean in and bite the hollow of her collarbone.

She moans like she’s breaking apart.

My hand cups her breast through her bra, and she whines, pressing into my palm, legs wrapping around my hips like she needs to anchor herself.

I bite her again, gentler this time, then kiss the mark I leave behind.

Her skirt is bunched at her waist and when I press forward, my cock grinds against her core. She’s slick. I can feel it through the fabric. Her hips roll, and I groan into her mouth.

“Did you let him touch you like this when you let him walk you to your door?” I ask, pressing my mouth to her ear.

She trembles against me, her nails digging into my shoulder. “He kissed my cheek. That’s it.”

My fingers slide up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her panties aside. She gasps, jerking forward.

I press a kiss to her shoulder, then her jaw. “You’re soaked, Cora. Your cunt is dripping for me,” I murmur. “You don’t even want him, do you?”

She shakes her head, eyes heavy and dazed. “I want—”

“Say it.”

“You,” she breathes. “I want you.”

That’s all I need. I thrust two fingers into her, curling just right. Her warm, wet cunt pulses around my digits. Fuck!

I rock against her, grinding hard as my other hand cups her ass, pulling her into me again and again. She clutches the back of my neck like she’s afraid I’ll stop.

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind, Cora.”

Her head falls back, exposing her throat, and I drag my tongue up it before kissing her hard. No finesse. No build-up. Just teeth and tongues and raw need.

My fingers thrust deeper, feeling more of her wetness coat both my hand and her inner thighs.

God, I want to lick her clean. I pull out, loving how she whines and protests.

“Patience, Omega,” I growl. I’m pulling at her sweater, lifting it, desperate to taste more skin. She lets me.

Her bra barely covers anything. I mouth the top of her breast and bite. She cries out.

Then we hear the distinct sound of the bell. The sharp sound cuts through the heat like a blade. Someone just walked into the bakery. We both freeze.

She stares at me, green eyes wide and hazy. Her chest heaves against my palm. I should pull back, say something, anything, but I don’t move.

She does.

Cora shoves me gently, fixing her sweater with trembling hands. She climbs off the counter, brushing past me without meeting my eyes.

“You should go,” she says, voice rough.

Then she’s gone. Out the door. Leaving me alone in the back room, every nerve in my body still on fire, fists clenched and jaw tight as I try to breathe her out of my lungs.

Too late. She’s already under my skin.

My fingers are slick, still wet from her. I bring them to my nose, dragging in her scent like it’ll anchor me.

I groan low, tasting her on my tongue as I lick them clean slowly, like I’m savoring dessert. My cock throbs in my jeans, hard and unforgiving.

I adjust myself through the denim, cursing under my breath.

I should’ve been gentle. Should’ve said the right thing, given her space. But catching the scent of another man on her—Julian, of all people—sent something snapping in me.

Feral doesn’t even begin to cover it.

She still let me touch her, though. She could’ve stopped me. She didn’t.

When I walk out of the back room, she’s at the front counter, smiling like she didn’t just have my fingers buried inside her, like she hadn’t gasped my name.

There’s a customer in front of her. She’s all politeness and sweetness, her cheeks still faintly pink, her curls bouncing as she nods.

But she doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t glance. Not once. Her voice stays calm, measured, like I hadn’t just ruined her composure.

I stand there for a second, watching her pretend.

She’s good at it. But I’m better.

This isn’t over.

She lied about Julian. Said he kissed her cheek. That was bullshit. Her scent was layered, his all over her skin like a cheap cologne trying to mask something real. She let him close.

Close enough for it to cling. And maybe she likes him. But her thighs parting for me? Her head falling back when I licked her neck?

That wasn’t fake. That was real. She almost came for me. From just my fingers and a few filthy words.

I grin as I step outside, not caring that the air is still wet with rain. My boots splash through shallow puddles as I make my way to the truck. My body hums with the aftertaste of her.

I smell like her. My skin carries the ghost of her touch; my beard smells faintly of her hair. It’s fucking addictive.

I slide into the seat, roll my window halfway down, and lean back for a second. My palms rest on the steering wheel. I’m not going back in there, not today.

If I stay, I’ll do something reckless. Something that lands me behind bars. Julian won’t be far, and I’m not in the mood to be civilized.

I drive. Out of town. Past the bend where the trees grow thicker and the roads narrow. My cabin isn’t far, nestled in the woods where no one comes looking unless they’re invited.

The place is quiet when I get there, still damp from last night’s storm. I pull up, kill the engine, and just sit for a minute. But my jeans are tight, cock pressed hard and aching from being denied what it wants.

She didn’t say no. She said Julian didn’t fuck her. Her words. Not mine. And I believe her. Mostly.

I slam the door, boots heavy on the wet gravel as I make my way inside. The moment I’m through the door, I toss the keys on the counter, tug at my belt like it’s choking me.

It takes effort to get the damn thing off, fingers fumbling with the buckle while my other hand slides into my pants, wrapping around the heat that’s been taunting me since I walked into her bakery.

I don’t even make it to the bed. The back of the couch will do.

My hand moves fast, rough, my mind playing her back like a film I’ve seen a hundred times. Her thighs wrapped around my waist.

Her voice catching when I sucked on her earlobe. The look in her eyes when I asked her if she fucked him.

She didn’t answer right away, but I saw it. Saw the way her body reacted to me. Saw the guilt twist with want. She couldn’t lie to me when she was that close. I’d already claimed something inside her.

And the sounds she made? Fuck. They’re still echoing in my ears.

I stroke harder, faster, my grip punishing. My thumb brushes the tip, slick and leaking, and it only spurs me on.

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.