Page 26 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

CORA

Iwake to the slow rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his body wrapped around mine.

The room is dim, early light spilling in through the gap in the curtains, brushing everything in soft gray-blue.

Elias is behind me, one arm curled under my chest, the other draped across my waist. His scent clings to the pillow and to me—something woodsy and masculine and deeply familiar now.

There’s heat pressed against the curve of my ass—firm, unmistakable. The thick ridge of him tucked against me, hard and throbbing even through the barrier of clothes.

I shift without thinking, just enough for the pressure to drag across the seam of my body. His hips jerk in response.

He exhales roughly behind me. “Jesus, Cora.”

A slow smile spreads across my face against the pillow. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I wasn’t. Not really.” His voice is gravel and smoke, low with sleep and need. He noses into my hair, breath warm at my nape, and kisses the back of my neck. Soft at first. Then deeper.

His tongue flicks against my skin, tasting. Marking. His fingers splay across my waist, holding me there.

“Ignore it,” he murmurs, voice fraying at the edges. “It’ll go down.”

But I don’t want it to.

I push my hips back again—slow and dirty. The heat of him presses right against where I ache, and he groans. The sound hits low in my belly.

“What if I don’t want to ignore it?” I whisper.

He grips my hip and rolls me onto my back in one swift movement. His body covers mine—heat, muscle, dominance in every inch of him.

Hair tousled. Jaw dark with stubble. Those silver eyes pin me like a blade edge. Hungry. Torn between restraint and ruin.

My fingers find his jaw, trace the sharp line of it. He leans into my touch, kisses my palm, then catches my mouth with his. Hot. Confident.

His weight sinks into me, pinning me just right. My thighs fall open on instinct. I moan into his mouth.

He swallows the sound, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and deep. His hand drags under the hem of the oversized shirt I stole last night—his shirt—and palms my breast.

His thumb brushes across my nipple, and I arch into the touch with a gasp.

His mouth trails down, claiming the hollow of my throat, then lower. He sucks just beneath my collarbone, hard enough to bruise.

“You’re sensitive here,” he murmurs.

“Are you a boob guy?” I pant.

His smirk is wicked. “I’m a you guy.”

His knee nudges between mine, spreading my legs farther, and I grind up against him. His thigh flexes beneath me—just enough friction to drive me crazy, not enough to finish me.

“Off,” he growls, tugging at the shirt. I lift my arms, and he strips it away. He pauses to look at me, bare in the early morning light. His gaze darkens, sharpens.

“Beautiful,” he rasps, like it hurts to say. Like it’s more than just a word.

Then his lips are on me again, kissing down the swell of my breast, licking over the peak before sucking it into his mouth.

His other hand tweaks and tugs at the other nipple, rougher now, and I arch into him helplessly.

His tongue traces a line down my stomach. I tremble beneath him, already aching, already wet. He slides my panties down my hips, dragging his knuckles over my thighs like he’s savoring every inch.

When I’m fully bare, he sits back, just looking.

“Take yours off too,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move for a second. Just stares like he’s fighting with himself. Then he reaches behind his neck and pulls his T-shirt over his head in one swift motion.

His chest is all carved muscle and shadows, the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his boxers. I bite my lip.

He slides those off next, freeing the thick length of him. My mouth dries.

“Cora,” he says, voice hoarse as he strokes himself. “Sit on my face.”

Not a request. A command. Possessive. Raw.

My breath catches, a wave of slick heat crashing between my thighs.

I crawl toward him, slowly, heart hammering. I swing one leg over him and straddle his chest, then shift forward until I’m poised over his mouth.

His hands grip my hips—tight, claiming.

“Come here, Omega,” he growls.

He pulls me down, and his mouth is right there. Tongue flat and firm as it licks through me. I cry out, grabbing the headboard to stay upright.

His tongue moves with purpose, dragging over my clit, then dipping lower. He groans, the sound vibrating into me, and my whole body shudders.

His grip tightens. He locks me down like he needs this. Like he’s starving, and I’m the only thing that can feed him.

“Elias—” My voice is already shaking. “That’s—God—”

He moans again, tongue circling, lips sucking gently then harder until I can barely think. Every flick, every stroke is precision and hunger.

His tongue presses inside me, and I jerk above him, thighs quaking. He growls, and I feel it in every nerve ending.

I rock against him without realizing it, chasing it. Chasing everything. My orgasm builds fast, overwhelming. My hands are shaking, knees threatening to give out.

When it hits, it rips through me like a dam breaking. I cry out his name, hips grinding helplessly against his face as wave after wave crashes through me.

He holds me through all of it, tongue gentling but never stopping.

I collapse beside him, gasping. Trembling.

He doesn’t give me long to recover.

He grabs me, flips me into his lap with a grunt, and I feel him—hard, hot, thick—pressing at my entrance. I reach between us and guide him in, sinking down onto him slowly.

Inch by perfect inch.

The stretch is so good it borders on painful. I moan, clinging to his shoulders. His hands grip my waist, helping me settle fully.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “So wet. You were made for me.”

I start to move, grinding my hips, rolling slowly. His head tips back, jaw clenched. My name leaves his mouth like a prayer and a curse all at once.

His hands slide up my back, then into my hair, tugging gently as I ride him. My body is still buzzing from before, but it builds again fast.

The slick glide of him inside me, the way he hits deep on every upward thrust—it’s too much.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice low and lethal against my skin. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp, and it feels true. Like it always has been.

He growls and grabs my ass, thrusting up into me hard enough to make me cry out again. My nails rake across his chest, anchoring me as I bounce on him harder, faster.

The pressure builds again. His mouth finds my nipple, sucks deep, and I shatter. My body clenches around him, and I sob into his shoulder as another orgasm tears through me.

He doesn’t stop.

“Come with me,” he grits out. “Now, Cora.”

He thrusts up once, twice more—then groans into my neck as he releases deep inside me. The heat of it makes me moan again, and I cling to him, breathless, spent, wrecked.

He holds me there, forehead against mine, both of us trembling.

My body still pulses from the aftershocks, slick against his skin. I stay in his lap, legs draped over his thighs, face tucked into the space where his shoulder meets his neck.

We don’t speak. The silence hums, broken only by the sound of our breaths slowly finding their rhythm again. He strokes my back lazily, fingers tracing the curve of my spine. I feel the rise of his chest under my cheek. Solid. Warm.

Real in a way that makes everything else fall away.

He presses a kiss to my temple, his stubble scratching lightly against my skin. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gravel and honey.

“Mmm.” I smile against him. “You ask like I wasn’t just the one riding you senseless.”

He chuckles low in his throat, kisses me again. “Just checking.”

I stretch, wince a little at the delicious soreness setting in, and slide off his lap. He catches my hand before I get far.

“Shower with me?”

The look in his eyes leaves no room for saying no.

Steam curls around us as we step into the shower. The water’s hot, not scalding, but it sinks into my muscles and soothes the ache in my thighs.

Elias stands behind me, water pouring over his chest, his hands resting low on my hips. I tilt my head back to wet my hair. He lathers soap between his palms and starts to run it over my body, slow, unhurried.

I lean into his touch, eyes closed, lips parted. He kneels behind me, moving his hands down the backs of my legs, up again, sliding between them.

His fingers stroke through me, and I gasp, one hand slapping against the tile for balance.

He keeps going, two fingers slipping inside me, his other hand on my stomach, holding me steady as he builds the pressure again.

My moans bounce off the walls, echoing over the rush of water. I brace against him, rolling my hips into his hand.

I clench around him, thighs shaking as the wave takes me again. He kisses my lower back, murmurs something into my skin that I don’t catch.

By the time we’re dried off and dressed, my legs are still unsteady.

I’m in one of his flannel shirts and nothing else when I pad barefoot into the kitchen. He’s already there, sleeves rolled up, flipping something on the stove. Eggs. Bacon. Toast in the oven.

He hands me a mug of coffee, kisses the top of my head, and says, “Sit. Eat. I’m not letting you run on sugar and caffeine alone.”

After breakfast, I stretch with a satisfied sigh and stand. “I need to open the bakery soon.”

He wipes his hands on a towel and nods. “I’ll drop you off. I’ll bring your car over later.”

I look up at him, that familiar warmth building behind my ribs. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says simply.

In the truck, his hand finds mine. His thumb moves over my knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of them.

Neither of us talks much, but it’s not awkward. There’s comfort in the quiet.

I glance at him every few seconds, watching the way the sunlight cuts across his jaw, the curve of his mouth relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before.

We pull into the lot just as Noah’s truck turns in behind us. I see him parking in his usual spot, climbing out with a cup of coffee in one hand.

Elias puts the truck in park but doesn’t move right away. His fingers tighten around mine.

“You good?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. You?”

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to my lips. “We’ll talk later.”

When I climb out, Noah is watching us. He raises his brows, mouth twitching. I narrow my eyes at him, already knowing something smug is coming.

“So,” he says, drawing the word out, “I guess he’s staying in town.”

“Shut up,” I say, but I’m smiling. I dig in my purse for the keys.

“Wait,” Noah says, suddenly alert.

I follow his gaze. Elias is walking back toward me, jaw set with purpose. He cups my face and kisses me again, deeper this time, until my knees weaken and my stomach flips.

His tongue brushes mine, and there’s heat again, simmering low and steady. By the time he pulls back, I’m breathless, lips tingling, and yeah… a little wet.

“Have dinner with me,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” I whisper back, dazed.

A throat clears behind us. Loud. We both turn and find Mrs. Harwood standing on the sidewalk with a tote bag slung over one shoulder and her orange tabby poking its head out.

“Well,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “Is this when you’re opening the bakery, or do I need to go find a bear to feed?”

“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I’ll have scones ready by eight thirty, promise.”

She grumbles something about her cat being a demanding little gremlin and keeps walking, muttering under her breath about youth and sex and burned oatmeal.

I open the door, and Noah follows me inside, the bell above it jingling like it always does.

“It’s only a matter of time before the whole town knows you were kissing him out front,” Noah says, setting his coffee on the counter.

I look over my shoulder at him.

“Do you mind?” he asks, quieter this time.

“Mind?”

“That talk will be around town about him… and me… and that you carry our scents on you?”

“Noah…”

“I know how you feel about the whole Alpha thing.”

There’s something in his voice that makes me pause. A flicker of doubt buried beneath his usual confidence.

I cross to him slowly, wrap my hands around the collar of his flannel, and pull him down to meet me. I press my lips to his in a kiss that answers his question before I say a word.

He kisses me back, taking his time to feel every second of it. When I pull away, his eyes are darker, mouth parted slightly like he’s still chasing the moment.

“No,” I say softly. “I don’t mind, Noah.”

He grins then, something soft and pleased curling at the edges of it. “Good. Because that man looked like he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. And neither am I.”

“I’m okay with that.”

I smile as I turn from him, heading behind the counter. The lights flicker on with a soft hum. I grab the trays, start arranging the morning pastries.

My fingers work from habit, but my chest is still humming.

And under it all, something bright and a little dangerous begins to stir. Something that tastes a lot like joy.