Page 29 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

JULIAN

Istayed home the rest of the day, pacing through the silence like a man trapped in his own skin. I told myself rest would help, that I could sit with everything and let it settle.

It didn’t.

It never does.

By midnight, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling, pulse ticking with agitation. There’s a kind of itch beneath my skin, and nothing short of movement will silence it.

I lace up my shoes and step out into the night.

The town is quiet, still draped in sleep. Streetlights glow with soft halos, casting gold across pavement lined with worn storefronts and sleepy porches.

A dog barks once, then fades into silence. The breeze carries the scent of fresh earth and dew-slick grass. It’s peaceful in a way that makes everything inside me more noticeable.

I start running, feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. Past the florist with its hand-painted window, the diner with its flickering “open” sign left on by mistake, and the row of silent brownstones that sit with their curtains drawn and lights off.

The whole town exhales under the moonlight, completely unaware that its favorite son is nothing more than a carefully dressed wound.

My legs carry me farther than I planned.

I stop in front of the bakery without meaning to. The place has been cleaned, the walls repainted, the trim touched up. New light fixtures. Probably someone’s idea of keeping it alive.

I hesitate before walking toward the side door. It’s locked, but I know how to get in. Some things you don’t forget.

Inside, the air is laced with the faint scent of sugar and yeast. Flour dust still clings to the corners. There’s an ache in my chest I don’t address as I step behind the counter. Everything in here has been scrubbed, polished, and made whole again.

Everything but me.

I walk past the racks and the cooling trays, stopping at the frosting station. It’s busted. The motor whines when I test it, but it’s not mixing right.

I drag a stool over, kneel beside it, and start pulling the machine apart with hands that shouldn’t remember how to do this but do.

It takes three tries, one jammed finger, and a cracked gear before I figure out the issue. I Google replacement models, then Google again when I find out they’re out of stock.

I curse quietly and find a workaround using pieces from another machine in the back. Trial. Error. Spit and prayers. Eventually, I get the thing to spin smoothly.

The espresso machine is next. I sit on the counter and strip it down part by part, referencing repair videos of this same model online.

I tighten the last valve and stand there, looking at my reflection in the darkened display. My jaw’s tight. My eyes are red. I feel like a stranger in this space now. And yet, I know exactly where everything lives.

What kills me most is knowing I’ll never tell anyone the truth about what happened here. Not really. Not about my father. This guilt is mine to carry.

No matter how much this town thinks it’s moved on, it still lives under my skin like rot.

I check my phone. 4:47 a.m.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

I don’t want anyone catching me here. Not like this. Not when I’ve broken in and fixed things no one asked me to. I scroll through my contacts, thumb pausing on Brielle’s name.

She’s probably asleep. She’ll probably think this is something else.

I hit call.

She answers after two rings, voice soft and raspy. “Julian?”

“You awake?” I ask, already hearing the shift in her tone.

“Mmhmm,” she says, the word dripping with hope. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I rub a hand over my face. “I need you to order something for me. Top-of-the-line commercial espresso machine. Quietest model on the market. Ship it priority.”

Silence. Then the sound of her breath catching, colder this time. “Oh. This is a work call.”

“It’s a personal expense. Bill me directly. Don’t mention it to my father.”

Another pause. I don’t fill it. Eventually, she says, “Fine. Anything else?”

“No.” I hang up before the disappointment in her voice does anything it shouldn’t.

I head out the same way I came in, slipping into the quiet of the early morning. My shoes crunch against the gravel near the lot as I walk back to the edge of town.

The sunrise is just starting to crack across the sky, spilling faint pinks into the horizon.

I’m exhausted, but I don’t stop.

The moment I cross my front door, I lock it behind me and lean back against the wood.

All of this?

It needs to stay buried.

I head upstairs without looking back, determined to put it away. The guilt. The night. The pieces of a life I never wanted to inherit.

Let the town have its fresh paint and shiny machines. Let them believe in clean slates and quiet mornings.

I know better.

I sit by the window, coffee steaming gently between my palms. Outside, the streets are just starting to wake. People drift in and out of the bakery, a steady stream that tells me exactly when Cora is alone inside.

The way she moves, a quiet grace even in the early morning, it’s a pull I can’t ignore. I want to check on her, but my mouth tightens. What would I even say? Words seem small compared to the tension knotting inside me.

The knock at the door pulls me back. Lockwood steps in, all polished smiles and calculated calm. He doesn’t waste time. His eyes narrow when he mentions the vandalism, his suspicion clear as day.

He connects the dots between me, my father, and the damage. I don’t answer. He asks what I’m doing with zoning. I meet his gaze, asking why he’s really here.

He slides a folder across the table, the edges worn from handling. Inside, official documents approve the zoning we needed. A nod means construction can finally start.

The relief should hit me, but instead there’s a pit that twists deeper in my gut.

Then he leans in closer, voice low and oily. He says he’ll keep quiet—for a price. The kind of price that makes your skin crawl and your soul weigh heavier.

His eyes gleam with greed, greed that’s been eating away at this town for decades. I nod without speaking, my mind calculating the cost.

When he leaves, I stare down at the papers. This was the last block. Now I can call Beckett, get the contractor moving on the hotel. Still, the knot in my chest doesn’t ease. Something else claws at me.

Cora steps out of the bakery. She’s smoothing something over the awning and the sunlight catches the droplets of sweat on her skin, making her glow against the faded paint of the building.

I watch, frozen. She turns, disappears inside again.

Before I realize it, my feet move without permission, drawn like iron to the magnet of her scent. It’s sharp, clean—tinged with something unmistakably Noah.

I’m barely aware of the cool morning air as it slips around me.

She’s just inside the door when I reach her. She looks up, surprise flickering across her face. “Julian,” she breathes. “I... I wanted to apologize. About yesterday—accusing you…”

Her voice is soft, but I don’t hear the words. I only hear the thrum of something raw and unspoken between us.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is sudden and desperate, like I’m making up for lost time.

“Wait…”

“What?” I choke out, my lips on her cheek and nose.

“Did you come in here last night?”

I pause and watch her green eyes. I know she’ll call me out on my lie… and to be honest, I can barely think beyond the way my cock aches in my boxers. “Why?”

“The machines. They were fixed when I came in. I know it wasn’t Noah, and it’s not Elias, because I asked him. So… was it you?”

“It was nothing.”

“Julian…”

Her voice is like a soft invocation, a whispered spell that coils through the air and sinks into my skin. Her eyes, wide and shimmering with something deeper than fear or longing, lock with mine.

There’s a tremor there, fragile but fierce, as if she’s summoning courage from some unseen well. The faintest quiver in her lip tells me everything I need to know—this moment is fragile, electric, a threshold.

“I know it’s all complicated right now, Cora. But I’m telling you now, kiss me or push me away. I need an answer. I need to know what to do!”

“Kiss me, please,” she breathes, the words heavy with a promise and a plea.

I don’t hesitate. I lean in, pulling her close before the space between us can swallow the possibility. Her lips part beneath mine, warm and soft, a trembling invitation that quickly melts into hunger.

The kiss deepens—it claws its way beneath my skin, settling like wildfire in my veins.

My hands cup her face, thumbs tracing the delicate planes of her cheekbones, memorizing every line as if it’s the last map to salvation.

The bakery around us fades into shadows, the morning light filtering through the dusty windows casting long, crooked shapes that dance with the shadows between us.

The smell of fresh bread and cinnamon melts into the background, replaced by the electric pull between our bodies—a charged current I can’t resist.

We don’t stop. Our hands find each other, grip with urgent need. We push toward the backroom. The air thickens, charged with possessiveness.

I catch her eyes—wide, shimmering, and pulling me deeper into something dark and urgent. She bites her lip, hesitation battling with desire, then whispers, “I need you.”

I don’t waste a second. My mouth crashes down on hers, hard and demanding, claiming her with a hunger that’s been smoldering beneath the surface for far too long.

Her lips part, warm and slick against mine, and I taste the sharp tang of cinnamon and something darker. The kiss deepens, teeth grazing, tongues tangling in a brutal dance of desperate need.

My hands slam down on her waist, gripping her like I’m afraid she might disappear. I drag her close until there’s no space left between us.

There’s something ancient stirring between us, like dark magic simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to ignite.

With a rough tug, I pull the thin cotton of her blouse over her head. Her skin glows under the morning light, dusted with tiny freckles.

My fingers trail over her collarbone, down the swell of her breasts, teasing the peak beneath the lace of her bra.

She shudders, soft and hungry, pressing into my touch as I cup one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple that hardens beneath my palm.

Her breath hitches, ragged and shallow, and I grow reckless, thumbs circling, pinching, dragging her higher, demanding more.

Her hands find my shirt, ripping it open, pulling the fabric off my shoulders with a fierceness that matches my own. Skin meets skin.

The raw heat of my chest pressed against hers makes my cock twitch painfully. I’m aching for her—throbbing with a hunger that’s part flesh, part something darker.

I sweep my hands down her back, fingers slipping under the waistband of her skirt. I hook my thumbs beneath the fabric and drag it down, slow, teasing.

Her legs part instinctively as the cool air hits her bare skin, the smooth, flawless flesh of her inner thighs exposed. The smell of her arousal—musky, sweet—hits me like a drug. I’m drowning in it.

Her panties are soaked, clinging to her skin, and I tug them down, slipping my fingers between the damp lace and her flesh. She gasps, hips jerking against my hand as I trace the slick heat, stroking the wet folds of her swollen cunt.

The soft, wet pulse beneath my touch makes my cock throb harder, aching to bury itself deep inside her.

“Julian,” she moans, voice trembling like a prayer. “Please...”

I don’t say a word. I lean down, biting at the soft skin of her neck, leaving marks—dark, bruising kisses that claim her.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails scraping, desperate to hold on as I press my body flush against hers, feeling the hard length of my cock straining against the fabric of my pants.

She pulls me backward, the worn couch waiting like a promise of escape. We stumble through the door, desperate, reckless.

I press her against the cushions, hands roaming over every inch of her body, memorizing her curves and soft flesh.

I cup one of her breasts, thumb rubbing slow circles over the taut nipple, eliciting a soft cry from her lips. Her hands tug at my belt, fingers fumbling as she frees me from the tight confinement of my pants.

My cock springs free, thick and hard, aching for her.

I settle between her legs, heat radiating from my body as my cock presses against the slick folds of her cunt. She parts for me, wet and ready, and I don’t waste a second.

With a sharp breath, I push inside her—deep, slow, every inch filling the hollow ache inside me.

She cries out, arching beneath me, body trembling. I hold her tight, hands braced on her hips, anchoring us together as I begin to move—slow at first, then faster, harder.

The friction sets every nerve on fire, the slick heat of her cunt gripping me like a vise.

It’s like we’re feeding off each other, rising higher and higher, spiraling toward a fever pitch that threatens to shatter us both.

Her nails rake down my back as I knot her, hips pressing so hard against hers that we become one.

The knot in me grows tight, swollen, and with a low growl, I bury myself deeper, locking us together with a fierce, possessive claim.

She cries out again, voice raw and broken, trembling as the waves of pleasure crash through her. I’m right there with her, riding the storm until, finally, the tension snaps—the knot releasing with a force that leaves us both gasping.

We collapse together, bodies slick with sweat, breaths ragged, hearts hammering in sync. She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in the chaos.

I trace lazy circles on her bare back, feeling the slow pulse of power beneath her skin, a wild energy that promises danger and desire in equal measure.

This isn’t just sex. It’s a binding, a claim, a promise that no matter what darkness comes, no matter what threats circle like vultures, we belong to each other.

Outside, the town hums, oblivious to the fire burning inside the small bakery. For a moment, in the quiet after the storm, I let myself believe that maybe the chaos can be held at bay as long as she’s here with me.