Page 35 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

CORA

Iwake up sore in the best way. Not sore like I ran up too many stairs. Sore like three Alphas took turns wrecking me, and I thanked them for it.

The sheets smell like sex and mates and the bond that finally clicked into place. My thighs stick together, my skin still faintly buzzing from where Noah bit me.

His bite is the deepest. My wrist aches a little from where Julian pinned it above my head, and my hips are bruised from Elias’s grip. But none of that is what stirs me.

It’s the heat of Noah’s mouth between my legs again.

I groan, half-asleep, thighs twitching as I try to squeeze them together.

“Morning,” he mumbles into my cunt, voice muffled. His beard scratches the inside of my thigh as he pushes them apart again.

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re soaked.”

“I’m leaking.”

He hums like that’s exactly what he wants and slides two fingers into me, curling slow, careful, like he’s not sure if he’s about to ruin me or break me open gently.

I bite my lip and glance down. His dark eyes are locked on me, face buried between my thighs, hair a mess, body stretched like he’s got nowhere else to be.

He licks me slow. Teasing. I grind against his face because I’m sore, yes, but I’m also wired for this now. For them. I want them constantly.

“God,” I groan. “It should be illegal to be this horny and this tired.”

He grins against my clit. “You’re not tired. You’re healing.”

“That’s the only reason I’m alive,” I pant. “If I wasn’t an Omega, you three would’ve put me in a coma.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” I gasp, pushing into his mouth. “You know I do.”

He fucks me with his fingers until I’m grabbing his hair and shaking, and only when I come around his tongue does he finally pull away, licking me like I’m his breakfast. I collapse back into the pillows, panting.

When I open my eyes again, he’s grinning at me from over the top of the comforter, licking his fingers clean.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You taste like mine.”

I toss a pillow at him. He dodges it, still naked, and flops beside me, grabbing me like I’m a body pillow and pulling me onto his chest.

“Don’t make me get up,” I murmur.

“Then don’t.”

I sigh, cheek against his skin. “What are you doing today?”

“You,” he says immediately, voice lazy.

I laugh into his chest. “No, seriously.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re not going to the forge? Not checking in with your client in Portland?”

“Nope.”

I pause. “Wait. Really?”

“I cleared my schedule. You’re mine today.”

That warm tug coils inside me again, low and deep. I press a kiss to his collarbone, then another under his jaw. “Then can you help me reopen the bakery?”

His brows rise. “You want to do that today?”

“I don’t want to do it alone.”

He leans in and kisses me again, slower this time. “Then we’ll do it together.”

We stay in bed for a while longer, limbs tangled, until my phone buzzes across the nightstand. I lean over to grab it and see a new message in the group chat.

Julian: If this baby doesn’t shut up in the next ten minutes, I’m going to stage a hostage situation. Business class. Not economy. Business.

I snort and shove the phone into Noah’s hand. “Julian’s dying.”

“He deserves it,” Noah says, reading the text.

A thought crosses my mind, and I sit up straighter, breasts bouncing just enough to make Noah tilt his head like he’s memorizing the way they move.

“Hold them,” I say, grinning. “I want to send a picture.”

His hands lift automatically, cupping my breasts from behind as I straddle him, fingers brushing my nipples with just enough pressure to make me suck in a breath.

I grab my phone, hold it out, snap a quick photo with his big hands cradling me from behind. My lips are parted. My skin still flushed from earlier.

I send it to the chat.

Me: Morning. Julian, think about this next time you choose a flight without us.

It takes him less than a minute.

Julian: Group icon.

And now the image is cropped and tiny and hilarious in the corner of the chat. Noah groans behind me.

“You started this.”

“I regret nothing.”

“You’re going to regret it when Elias makes it his wallpaper.”

We shower together next, warm water sluicing over our skin. Noah soaps me slowly, carefully, like he’s trying to undo all the bruises with just his palms.

His hands drag down my back and cup my ass, thumbs pressing into the tender skin there.

“Too sore?” he asks.

“I can’t wear underwear.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not exaggerating.”

He turns me toward the glass and kneels. His mouth is against my thigh before I can say anything, licking one bruise, then another. “Still taste like mine,” he murmurs.

“Keep doing that and we’re not leaving the shower.”

He grins and stands, pressing himself against my back, hard again. “You’re insatiable.”

“You started it.”

By the time we leave the shower, I’m wrecked all over again.

My knees barely hold me up, and Noah has to dress me because bending down makes everything ache in a way that reminds me just how thoroughly I got ruined.

I slip into a light sundress with no underwear, no bra, nothing pressing against the places that still hum from use. Noah watches me from the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt on like he’s debating stripping again.

“You keep looking at me like that,” I warn, “and I’m not going to make it to the bakery.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“Not helping.”

We finally make it out of the house. The drive is short. Familiar. And for the first time since the vandalism, I’m not filled with dread when we pull up in front of my bakery. The windows are clean. There are flowers planted out front.

I glance at him. “You did this?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Of course, babe. I wanted the place to look pretty for when you came back.”

My voice is almost shaky as I say, “You always take care of me, huh?”

“Always.”

“I love you.”

He freezes, eyes snapping to mine.

Shit. I hadn’t meant to say it. It just slipped out. But I don’t take it back.

I say it again. “I love you.”

His jaw works like he’s trying not to say something back. “I love you too,” he says, at last, quieter.

I exhale, unlocking the front door. The bakery looks almost intact now. Maybe a little dusty. But mine. Ours.

I move behind the counter, glancing at the display case, the stools by the windows, the little chalkboard Elias doodled on last month.

“You’re sure you want to do this today?” Noah asks, leaning on the counter.

“No,” I admit. “But with you, I can.”

He walks around and kisses me, mouth soft and hot.

“We’ll open again,” he murmurs. “You’re ready.”

I nod. Then smile. “But if anyone orders a sugar-free muffin after all the trouble we went through, I’m setting the place on fire.”

“Agreed.”

By ten in the morning, the front bell jingles nonstop.

The smell of coffee and cinnamon rolls fills the air, syrupy and warm, clinging to the flour-dusted counter and freshly polished tile.

The ovens hum in the background, the espresso machine hisses out shots one by one, and Noah—sweet, intimidating, sexy Noah—is wearing the pink apron I once bought as a joke and is handing out scones like it’s the job he was born to do.

“Your latte, Mrs. Dorsey,” he says, handing it over with a smile that’s half polite, half threatening. She flushes like she’s back in her twenties and winks at me.

“Let me know if this one gets tired of you, Cora,” she says with a little cackle.

Noah leans close to me as she heads to a table. “She’s eighty-two and she just pinched my ass.”

“Welcome to my world.”

He kisses my cheek, then turns back to wipe down the counter like he owns the place. Which, in a way, he does now. This is ours. This town. These people.

This life I nearly gave up on.

By noon, the bakery is packed. Parents with kids. Retired couples asking if we’ll be selling fresh bread again. I didn’t expect this. Not this many people. Not this much love. Not after the break-in.

I’m boxing up a dozen cookies for one of the high school teachers when the bell rings again, and a delivery guy wheels in a large crate on a dolly.

“Got a drop-off for Cora Bellamy?”

“That’s me.”

He has me sign something, then lifts the lid, and there it is. Gleaming chrome. New knobs. Double the power. A state-of-the-art espresso machine. The kind I’ve dreamed about but never let myself buy.

My hands cover my mouth as I read the note tucked between the packing foam.

It’s about time you had one worthy of your cappuccinos.

—J

“Oh my god.” I stare at it, tears welling. “Julian.”

Noah walks over, towel slung over one shoulder, sweat clinging to his neck from where he’s been hauling flour bags. “What is it?”

I show him the note.

He whistles. “Of course he did.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you were moaning his name last night.”

“Noah.”

“What? It’s true.” I swat his chest and he pulls me close, kissing the top of my head. “He loves you. We all do.”

I press my face into his chest and breathe him in. “I’m going to cry.”

“You deserve everything,” he says, quietly enough that no one else can hear.

Around two, Elias shows up in jeans and a black T-shirt, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses pushed into his hair.

“I heard the princess needed backup.”

I wrap my arms around him before he can make another joke. He smells like sawdust and cedar, the scent of someone who’s been working outside all morning, but he still presses his mouth to my neck like he’s ready to start all over again.

“Don’t tempt me,” I whisper. “I’m barely walking as it is.”

He grins, then turns to Noah. “Trade off. You do the dishes. I’ll handle the oven.”

“Fine,” Noah mutters, tossing him the towel. “But she’s still mine after four.”

“I’m not a shared calendar slot,” I mutter, stacking clean plates.

“You’re our girl,” Elias says from behind me, voice low. “You always have been.”

By three, I lose count of how many cupcakes we’ve sold. I forget to eat lunch. I forget what silence sounds like.