Page 9 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

NOAH

The door creaks open under my hand, but as I step inside, the sight stops me dead in my tracks.

Cora is in the middle of her living room, bent over on her yoga mat in a tight, powder-blue set that hugs her hips like a second skin. Downward dog. Perfect form. Her legs are long and the arch of her back… God.

I grit my teeth and force my gaze to the ceiling, but my body’s already reacting. I drag a breath in through my nose and let it out slow. Not the time. Not the place.

“Hey,” I manage, and head straight for the kitchen. I grip the edge of the counter for a beat longer than necessary. She’s behind me, still on that mat, completely unaware of what she’s doing to me just by existing.

I reach for the coffee tin out of habit, only to stop when the smell of pancakes hits me. There’s a plate stacked neatly under foil, still warm. I blink.

“You made breakfast?” I call out, trying to keep my voice even.

She hums like it’s no big deal. “I was up early.”

I grab a plate and serve myself two pancakes, sliding onto the barstool at her counter. She rolls up her mat, her tank top lifting just enough for a line of skin to peek out above her waistband.

A single drop of sweat trickles down the curve of her neck, disappearing under the fabric. I press my tongue into my teeth to stop the groan climbing up my throat.

Would taste so good right there, just to bury my face into the heat of her.

I look away.

“Hey,” she says, finally moving toward me.

I glance up. “Morning. Why were you up so early?”

That’s all it takes. She launches into a rant about Julian Vance, the arrogant prick who apparently thinks it’s cute to waltz into her bakery every morning with that smug attitude and an ego too big to fit through the door.

She’s pacing now, hand flying in the air, words sharp and fast. Apparently, he’s been getting her pastries. Every. Single. Day.

“And the worst part?” she adds, scowling. “He looks like he expects a medal for buying a damn croissant.”

I should be amused. Usually, I am. Her rants are a staple of our mornings, especially after a night shift or early training.

But today, something scratches the inside of my chest as I listen.

There’s heat in her voice. Not just annoyance. Emotion. She’s been talking about him all week, and not in the dismissive way she uses with other people she hates.

“Cora,” I cut in gently, “you’ve been obsessing over this guy.”

Her mouth opens like she’s ready to fire back, but then she pauses. “It’s not an obsession. He’s just… there. All the time.”

Something about that bugs me more than I’d like. She has a thing for Betas. I’ve picked her up from enough regret-filled one-night stands to know her type.

And Julian? He doesn’t fit that mold. Which is probably why this unsettles me so much.

I don’t want to think about it.

“What’s going on with your car?” I ask, changing the subject.

She stretches her arms overhead, spine arching slightly before she exhales. “Still with Elias. He said he’d call today.”

I nod, then stop. “Wait. Elias?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I didn’t know you were close.” My tone comes out more clipped than I intend.

She frowns. “I’m not. He’s just helping me out.”

I try not to react, but it’s there again, that gnawing thing. I’ve always been the one she calls when things fall apart. Flat tire? Me. Broken AC? Me. A date that turned into a mess? Me. And now Elias—Alpha Elias, of all people—is fixing her car? I had already made arrangements for that.

It sits wrong. Twists in my chest like a wire pulled too tight.

I force a breath and straighten. “You know what you need?”

She narrows her eyes. “A time machine so I can go back and punch Julian in the face before he shows up here?”

I huff a laugh, the tension easing. “Close. You need to go dancing.”

That gets her attention. She grins, a little surprised. “You’re serious?”

“When have I ever not been serious about dancing?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Then we’re overdue.” I say it like it’s nothing. Casual. Easy. But it’s not. Not really. Because I can’t remember the last time I invited someone dancing without an ulterior motive—without it being just another step toward something temporary.

But Cora is not temporary. Or easy. And the way her smile lingers as she looks at me, like she’s weighing the risk but is already halfway convinced, makes something settle low in my chest.

Something I don’t quite trust yet, but I’m not walking away from, either.

She rests her chin in her hand, considering. “Seven?”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up after work.”

She tilts her head. “Nah, I’ll grab a cab. I’ll need to come home to change anyway. Pick me up from here.”

I nod, suddenly aware of how close she’s standing. Her skin glows in the morning light, soft and flushed from the workout.

She leans in and kisses my cheek, the press of her lips warm, easy. “You’re the best.”

Then she turns and walks down the hall toward the bathroom, her hips swaying lightly with each step.

“I’m gonna shower,” she calls out. “Try not to eat all the pancakes.”

I barely hear her over the blood rushing in my ears.

The door clicks shut, and I exhale hard.

It’s not just physical. It’s never been just physical. Cora’s my best friend. My anchor. She’s the person I text first when something good happens and the one I call when everything goes to shit.

And yeah, I’ve thought about more. Late at night. On early mornings like this. But I’ve never acted on it—she’s an Omega, and I’m an Alpha, and that changes things.

Add in how complicated her relationship history is, and it becomes a minefield I’ve always avoided.

But today? Watching her bend over, hearing her talk about another man like that, feeling my entire body react to her just being in the room?

That’s not nothing.

And now she’s in the shower. Naked. With steam curling around her skin and the scent of her Omega body drenching the air.

I groan into my hand and press my face to the cool marble counter. If I don’t calm down, she’s going to step out and know exactly what’s going on. She’ll smell it, and there’ll be no hiding it.

I close my eyes and try to think of anything else. Cold showers. Elias’ face. That helps. Barely.

The last thing I want to do is complicate what we have. Cora trusts me. She needs me. And I need to keep it that way. Even if it kills me.

I sit in the truck, engine idling low, one hand clenched around the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

My other hand rests against my thigh, tapping restlessly. I breathe in through my nose, slow and deep, but it doesn’t do much. Doesn’t settle the thing twisting low in my gut.

I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look... okay. Not dressed up, not dressed down. Just a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, buttons half-done because I couldn’t commit to closing it all the way.

My jeans are dark and clean. Boots polished. It’ll do.

I run a hand through my hair, messing it up just enough that it looks like I didn’t try too hard, then shut off the engine and step out.

Her house is quiet. I cross the walk to her door and knock once.

When the door swings open, I lose half the breath in my lungs.

She’s barefoot. Toes painted bright red. A thin silver anklet clings to one ankle, catching the light.

Her dress is short, barely grazing the tops of her thighs, deep emerald with thin straps and a neckline that leaves nothing to the imagination.

It hugs her body like it was made for her. Soft fabric, the kind you want to touch just to see how it moves. Her hair’s up, messy but purposeful. Her lips are bare, for now.

“Where are your shoes?” I ask, words scraping out dry.

“I’m finishing up. Sorry, I’m late,” she says, already turning back toward the bedroom.

“No problem.” I step inside, trying to keep my eyes anywhere but on the swing of her hips.

I make a beeline for the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull.

The cold, the taste, the act of doing something—they help keep the parts of me that go haywire around her in check.

She comes back a few minutes later, and when I turn, the beer almost slips from my hand.

Bright red lipstick. Heels that do something sinful to her legs. The dress clings tighter now, or maybe that’s just my brain short-circuiting.

Her hair’s still up, a few strands loose around her neck. She’s a fucking knockout.

“You look good,” she says, grabbing her clutch. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “You look fantastic.”

“Where are we going? The usual?”

“There’s a new place that opened just outside town. Half an hour out. Thought we could try it.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, fun! Something new.” She claps her hands once, excited. The sound is light and pure.

I smile despite myself.

On the drive, I keep my eyes on the road. Mostly. Her dress rides up every time she shifts in the seat, and I catch the freckles on her thighs. Small. Scattered. I grip the wheel tighter and glance away.

Hollow & Ash is sleek, with dark wood beams and strings of warm lights overhead. Parking lot’s buzzing, but not packed. Just enough cars to know it’s alive.

We step out, and she pauses, tipping her head back to the night sky.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” she says softly.

I glance over, and she’s looking up at the stars like they’re only for her.

She leans into my arm, just a little, her shoulder against mine. “Thanks for bringing me out.”

My throat is dry. I nod.

Inside, the place is gorgeous. Exposed brick, velvet booths, low lighting. The bar glows amber with hanging lights and mirrored bottles stacked high.

Music thrums in the background, slow and sultry, not too loud yet.

We slide onto two barstools. A Beta bartender comes over—tall, tan, too polished. He clocks her instantly. Leans in. Starts laying it on thick.

My chest tightens. This is the kind of man she usually leaves me for. If I know her, she’ll probably disappear with him at some point in the night.

The thought of his small hands running over her body makes me clench my jaw tight, but all I can do is sit back and watch it unfold.

Cora laughs politely, accepts the drink he mixes just for her, and leans into me. Her voice is low against my ear, warm breath brushing my skin. “I’m taken tonight.”

That lands in my chest like a strike. Quick and deep. I don’t say anything, just nod, take another drink of my beer to mask the reaction.

Then I listen to her talk my ear off about Julian and the bakery and the new recipes she’s eager to try.

We move to the dance floor an hour later, buzzed from the drinks. She orders something fruity and bright. I stick to whiskey.

The music shifts, bass turning darker. Lights strobe softly above us, colors pulsing slow.

She starts moving to the rhythm, easy and confident. Her back is to me, hips swaying in circles that make my mouth dry. Her arms lift above her head, fingers tangled in her hair.

I step in closer, hands hovering at her waist.

When she presses her back against me, everything inside me tilts. I grip her hips, grounding myself in the contact, her body moving against mine like it’s always belonged there.

Her skin is warm, flushed with heat and laughter. Her ass brushes against me, slow and purposeful, and I swear I see stars.

I lock my jaw and breathe through my nose. Control, control, control.

She tilts her head and looks back at me, her lips parted just slightly. There’s heat in her gaze. Challenge. Maybe curiosity. My hand tightens just a fraction on her waist, and she responds by grinding a little harder.

Everything narrows to her. The lights blur. The music fades into something pulsing and low. My body’s strung tight. Every brush of her skin is gasoline.

I lean in, mouth at her ear. “Cora.”

She hums, not slowing down. Her hips roll again.

“You keep doing that,” I mutter, “and I’m going to do something about it.”

She pauses, barely, then leans back even more. Her hair brushes my jaw. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Fuck.

I let her go before I do something we can’t take back. Step away, just enough to cool the fire.

“I need another drink,” I ground out.

She watches me walk to the bar, eyes dark and unreadable. My hands shake as I lift the next drink to my mouth. My body is strung so tight I could snap in half.

One more song, I tell myself. One more dance. And then maybe I’ll have the strength to get her home without giving in. Maybe.