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The scent of warm sugar and vanilla curls in the air as I step into the bakery, the familiar hum of industrial ovens and the soft whir of mixers setting the usual late-night rhythm.

I’m exhausted, running on fumes. Not just from lack of sleep—but from what that sleep was interrupted by. A golden boy who kisses like a sinner and touches like a prayer… and a demon who doesn’t understand personal space or mercy.

My body still aches in places I didn’t know could ache, the soreness clinging like a secret. Like something I shouldn’t still be thinking about but can’t stop replaying on a loop behind my eyes.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off. I need to work. I need to focus. I need to not think about Hudson’s mouth or Rad’s claws or?—

Nope. Not going there. Not at work.

But right as I round the counter, I spot someone else already inside the bakery—and all the warm, lingering thoughts screech to a halt.

Jenna.

Her honey-blonde ponytail bounces as she approaches us, a too-bright smile stretching across her face like she’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. “Oh hey! Betty asked me to cover her shift last minute,” she chirps like she’s doing us all a favor. “Hope that’s okay!”

It would be.

If she didn’t immediately lock eyes on Hudson like she’s about to pounce, claws out, practically vibrating as she zeroes in on him.

“Oh. For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.

Hudson walks in behind me, his hair still damp from the shower we took before heading in—where we definitely didn’t just shower. He yawns, gives her a vague nod that screams barely awake, and heads straight for the back to get started.

Completely unaware.

Completely Hudson.

And completely fucking adorable.

Jenna is not deterred.

“Oh my god , Hudson,” she squeals, stepping right into his space like a heat-seeking missile, her hand finding his chest. “You look exhausted. Long night?”

This is fine. I am fine. I am not a jealous, territorial psycho who suddenly wants to break Jenna’s fingers.

Hudson blinks, halfway through pulling on his apron. “Yeah. Barely slept.”

“Oh?” Jenna leans in, wide-eyed, with just a hint of venom in her honey-coated voice. “What were you up to ?”

Hudson doesn’t answer right away. He’s still groggy. Still blinking through whatever was on his mind. If his quick glance at me means anything he was probably thinking about the same things I was. And Jenna is waiting , her body tilted toward him, her hand casually drifting toward his arm like it accidentally just needs to land there.

I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just speak.

The words fly out before I can stop them. “He was with me.”

Jenna freezes. Hudson’s head snaps toward me, a flicker of something sharp and surprised crossing his face before it melts into a smirk.

My stomach flips. Shit. Did I say that out loud?

“You were?” Jenna asks him, blinking way too much. Like her brain has to load between sentences. “With her?”

I should backtrack. I should laugh it off as a joke. But I don’t.

Because suddenly, I don’t fucking want to.

“Yes,” I say, my voice cool, steady, even if my heart is galloping like a goddamn racehorse. “And he’s still tired. So maybe don’t hang all over him?”

Hudson chokes on nothing. Jenna’s lips part, eyes wide, before they narrow .

“Ohhh,” she hums, like she’s been handed gossip and a reason to smile all at once. “Well. Good for you, Parker.”

And I’ve had it.

Before Jenna can bat her lashes at him again, I grab Hudson’s apron—hard—and yank him toward me. He stumbles, chest bumping into mine, eyes wide and focused entirely on me now.

And then I kiss him.

Not a peck. Not a flirty brush.

I grab a fistful of his shirt, rise onto my toes, and kiss him like I mean it. Hudson makes a sound—surprised, breathless—but it takes him exactly one heartbeat to kiss me back. His hand finds my waist, gripping hard, grounding us both like he can’t believe it’s happening. His mouth is warm, familiar, a little stunned.

I pull back slowly, breath shallow.

The silence that follows is heavy and beautiful.

Hudson exhales, stunned. Jenna stares, jaw slack. And I?

I finally feel a little better. Because whatever that was… It wasn’t just for her.

It was for me, too.

I claimed him and there’s no taking it back now.

“Parker,” he murmurs, voice lower now. Thicker. Still teasing—but heavier. “Was that jealousy?”

He reaches out, brushing the loose strands of hair escaping my ponytail behind my ear—and I lean into the touch.

Instinct. Weakness. Want.

Annnd we’re at the bakery. And Jenna is still staring.

No. Nope. Abort.

I let go of his apron like it burned me and spin toward the counter. “Nope,” I say, a little too fast. I grab the nearest tray of dough like it might save me. “Just making an observation. You’re free to flirt with whoever you want.”

Behind me, the smug bastard chuckles. “Mm. You sure about that?”

He steps in— way too close. His breath brushes the back of my neck, warm and intentional.

I freeze.

I know that tone. That weight. That shift in the air.

He’s not letting this go.

Thankfully, Jenna finally picks up on the very obvious leave energy radiating from every inch of this conversation. She mutters something about loading the front counter and disappears.

But Hudson doesn’t move.

He leans in closer, lips nearly grazing the shell of my ear.

“Didn’t think you were the possessive type, Silver,” he murmurs, voice like silk dragged over a blade.

I am going to murder him.

Right here. In the bakery. With a goddamn bread hook.

“I’m not,” I grit out, slamming a bag of flour onto the counter harder than necessary.

“Sure,” he says, utterly unfazed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I whip around, ready to bite back—but he’s right there. Close. Smirking. Looking at me like I just handed him the win. His eyes flick to my mouth, and my pulse stutters.

I want to shove him.

I want to kiss him again.

I want to?—

“You’re mine.”

The words hit the air before I can stop them.

His smirk falters.

Just for a second.

Then it shifts—slower this time. Darker. Deeper. His whole body stills, but it feels like the moment before lightning strikes.

“Say that again,” he says, voice rough.

I swallow. His breath is still warm against my ear.

A pause.

“Say it again, Parker.”

I grab the closest thing to me—a mixing spoon—and jam it into his chest. “Get to work, Carter.”

Instead of backing off like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“I am yours, Parker. You don’t have to voice it out loud for me to know it.”

And as I try to pretend I didn’t just go all crazy girlfriend mode, I hear him murmur—just loud enough for me to catch?—

“But don’t worry, I’ll coax it out of you later. With my tongue.”