“Do we know what Tadeo’s making for dinner?” Alex asks once Knox lets me go.
“He texted me about fifteen minutes ago,” Knox says, straightening to full height. “He’s working late. We’re on our own.”
“Sandwiches it is,” Alex says, like he couldn’t be happier, but Knox frowns, clearly wanting a proper meal.
I sit a little taller, trying to stifle the throb still pulsing between my thighs. “I can make dinner,” I say, eager to please my alphas.
“Nonsense.” Alex drags a hand through his shaggy hair, eyes soft. “You don’t have to cook.”
“He’s right,” Knox says. “I can make dinner. You rest, little one.”
“No.” I shake my head and shove myself up, crawling out of my portable nest. “You’ve been at work all day. Plus, Iwantto cook.”
Something soft flickers across Knox’s face, his smirk shifting into a sweet smile. “Alright,” he says at last, rolling one broad shoulder in a shrug. “Lead the way, omega.”
I stand, dragging the blankets off my shoulders, and grab Knox’s hand. “Come on,” I say, tugging him toward the kitchen. “You can entertain me while I cook.”
Alex stretches, rubbing his face with one hand. “You two enjoy that,” he says, sliding off the couch. “I’m taking a cold shower.”
I glance back at him over my shoulder, catching the heat in his eyes and the bulge in his shorts. I can’t help but grin. “Don’t take too long,” I tease.
Knox chuckles, letting himself be guided like I’m the one in command for the moment. As we step into the kitchen, I feel the strange, wonderful mix of nerves and pride. I’m cooking for my pack.My pack.And for once, I’m really looking forward to it.
I grab a package of chicken thighs out of the fridge as well as an armful of vegetables. Knox is right there beside me, grabbing a pan, then nudging me toward the stove. He shifts behind me, hands resting on my waist while I begin to chop. We move together like a rhythm I didn’t know I could follow—chopping, slicing, seasoning, tasting. Every time I glance over my shoulder, he’s watching me with those intense green eyes.
I can’t help the little thrill that ripples through me.
A quick flip of the chicken, a sprinkle of herbs, and Knox is grinning as he slides the tray into the oven. “You’re a natural at this,” he says, brushing a stray curl off my forehead.
“I took a lot of upper-level cooking classes at the academy,” I say, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about the way I said it.I hope he doesn’t think I’m bragging.“I mean, anyone could take them,” I say. “It’s not like I had to take a placement test or anything like that.”
Knox lets out a low laugh. “Any kind of cooking classsounds impressive to me. Everything I know about cooking I read off the back of a ramen packet.” He touches the good side of my neck, steering clear of my ugly mark. His fingers trailed down, grazing my skin down to the hollow of my throat. His touch is so featherlight, it makes goosebumps flash up and down my sides. “You’re a very impressive omega, Skyla Mercer,” he whispers, and heat curls up my neck.
“Not really,” I mumble. “A lot of the girls took the same classes as I did. The really impressive omegas took ballet or chemistry or?—”
Knox catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and I instantly stop talking. He tilts my face up, making me meet the steady weight of his gaze. My breath trips.
“Don’t do that,” he says softly, but somehow still firm. “Don’t downplay how amazing you are.”
The kitchen shrinks around us, the air thick with heat. I swallow hard, heart hammering, and blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “The water’s boiling.”
Knox’s lips twitch, the corner of his mouth curving up as he releases my chin. “You are shit at taking compliments.”
I duck my head, fumbling with the box of angel hair pasta like it might shield me. “I’m aware,” I mutter, tearing it open with more force than necessary. Steam fogs my face as I tip the noodles into the boiling water.
The floor creaks behind me, weight shifting. A beat later, Knox’s chest presses solid against my back, his arms sliding around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You make it very hard to concentrate,” I say as I salt the boiling water.I should have done that before I added the pasta.
“Don’t mind me.” Knox’s mouth brushes my shoulder, then lower, tracing slow, unhurried kisses along the curve of my neck. Heat blooms there, spiraling low in my belly. My grip tightens on the spoon as I stir, pretending I can still focus on the task.
“The chicken should be done soon,” I say as his fingers gather my curls in a patient sweep. He drapes the thick mess to one side, baring the other side of my neck to his gaze. I hold perfectly still, pulse jumping when the air hits my raw skin.
“I think this side needs some love, too.” Knox’s warm breath fans over my still tender mark.
It’s pink and shiny, but it’s no longer bleeding, and there’s no scab either. Honestly, it looks better than I ever thought it would.
“You smell so fucking good.” Knox bends, lips brushing gently at the edges of the mark.
