I let out a breath and let my weight drift sideways. My shoulder tucks perfectly under his arm, my temple finding the solid, warm divot right near his collarbone. We stay like that for a bit, the quiet hum of the pond settling around us.
Then without realizing I'm doing it, my face shifts. I’m no longer just resting against him; I’m tipping my nose directly into the curve of his neck.Breathinghim in. Beneath the lingering scent of lake water and sunscreen, there is that deep, sharp, woodsy base note that is pure Knox. It isn't the overwhelming, mind-altering spike from the clearing the other night, but it's enough. It’s more than enough. My pulse kicks into a frantic, stuttering rhythm.
And then my biology completely hijacks the steering wheel. Driven by a bone-deep, primal urge, I turn my head and slowly drag my cheek against the sensitive skin of his throat. The friction is a jolt of electricity.Oh my god.A hot, dizzying flush washes over me.Am I... scent-marking him?
I should stop.
I don't stop.
His hand tightens on my shoulder. His head tilts, just barely, giving me more of his neck. And then I feel him do the same thing—his breath warm and slow against the skin below my ear, inhaling deeply.
Every hair on my body stands up.
His lips brush my throat, then my mouth finds the side of his neck and he makes a small, wrecked sound, unraveling something in my chest.
Then his mouth is on mine.
I grab the front of his shirt and pull.
It's soft at first. Tentative. He tastes like trail mix and lake water, which sounds objectively terrible but is currently the best thing I've ever tasted in my life.
Then my hand slides up into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and his control snaps entirely. His free hand cups my jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into my cheekbone, and the kiss stops being careful. He slants his mouth over mine with a sudden, desperate, consuming pressure. It's messy and urgent and entirely unmeasured.
A low, vibrating growl rips from the back of his throat, and every nerve I own fires at once.
When I pull back, his hand stays on my jaw. His breathing is a mess. His ears are so red they could guide a ship to shore.
His forehead drops to mine.
"What are we doing," he whispers.
"I don't know." My voice comes out smaller than I intend.
"Should—uh, should we just keep not knowing together?"
I laugh against his mouth. "That's the best offer anyone's ever made me."
14
Beth
Maren's already nursing a glass of water at our usual spot by the window at Rosebirch, a tiny café near Main Street
"Rough week?" I ask, sliding into the chair across from her.
She glances up, locks her phone, drops it facedown on the table. "Remember when I said I had a meeting with my vanilla supplier last week? It was basically just an hour of him walking me through 'market fluctuations', which basically means he's jacking up prices."
“Shit,” I say. "That sucks."
"That's business." She pauses. "On the bright side, Elena from Elena's Creations reached out about some kind of cross-promotion thing for wedding season. Could help offset the supplier mess if it pans out."
"That sounds promising," I say, casually shrugging my jacket off my shoulders.
"Maybe." She shrugs, but there's a flicker of something hopeful under the exhaustion. "Anyway, how’ve you been?"
The question lands heavier than she probably means it to. Because the last seven days have been, objectively, a lot. Twokisses with two different alphas who I'm supposed to be fake-dating, neither of which has been discussed, processed, or even acknowledged since they happened.
"Fine," I say.
