Page 114 of Pistols & Peonies

I nod, my heart jackhammering in my chest.

“Good.”

His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me off the stool like I weigh nothing. I squeal, half laughing, half protesting, but he just sets me on the edge of the counter, the quartz cool against my legs, the heat of him closing in.

“Because I’m starving.”

His mouth crashes down on mine with a violence that feels a lot like love, and I meet him just as hard, giving it right back.

Because this is us. Not the fairytale Alpha’s been trying to sell to the pack, but our own chaotic, messy version– the kind where we push and pull, fight and fuck. The kind of love that somehow manages to feel dangerous, but safe at the same time.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted, deep down.

And though it took a hell of a journey for us to get here, I wouldn’t change a thing.

CHAPTER 36

Kane

The elevator dings on twenty-nine, and I step out, leaving the stress of the workday behind as I stride down the quiet hallway toward my apartment.

Returning to real life today after spending the weekend at the lake with Violet– most of it naked– felt like getting dragged back under after finally breaking the surface for air. Emails, reports, meetings… all of it just noise. All something I endured with one eye on the clock, counting down the hours until I could get back to her.

To say I’m eager would be an understatement.

I slow as I approach the door, listening out of habit. It’s quiet inside, which should be comforting, but isn’t. With Violet, quiet can either mean peace or the calm before she sets a fire just to watch it burn.

I unlock the door and step inside, re-locking it behind me before moving down the long entry hall, braced for impact. What I get instead stops me cold.

Domesticity.

Or at least whatever the hell passes for it with us.

Violet’s stretched out on the couch in a pair of black cotton shorts and one of my old t-shirts, one leg tucked up underneath her and one bare foot curled over the armrest. Her hair’s piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, face scrubbed clean of makeup. No primp or polish, just her– soft and sharp all at once, blue eyes bright as she scrolls on her phone, completely absorbed.

Which means I get a full, uninterrupted look at her.

I take it– because I’m a man, and she’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the fact she’s mine.

My gaze drags slowly and deliberately over her bare legs, the curve of her thigh where her shorts ride up, and the dip of her waist beneath the hem of my shirt. Her lips part slightly in concentration, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of her mouth as she scrolls.

Fuck.

She does shit like that without even thinking. Little, absent movements that hit hard, my body tuned to react to her in ways I can’t control.

Two takeout boxes are resting on the coffee table, disposable chopsticks balanced on the top of each. Some trashy reality show is playing on the TV, but the volume’s so low it’s just background noise. The whole scene is so… normal. Comforting in a way that punches me straight through the chest.

I clear my throat, finally announcing myself, and her head snaps up. Our eyes meet, and that sly grin spreads across her mouth; the one that always feels like trouble.

“Welcome home, honey,” she purrs, sugar-sweet and fake as hell. She waves an arm lazily toward the food on the coffee table. “I slaved over a hot phone for a full thirty seconds to get the best noodles in town. Hope you appreciate my domestic efforts.”

I lean a shoulder against the wall, muscles loosening as the last tension of the day bleeds out of me. Just looking at her like this– completely at home, waiting to share a meal– does more for me than anything else could.

“You forgot the apron and pearls, mate,” I shoot back, mouth tugging into a smirk. “If you’re gonna play the housewife, at least commit.”

She bats her lashes at me mockingly, then flips me off. “Keep talking,” she warns, “and you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”

I push off from the wall, grin widening as I stride toward her. “You’d miss me by midnight.”