"Good." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Because it's true."
We lie there in comfortable silence, just breathing. Her scent is all over me—cinnamon and apples and satisfaction. Mine is all over her too—ink and leather and the musk of a satisfied alpha.
Through the windows, afternoon light slants across the studio. We've been here for hours, wrapped up in each other, and somehow it feels like both forever and not nearly long enough.
"I'm starving," she says after a long moment, her voice soft and content.
"Me too." I check the time on my phone and wince. "It's just past two. I've got a client at three."
She stiffens slightly against me. "Oh. I should—I didn't mean to mess up your schedule?—"
"Hey." I tighten my arms around her. "You didn't mess up anything. This was—" I search for the right words. "This was everything."
"Yeah?" She tilts her head to look up at me, and there's vulnerability in her eyes that makes my chest ache.
"Yeah." I press a kiss to her forehead. "We can grab lunch first if you want? There's that sandwich place on the corner."
"That sounds perfect." But she doesn't move, like she's not quite ready to leave this bubble we've created.
I understand. Once we leave, we go back to the real world. To figuring out what this means. To navigating pack dynamics with Seth and River.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe that's the next step.
"But I should probably get dressed first," she says with a small laugh.
"Probably a good idea." I grin, not moving either. "Though I'm in no rush."
She groans but sits up, reaching for her clothes. I watch her get dressed, committing every moment to memory. The flush still staining her cheeks. The mark I left on her neck—not a claiming bite, but visible enough. The way she moves, loose-limbed and satisfied.
When she catches me staring, she pauses with her shirt halfway over her head. "What?"
"Nothing." I stand, pulling on my own jeans. "Just thinking about how I've wanted this for weeks."
"Me too." She finishes dressing, then crosses back to me. Her hand comes up to trace one of the tattoos on my chest. "I kept telling myself I was just here for the marketing."
"Very professional." I catch her hand, press a kiss to her palm. "Very business-like."
"Extremely." She's smiling now, that real smile that makes her eyes crinkle. "So about those hashtags..."
I laugh and pull her in for one more kiss. Soft this time. Sweet. A promise of more to come.
"Come on," I murmur against her mouth. "Let me feed you before you start planning my entire social media strategy."
"Too late. I'm already planning." But she's grinning as she says it, her hand finding mine as we head for the door.
Later that night,after Bea's gone home and my three o'clock appointment wrapped up, I'm still thinking about her.
The way she looked spread out on my couch. The sounds she made. The trust in her eyes when she asked to touch me. The careful fascination as she explored my knot.
I can still smell her on my skin, even after a shower. Cinnamon and apples woven through everything in my studio.
Seth and River are going to know immediately what happened. Good. Let them know. We're not competing—we're building something together. All four of us.
My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts.
Group chat: The Pack
River:Added Bea to the group.
