"Is this okay?" He asked it between kisses, his voice strained with the effort of checking in when he clearly wanted to keep going, his forehead pressed against mine.
"More than okay." I pulled him closer, needing to feel more of him, my hands fisting in his shirt. "Don't stop."
He groaned against my mouth, one hand sliding up my spine while the other gripped my hip, and I lost myself in the sensation of him — his warmth, his scent, the way he touched me like I was something precious. We kissed until I was dizzy with it, until my back was pressed against the counter and his body was flush against mine and I could feel exactly how much he wanted me.The realization sent heat pooling low in my stomach, and I made a sound that seemed to break something in him.
"We should stop." He pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain. "Before I can't stop."
"What if I don't want you to stop?" I asked it honestly, feeling bold and reckless, my voice breathless.
Something blazed in his eyes, but he took a deliberate step back, putting space between us, his hands trembling slightly where they still rested on my hips. "Then I need you to tell me that when we're not both running on adrenaline and bond hormones. When you can think clearly."
I stared at him, touched by his restraint even as my body protested the distance, my skin aching for his touch. "You're annoyingly considerate, you know that?"
"So I've been told." He smiled, but it was strained around the edges, his breathing still uneven. "I just want to do this right. You deserve that."
"What if I don't know what 'right' looks like?" I asked it quietly, the vulnerability slipping out before I could stop it, my voice small.
"Then we figure it out together." He took my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, his lips lingering against my skin. "There's no rush. We have time." He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me securely, and I let myself sink into the embrace. His heart was pounding against my ear, matching the rapid rhythm of my own.
"Can I scent you?" He murmured the question into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. "I'd like to mark the back of your neck, if that's okay. It's... more intimate than the wrist. More of a claim."
I thought about it — really thought about it, feeling the weight of what he was asking. The back of the neck was significant. Close to the bonding gland. A statement of intent.
"Yes." I tilted my head forward, giving him access, my heart hammering. "I want that." I felt him inhale sharply, his whole body tensing momentarily, then his nose brushed against my nape, followed by the warmth of his mouth. He pressed his scent into my skin slowly, thoroughly, his lips lingering on each pass. By the time he finished, I could feel his claim sinking into my very bones.
"There." His voice was rough, satisfied, vibrating against my skin. "Now everyone will know."
"Know what?" I asked, slightly dazed, my knees weak.
"That you're ours." He pressed one final kiss to my neck, his lips soft and reverent. "That you're home." The word hit me like a physical force. Home. I hadn't had a home in so long — not since my mother died, not since I'd started running from everything that might hurt me. And now this man was standing in his kitchen, smelling like vanilla and bread and comfort, telling me I was home.
I didn't cry. But it was a close thing.
"Thank you." I turned in his arms, burying my face in his chest, my voice muffled against his shirt. "For today. For the recipe. For... all of it."
"Thank you for being here." He held me close, his chin resting on top of my head, his arms secure around me. "For trying. For letting me take care of you."
We stood like that until the light through the kitchen window turned golden with approaching evening. When we finally separated, I felt something settle in my chest — another piece clicking into place, another bond strengthened.
Four alphas now. Four scents on my skin. Four pieces of my heart that I'd given away without meaning to.
One more to go.
Chapter Twenty-Five
KEIRA
The morning started with me watching Jae-won work. He'd invited me to his office early, but instead of the one-on-one time I'd expected, I found myself curled up on his leather couch while he handled what seemed like a crisis. His phone hadn't stopped buzzing since I arrived, and he was currently on his third call in twenty minutes.
"No, we're not moving the comeback date." His voice was calm but firm, brooking no argument as he paced behind his desk, one hand pressed to his temple in barely concealed frustration. "The members need the full rehearsal period. Find another solution."
I watched him navigate the conversation with quiet fascination. This was a different Jae-won than I'd seen before — not the careful, measured man who'd carried me when I collapsed, but something sharper. More commanding. The pack alpha in his element.
"I understand the venue conflict." He pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare sign of frustration breaking through hiscomposure, his jaw tight with impatience. "But that's not my problem to solve. That's why we have a management team." A pause, his eyes closing briefly, then his voice dropped to something colder, more dangerous. "Are you suggesting my members should sacrifice their preparation because someone else double-booked? No. Fix it."
He ended the call without waiting for a response, immediately pulling up something on his laptop, his fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. His shoulders were tense, carrying a weight I was only beginning to understand.
"Sorry." He glanced up at me, something apologetic flickering across his features even as another notification pinged on his phone, demanding attention. "This wasn't how I planned our day to start."
