“Blankets and wooden toys.” She sets her glass on the wooden table. “Sometimes I quilt, but I don’t enjoy it the way I do crochet and woodwork.”
The conversation drifts from there, touching on books we’ve both read, places we’ve traveled, small stories that reveal the texture of our lives beyond work and responsibilities.
Emily tells me about a road trip across the northern states, sleeping in her truck and waking to snow on her windshield in Montana. I share my semester abroad, where I fell in love with single malt whisky and open skies.
We speak of ordinary things made extraordinary by the simple fact of sharing them.
When she laughs at my story of getting lost in a foreign city and accidentally crashing a wedding, her head tips back, throat exposed to the night sky. The fairy lights catch the angles of her face, the strong line of her jaw, the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, and I’m struck by how much I want to trace that line with my fingers, with my lips.
I lean forward, closing the distance between us, giving her time to pull away. But she doesn’t. She meets my eyes, her own darkening as her pupils expand in the dim light.
The first touch of my lips on hers ignites a long-banked desire within me. For months, I’ve been dreaming of this Alpha, trying to keep my distance, telling myself she wasn’t for me. But the more time we spent together, the harder it became to believe the lie.
I want her with a passion I’ve never experienced before, and she answers with equal hunger. One hand rises to cup my jaw while the other settles on my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweater and drawing me closer. Her lips carry the day’s sweetness as her breath ghosts across my skin.
My hand finds her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to touch warm skin. A shiver runs through her. The worldnarrows to this single point of connection, her mouth opening to mine, the gentle scrape of teeth, the velvet slide of her tongue. Time stretches like honey, thick and golden as the late summer day.
Her crushed clover and warm flannel pheromones sweep around me, drawing me to her scent as her fingers thread through my hair, tugging just hard enough to send sparks down my spine. I trace the curve of her hip, the small of her back, memorizing her through touch as our kiss deepens.
This Alpha is the embodiment of quiet steadiness, patience, and the burning passion I’ve been yearning for, all wrapped up in a strong body that yields when I tug her even closer.
Then a crash and laughter within the house break the spell, and Emily pulls back, her breath uneven.
With a whine of protest, I move to follow, to recapture the moment, but her hand on my chest stops me.
“This isn’t a no,” she says, her voice husky.
Confusion furrows my brow, and she must catch it because her fingers on my chest spread to cover my heart.
“You’ve been drinking, Leif,” she explains. “Whatever comes next, I need you to choose it with a clear head.”
“I know what I want,” I protest. “You do, too. You can smell it in my pheromones.” I inhale her sweeter scent and groan. “You want me, too.”
She swallows hard and draws her hand away. “I do, but instincts and alcohol aren’t a good mix. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and have regrets.”
“I won’t,” I promise, but I can already tell she won’t be swayed.
“I should take you back to the hotel,” Emily says, standing and offering me her hand.
I take it, allowing her to pull me to my feet, and her fingers linger on mine. My cock strains at the front of my slacks, hardfrom just kissing, and I tug my sweater down to cover the obvious proof of thwarted desire.
“Can you tell the others I said goodnight?” I ask, embarrassed now for begging when she’s right.
“Of course.” She steps back. “Let me grab my keys, and I’ll meet you at my truck.”
She disappears into the house, the screen door sighing closed behind her, and my chest tightens with a wanting that goes deeper than desire.
Not just for her.
For all of it.
The noise. The laughter. The easy way they made room for me without asking what I could offer in return. The way Emily looked at me as if I already belonged.
Pack.
The word settles into place with dangerous certainty.
I’ve spent years building a life small enough to stay safe inside. Controlled. Predictable. Unnoticed. But tonight cracked that structure open, and I’m not sure I can pretend the fracture isn’t there.