Page 61 of Wolf It Down, Knot Me Up

I blink, and my eyes sting so sharply I have to look away. While Grayson’s back is turned, I hurriedly swipe the tears from my cheeks. No one has looked after me like this in so long that my heart doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.

A few minutes later, we’re both digging into the food. He’s cooked the entire loaf, thick slices stacked onto two plates.

I steal another glance at him while he’s stuffing his mouth. The sleeves of his button-up shirt are stretched tight over his arms, his hair still messy, and he catches me checking him out. He raises both eyebrows at me comically, which sends a little flutter through my chest.

“I like my French toast drowned,” he says, reaching for the syrup and unapologetically emptying half of it over his stack.

I’m relieved to have something ordinary to focus on. “Me too.” I drown mine, but not as much as his. “You know, I once met someone who ate French toast with nothing but salt. No cinnamon, syrup, or anything sweet.”

Grayson slowly lowers his fork, staring at me with complete seriousness. “They are monsters.”

I laugh, and when I look back at him, he’s watching me with a lopsided smile. For just a moment, it’s easy to forget everything.

We continue eating, then he asks, “How much of last night do you remember?”

“Enough.”

His mouth curves into a grin before he takes another bite. “I still taste you, you know. Woke up with the biggest hard-on of my life.”

Heat rushes straight into my cheeks, and I immediately stuff my mouth full. “Anyway. I don’t think chasing is really your thing. Just circling back to your comment outside earlier.”

He ponders it, swallows the food in his mouth, and then says, “You’re right, it’s not.” He drags a hand along his jaw, and I’m just lost in gawking at how gorgeous he is this early in the morning. Sleepy eyes, all that ink disappearing beneath his shirt. He doesn’t even have to try. “I’m more of a take-you-by-surprise kind of man. See what I want, and I’m just there when you least expect it.”

“Oh, I see. So, like, kidnapping.”

He laughs loudly. “Well, technically you’re my scent match. Is it really kidnapping?” He leans a little closer, eyes glinting. “Besides, I’m fairly sure you’d be smitten with your captor before we’d even cleared the property line.”

My stomach gives another stupid little flutter because the annoying thing is that he’s probably right. Sitting here with him, being fed French toast and shamelessly flirting with him, feels right, and my dream fades farther away.

“Well.” I nudge his arm with mine, unable to stop smiling. “Thanks for last night, which was wild, and for this morning too.”

“Hey.” Grayson sets his fork down, and the teasing slips from his face. “This little act you’ve got going, keeping your distance, running off, pretending you’re still deciding…” He shakes his head slowly, watching me with an infuriating certainty. “Hate to break it to you, little bird, but we’re way past that. You’ve already shown us your cards. And we’re only going to manage living without you for so long before we come collect.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He just studies me calmly, and I hate how these Alphas keep reaching straight past every excuse I make and dragging the truth into the light. Mostly because I’m starting to suspect they know what I want before I’m brave enough to admit it myself.

“Have you guys never heard of subtlety?” I ask.

A huge yawn suddenly sounds behind us, and I turn to find Wolf wandering into the hallway with his arms stretched over his head, apparently unconcerned with the effect he’s having on anyone. He’s wearing baggy pajama pants that hang so low on his hips they expose a dark trail of hair above the waistband and the very obvious heavy weight of his cock behind the thin fabric. My eyes drop immediately, lingering far longer than they should, and then somehow refuse to come back up.

God, how big is he?

“For fuck’s sake, man, we’re eating.” Grayson doesn’t even bother turning around. “Put that trunk away. Can’t you see Lucy’s already struggling?”

His laugh explodes through the kitchen, and my head whips toward him. “I was not⁠—”

“Sure.”

I shoot Grayson a murderous look, but he’s still laughing. Wolf’s grinning because it’s clear that with these men, there will be no dignity, subtlety, private thought, or inconvenient feelings. Forget successfully tucking away and pretending I don’t exist. They blare it out to the whole world.

Wolf strolls toward us anyway, not fixing his pants, all rough hair and heavy-lidded, just-woke-up eyes, and he leans over the counter between us. He snags two slices of the French toast, drizzles them with syrup, and eats like a beast, a droplet running down his bare chest.

Obviously I’m staring, then I catch Grayson watching me.

“You want to lick it, don’t you?” he says. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Shut up.” I stab a blueberry. “Not everything has to be said out loud. Some things can just live in your head.”

And Wolf, of course, turns and offers me his chest, syrup and all. “Here you go, little bird. Lick. You know you want to.”