Chapter 23 Elijah
Elijah
She kisses me.
We’ve done this before—at the cabin, before the heat hit, when she was still fighting what was happening between us. But that kiss was tentative. Uncertain. A question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.
This is different.
This is Tessa after she ran. After she had time to think, to process, to talk herself out of this a hundred times. And she’s still here. Still choosing this. Choosing me.
That’s what makes my hands shake when I reach for her.
I kiss her back.
My hands tighten on her waist, pulling her closer. She makes a small sound against my mouth—surprise, maybe, or relief—and her fingers curl into the front of my henley like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I’m not going anywhere. I’ve waited too long for this. I’m not going anywhere.
She tastes like the wine we had with dinner, dark and rich, with something sweeter underneath.
Her scent is changing—the citrus edge completely gone now, replaced by pure lavender and something else.
Something warm and honeyed that I’ve only smelled once before, in that cabin, when her body was calling to mine.
Not heat. Just want.
I tilt her head back to deepen the kiss, and she lets me. Opens for me. Her tongue slides against mine and I groan into her mouth, pulling her flush against me so there’s no space between us.
Three years. Three years of watching her from across rooms. Three years of finding excuses to be near her, to touch things she’d touch, to exist in her orbit without ever being brave enough to close the distance.
And now she’s in my arms, kissing me like I’m the air she needs to breathe.
I wasn’t prepared for this. I thought I was. I thought I’d imagined every possible scenario, planned for every outcome. But the reality of Tessa Lang—her taste, her scent, the little sounds she makes when I do something she likes—is better than anything I could have imagined.
I break the kiss to breathe and she chases my mouth, whimpering when I pull back. The sound goes straight to my cock.
“Tessa.” My voice comes out rough. Wrecked. “I need—can I—”
“Yes.” She’s nodding before I finish the question. “Whatever it is. Yes.”
I laugh, and it surprises both of us. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Don’t care.” Her hands slide up my chest, over my shoulders, into my hair. Her nails scrape against my scalp and I shudder. “Just don’t stop touching me.”
I kiss her again. She’s right there and she’s willing and she’s Tessa, the woman I’ve been quietly, hopelessly gone for since the moment she walked into Maeve’s bakery with an ink stain on her blazer and demanded they remake her coffee because the foam ratio was wrong.
I’d been sitting in the corner, eating a cinnamon roll, and I’d watched her apologize to Maeve afterward. The way her cheeks went pink. The way she tried to backtrack, embarrassed by her own intensity. And I’d thought: there. That’s the one.
I never told anyone that story. Not even Levi. Some things you keep close.
But I want to tell her. Eventually. When we have time. When I have the words.
Right now, words don’t matter. Right now, I just have her.
I lift her onto the workbench without really meaning to—I just need her closer, need to feel more of her, and the height difference is making my neck ache. She gasps at the sudden movement, then wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me in tight.
“Oh,” she breathes. “That’s—okay, that’s better.”
Better isn’t the word I’d use. Better implies this is just good. This is—this is her thighs bracketing my hips, her center pressed against me through too many layers of clothes, her scent spiking so sweet I’m dizzy with it.
I kiss her jaw. Her throat. That spot just below her ear that makes her shiver and tip her head back to give me better access. Her pulse is racing under my lips, and I want to bite down. Want to sink my teeth in and mark her so everyone knows she’s mine.
Not yet. Not tonight.
But soon.
“Elijah.” My name comes out breathy, almost a moan. “I want—”
“Tell me.” I scrape my teeth along her collarbone, light enough to tease. “Whatever you want. Tell me.”
“I don’t—” She breaks off, gasping, when I find a sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. “I don’t know. Just more. More of you.”
I pull back to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and wanting. Her sweater has ridden up, exposing a strip of pale skin at her hip.
I’ve catalogued every detail of her since the day we met. The way she holds her pen. The way she tips her head when she’s thinking. The coffee cup she always uses—the blue one with the chip in the handle that she refuses to replace because she likes how it fits in her hand.
But this is new. Tessa, unguarded. Wanting. Looking at me like I’m something precious.
“Can I touch you?” I ask. My hands are already on her waist, but I need her to say it. Need to be sure. “Under your sweater?”
She nods frantically. “Please. Yes.”
I slide my hands up under the soft cream fabric.
Her skin is impossibly soft. Warm and smooth under my palms as I trace up her sides, over her ribs. I feel her breath catch when my thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, feel the way her whole body arches toward me.
“Elijah.” My name is a plea.
“I’ve got you.” I kiss her again, softer this time. “I’ve got you. Just tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare.”
I find the edge of her bra—lace, thin lace that I can feel the heat of her through—and trace along it with my fingertips.
She’s trembling. Not from cold. The workshop is warm, the candles still burning, and her scent is giving off so much heat I’m surprised we haven’t set something on fire.
Underneath the lavender, I catch the unmistakable sweetness of slick—her body responding to mine, wanting more than we’re going to give it tonight.
When I finally cup her breasts, she moans.
It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Better than the satisfied creak of a joint fitting perfectly together. Better than the clean shhhh of a plane taking off a perfect curl of wood. Tessa Lang, moaning my name while I touch her.
I could live in this moment forever.
“God.” She’s panting now, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “That’s—more, please—”
I brush my thumbs over her nipples through the lace, and she makes a sound that’s almost a sob. Her hips rock against me, seeking friction, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to grind back.
Not tonight. We’re taking this slow. We have time.
But god, she’s making it difficult.
“Elijah.” She pulls back just enough to look at me, and her eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide. “I want—I want more, but I don’t want to rush this. Is that—does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” I force myself to still my hands, just holding her. Grounding both of us. “We don’t have to rush anything.”
“I just—” She takes a shaky breath. “The cabin was... it was heat. Biology. And this is...” She gestures between us. “I want this to be different. I want to know it’s real.”
I understand. More than she knows.
“It’s real.” I kiss her forehead, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. “This is real. And we have all the time you need.”
“Even if I need a lot of time?”
“Tessa.” I pull back to look at her properly. Make sure she can see my face, read the truth in it. “I’ve waited three years. I can wait longer. However long you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes go shiny again. She blinks rapidly, fighting it, and I love that about her. The way she fights for control even when she’s falling apart. The way she battles her own emotions like they’re an opponent to be defeated.
Someday, I’ll teach her she doesn’t have to fight. That it’s okay to fall apart with us. That we’ll be there to put her back together.
But that’s a lesson for another night.
“Okay.” She takes a breath, steadying herself. “Okay. We go slow.”
“We go slow.” I reluctantly slide my hands out from under her sweater, letting them rest on her waist instead. Safe territory. Mostly. “But I reserve the right to kiss you stupid whenever possible.”
She laughs—bright and surprised—and I feel it in my chest. A loosening. A homecoming.
“That seems fair.”
“It’s only reasonable.” I kiss her once more, slow and sweet. “Come on. It’s getting late. I should get you home.”
She glances around the workshop, taking in the burned-down candles, the abandoned carving tools, the meal we never quite finished. “We didn’t finish the bowl.”
“Next time.” I help her down from the workbench, keeping hold of her hand because I’m not ready to stop touching her yet. “You can come back. Whenever you want. Finish what we started.”
The double meaning hangs in the air between us.
She squeezes my hand. “I’d like that.”
I walk her to her car because I can’t let go of her yet.
The cold hits us the moment we step outside—that bone-deep Montana winter that makes your lungs ache. Snow blankets everything, glittering under the stars. Our boots crunch through the frozen crust, and our breath fogs in the air, mingling together before it dissipates into the night.
She’s shivering before we make it halfway to her car, hugging her arms around herself. The cream sweater isn’t meant for standing around in fifteen-degree weather.
“You’re cold,” I observe.
“I’m fine.”
“Your teeth are chattering.”
“That’s just... enthusiasm. For the night air.”
I snort and pull off my henley before I can think better of it. The cold bites into my bare arms immediately, but I don’t care. I drape it over her shoulders, still warm from my body heat.
“Elijah, you’ll freeze—”
“I’m fine.” I tug the fabric closer around her. “Get in. Ben fixed the seat warmers.”
“Ben fixed my seat warmers?”
“Last week. When he brought your car back.” I shrug. “He’s been doing stuff like that for years. Half your maintenance bills are things he did for free.”
Her mouth drops open. “He what?”
“It’s how he is.” I open her car door for her. “Fixing things. It’s how he shows—” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
She tilts her head, watching me. “Shows what?”
I gesture vaguely instead of answering. The workshop behind us. The henley on her shoulders. Everything.
She seems to understand anyway. “And you show it by building things. And Milo by remembering things.”
I nod. She gets it.
“And what does that make us?” she asks quietly. “If you all show love differently?”
I consider the question. Try to find the right word.
“Compatible,” I say finally. “If you want us to be.”
She looks at me for a long moment. The moonlight catches her eyes, makes them shine.
“I’m starting to think I might,” she admits. “Want this. Want all of you.”
The last of my walls come down. I didn’t even know I was still holding them up.
“That’s enough for now.” I lean down and kiss her one last time. Slow and thorough, tasting her properly, memorizing the shape of her mouth. When I pull back, she chases me, and I have to physically step away before I lose my resolve and drag her back inside. “Drive safe. Text me when you’re home.”
“I will.” She slides into the driver’s seat, then pauses with her hand on the door. “Elijah?”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight was perfect.” She smiles, soft and real. “The best date I’ve ever been on...” She shakes her head. “Thank you. For sharing this with me.”
“Anytime.” I mean it with everything I have. “Anytime you want to learn more, I’m here.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Please do.”
She pulls the door closed, still wearing my henley over her sweater, and I don’t ask for it back. I like the idea of her driving home wrapped in something that smells like me. Like a claim, even if we haven’t made it official yet.
I stand in the cold as she starts the engine, backs out of my driveway, disappears around the corner. The taillights fade into the darkness, and I stay there until I can’t see them anymore.
Then I go back inside to blow out the candles and clean up from dinner.
The workshop smells like her now. Lavender and citrus mixed with my cedar and sawdust. Like we’ve already started blending. Like she belongs here.
I’m smiling as I wash the dishes. Still smiling as I pack away the leftover food. Still smiling as I finally head to bed in my house that doesn’t feel quite so empty anymore.
My phone buzzes as I’m climbing under the covers.
Tessa: Home safe. Thank you for tonight. For everything.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. There’s so much I want to say. So much I don’t have the words for.
Elijah: Sleep well.
It’s not enough. It’s not even close to enough. But she sends back a little heart emoji, and somehow that says everything.
A second later, the group chat explodes.
Ben: Well???
I check the time. Nearly midnight.
Elijah: It’s late.
Ben: I don’t care if it’s 3am, tell me how it went
Milo: Put him out of his misery. He’s been pacing for two hours.
I think about Tessa in my arms. The way she kissed me. The sounds she made when I touched her. The way she laughed, bright and surprised, when I said something that wasn’t even trying to be funny.
Elijah: It went well.
Ben: WELL??? That’s all I get???
Elijah: She said she wants this. Wants us. All of us.
The chat goes quiet for a moment.
Ben: Holy shit
Milo: Really?
Elijah: She wants to go slow. But she’s letting us in.
Ben: She said yes. After everything. She actually said yes.
Milo: She’s not saying yes to bonding. Not yet. But she’s saying yes to trying.
Elijah: That’s enough.
Ben: That’s everything.
I stare at the screen, at the three of us in this group chat we started the day she left the cabin, when everything changed. Three alphas who wanted the same omega. Who agreed, that first night, that we’d do this together or not at all.
Elijah: So what now?
Ben: The fundraiser. I’ve got a plan.
Milo: Why does that terrify me?
Ben: Trust me. She’s going to know exactly how serious we are.
I should probably be worried. Ben’s plans tend to be chaotic at best.
But I’m too happy to care.
Elijah: Fine.
Ben: Goodnight, assholes. Big weekend ahead.
Milo: Night.
Elijah: Goodnight.
I plug in my phone and close my eyes. Her scent is still in my nose, her taste still on my lips. And for the first time in three years, when I think about the future, I don’t see myself alone.
I see her. And Ben. And Milo.
A pack.
A family.
Finally.