Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
KYREN
My hands freeze on the piano keys as Trinity slides onto the bench beside me. Before I can react, she swings one leg over and settles in my lap, straddling me.
My first instinct is to push her away. To protect myself from wanting something I can’t have.
To shield her from making a mistake she’ll regret.
But my traitorous arms circle her waist instead, pulling her closer.
I’m acutely aware of the piano’s edge against her back, so I shift to shield her from the hard edge of wood.
She feels too right in my arms. Too perfect. Too much like something I’ve imagined in quiet moments alone in my apartment.
“I skipped my dose of suppressants yesterday,” she whispers, her breath warm against my neck. Her arms loop around my shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. “I think my sense of smell might already be coming back a little.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She leans back slightly, eyes searching mine. “How do I smell to you, Kyren? ”
The question hits me like a physical blow. How does she smell to me? Like everything I’ve ever wanted and couldn’t have. Like home and desire and comfort all rolled into one.
“You smell like...” I inhale deeply, letting her essence fill my lungs. “Like the first breath of winter that promises snow. Like that moment when you’re falling asleep and can’t tell if you’re dreaming or awake.”
My hands tighten at her waist. I’m not trying to be poetic, I’m just a guy who makes sound effects for bad theater productions.
But I can’t just tell her that her scent is still too faint to identify clearly—just wisps of something tantalizingly familiar that dance at the edges of my awareness—so I settle for how it makes me feel.
“There’s something warm there,” I continue, burying my nose against her neck. “Something that reminds me of holidays I never had. And underneath, something wild—like forest floors after rainfall.”
Trinity shivers against me. Her fingers tighten in my hair.
“Your scent has layers,” I continue, unable to stop now that I’ve started.
“There’s the surface—warm and sweet. But underneath, there’s something livelier.
Something that calls to me on a level I can’t even explain.
It’s like...” I search for the right words.
“It’s like hearing a song for the first time but somehow knowing all the words. ”
A soft smile curves her lips. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s just the truth,” I mutter, embarrassed by my own intensity.
She shifts in my lap, and I have to bite back a groan. “You know what I think?” she asks, tracing a finger along my jawline.
“What’s that? ”
“I think we could be scent matches and not even know it.”
The words hang between us, so close to the truth that it physically aches. We are scent matches. I’ve known it since the moment I met her, even through the suppressants we both took during her heat-breaking session. It’s why I ran. Why I couldn’t call her back. The intensity terrified me.
“Maybe,” I say instead of confirming what I already know. “Maybe that’s why...”
I trail off, unwilling to admit how deeply she affected me.
“Why what?” she prompts.
“Why I couldn’t get you out of my head,” I admit quietly. “After your heat. I tried, but...” I shake my head. “Nothing worked.”
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “Then why didn’t you call me back?”
The question I’ve been dreading. The one I deserve.
“Because I’m a coward,” I say simply. “Because someone like you deserves better than someone like me. Because I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself want you.”
“And now?” Her voice is barely audible, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten.
“Now I’m still afraid,” I admit. “But I’m more afraid of losing you again.”
She studies my face, those intelligent hazel eyes seeming to see straight through me. Then she smiles—a genuine smile, not the forced ones I’ve seen her give her family all week—and leans forward until our foreheads touch.
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m not letting you run away this time. ”
Trinity shifts back in my lap, her movements deliberate as she grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it up just enough to bare herself to me.
My breath catches, a raw sound escaping my throat at the sight of her—swollen, glistening, ready.
The air in the empty ballroom thickens with her scent, that sweet and spicy mix that’s been haunting me for months, now even more piquant without the suppressants entirely dulling it.
“Fuck,” I rasp, hands tightening on her hips as heat surges through me.
My body screams to take over, to claim, but Trinity doesn’t wait for me to make the call.
Her fingers are already at my waistband, deftly undoing my pants with a focus that sends a jolt straight to my core.
She frees me, her touch firm and unhesitating, and before I can process the rush, she’s sliding down, taking me in to the hilt in one fluid motion.
A groan tears from my chest, loud in the silent room.
Her warmth envelops me, tight and overwhelming, echoing memories of our heat-breaking session—those desperate, fevered hours I’ve replayed in my mind too many times to count.
My hands grip her harder, anchoring myself against the wave of sensation as she starts to move, grinding down with a rhythm that’s all her own.
“Knot me, Kyren,” she breathes, voice low and pleading, her lips brushing my ear. “Like you did before. Please.”
Her words ignite something primal in me.
I’m distantly aware we’re in a public space, that anyone could walk into this ballroom and see us tangled like this on the piano bench.
The thought should stop me cold, should force some shred of restraint.
But it doesn’t. Not with her rocking against me, her pleas unraveling every defense I’ve built. Denying her feels like denying air.
“Trinity,” I growl through gritted teeth, my forehead pressing against hers as I fight for control. “You sure? Here?”
“Stop thinking,” she snaps, her tone sharp but her movements relentless, hips rolling with a need that mirrors my own. “Just do it.”
That’s all it takes. My resolve crumbles, hands sliding under her thighs to lift her slightly, adjusting our angle so I can thrust up to meet her.
Each movement draws a soft whimper from her, the sound driving me closer to the edge.
I feel the swell building, the instinct to knot her surging stronger with every second, just as it did during her heat when her body begged for relief only I could give.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting through my shirt as she arches her back, pressing herself tighter against me.
The piano keys clatter under my elbow, a discordant jangle that barely registers over the pounding in my veins.
My focus narrows to her—her scent, her heat, the way she’s claiming this moment as much as I am.
“Kyren,” she gasps again, her voice fracturing on my name, and I’m done for.
My hands grip her waist, pulling her down hard as I give in, the knot forming and locking us together.
A shudder rips through me, raw and unguarded, as her body clenches around me in response, drawing out the intensity until my vision blurs at the edges.
We’re both panting, her head resting against my shoulder now, breath hot against my neck.
The ballroom’s silence creeps back in, broken only by our ragged breathing and the faint hum of the resort outside.
Reality slowly seeps through the haze—where we are, what we’ve just done—but I can’t bring myself to care.
Not yet. Not with her still in my arms, her weight a comfort I’ve craved for too long.
I wrap my arms around Trinity, my elbows hitting the piano keys in a dissonant crash that mirrors the chaotic rhythm of my heartbeat.
The jarring sound echoes through the empty ballroom, but I barely notice it.
All I can focus on is her—the weight of her in my lap, the warmth of her skin against mine, the way her body still pulses around my knot.
This moment feels impossibly fragile. Like a dream I might wake from at any second. Six months I’ve spent running from this connection, convincing myself I wasn’t worthy of someone like her. Six months wasted on self-doubt and fear.
Her head rests in the crook of my neck, her breath gradually slowing against my skin. I breathe in her scent—wildflowers and honey—and make a decision as the piano’s lingering notes fade to silence.
I won’t run again. I won’t let my insecurities dictate what happens between us. For once in my life, I’ll fight for something that matters.
My fingers trace gentle patterns on her back as we remain locked together. Outside, the moon casts silver light through the ballroom’s tall windows, illuminating dust motes that dance around us like silent witnesses to my silent vow.
Whatever happens after tonight—whether she chooses all of us or none—I won’t disappear from her life again. No more excuses. No more hiding.
I’ll be here for as long as she wants me to be.