Oli
PACK EM UP GOSSIP COLUMN
HOW IS OLI HART SPENDING HER TIME BEFORE HER TOUR IN EUROPE? WITH HER NEW PACK?
July 1st
I saunter into the kitchen where Dax is already at work, his broad shoulders hunched over a cutting board as he chops vegetables with a precision that’s all too Dax—methodical, focused, and frankly, kind of sexy in a grumpy-chef kind of way. The aroma of garlic and herbs mingles with the comforting scent of cinnamon rolls, and I can’t help but feel my lips tug into a smile.
“Need a hand there, chef?” I tease, hopping onto the counter beside him and swinging my legs.
Dax glances up from his task, a lock of dark brown hair falling across his forehead. “I got it, ,” he grumbles, but a hint of warmth in those intense hazel eyes tells me he doesn’t really mind the intrusion.
“Come on, you know you love my company,” I retort playfully, plucking a slice of bell pepper from the board and popping it into my mouth. “Plus, I make an excellent sous chef. I want to help get things ready for Cate.”
As my heat hormones have died down, I’ve become a lot less panicked about everything being perfect for Chase’s sister. I’m finally starting to feel like myself again after my heat.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want it to go well; I do. I’m just not as focused on the environment. During the past few days, the things we ordered arrived, and the guys helped me get everything just right.
“Fine,” he concedes with a mock sigh, sliding the knife away and facing me. “You can mix the dip.”
“Deal.” My grin widens as I hop off the counter and get to work, finding a rhythm in the simple task of stirring and seasoning. While we move around each other in the small space, I can’t help but sneak looks at him, noticing how the afternoon light plays off his muscles under that fitted black T-shirt.
“Chase has managed to keep his sister out of the spotlight really well,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “I mean, she’s practically invisible to the press.”
“Chase is protective,” Dax murmurs, a note of admiration in his voice as he starts arranging the freshly cut veggies on a platter.
“I knew nothing about your family lives before Jack told me about foster care. There was nothing about your pasts online, only the present. Although, now it’s all about our relationship,” I continue, watching Dax’s face for a reaction.
The silence that falls isn’t the easy one from before. It stretches between us, growing dense like fog rolling off a bay. Dax’s knife slows on the chopping board, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly. I can almost feel the weight settling on them, a ghostly pressure that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Hey,” I say softly, setting down my spoon and leaning closer. The bond between us—a tangle of emotions—buzzes with his discomfort. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
He doesn’t look up, focusing intently on the peppers as if they hold life’s deepest secrets. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, but the lie is as thin as tissue paper.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” I nudge him gently with my shoulder, offering a silent avenue for confessions. “Talk to me.”
Dax sets the knife down with a clatter that seems louder than it should be. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding under the snug T-shirt. I wait, patient, though my heart taps an impatient beat against my ribs.
“I…” He starts, then stops, his jaw tight enough to crack walnuts. “I asked them to all keep the foster care thing a secret. It’s not exactly a golden memory, you know?”
I reach out, brushing my fingers against his wrist. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Not with me.”
His voice drops to a growl, laced with old shadows, “If the world knew we met in foster care, they would dig into why. And then everyone would know my dads were abusive.”
“Look at you now, though,” I say, squeezing his wrist. “You’re here, strong, and part of a pack that’s more family than anything blood could dictate. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But that doesn’t mean you owe the public your story. It’s okay to keep it to yourself.”
He looks up, finally, hazel eyes meeting mine. There’s a vulnerability that’s rarely allowed to surface, making my chest tighten. This is Dax laid bare, stripped of his defenses, and it’s both beautiful and heartbreaking.
“Thanks, ,” he murmurs, and I can tell it’s a big deal for him even to get that much out.
I reach across the island counter, laying my hand over his. “Always,” I say softly, leaning into our connection. “Your past doesn’t define you, Dax. It’s just… backstory, you know?”
He looks at me, and there’s a flicker of something like relief in those stormy hazel eyes. He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his gaze. “Backstory, huh?” There’s a rasp in his voice, raw and honest.
“Absolutely,” I affirm, giving him that full-beam smile I reserve for cheering up stubborn alphas. “And look at what an incredible character arc you’ve got. From foster kid to badass bass player? That’s the kind of strength people write songs about.”
Dax chuckles, a low sound that rumbles pleasantly in the air between us. “You gonna write one about me?” There’s that hint of a tease, his walls coming down inch by inch.
“Maybe I will,” I tease back, nudging his shoulder with mine. “But only if you promise to play it with me on stage.” My words are light, but they carry the weight of my admiration for him, for the battles he’s fought and won.
“Deal,” he says, and his smile is more genuine this time, reaching all the way to brighten his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here without all that crap, would I? Wouldn’t have found the pack.”
“Exactly,” I encourage, feeling that familiar rush of pride for him. “You’ve got a family now who loves you for you. Not because they have to but because they want to. That’s worth everything.”
I smile, hoping to chase away some of the shadows lingering in his gaze.
“My dads keep trying to get money from me,” he whispers his confession.
Anger surges through me.
“If they come near you, I’ll—” My words cut off as I watch the muscle in Dax’s jaw twitch. Anger bubbles up inside me, fierce and protective, at the thought of anyone trying to hurt him.
“, it’s fine,” he says, but his voice is a low growl that tells me it’s anything but. “I’ve dealt with their crap my whole life.”
“Doesn’t mean you should have to deal with it now,” I argue, slamming a cupboard shut harder than necessary. The clatter echoes off the kitchen walls, underscoring my frustration. “Especially not alone.”
“,” he breathes, and there’s a tremble in his voice that mirrors the shaking in my own limbs. “I love you. You know that, right?”
My heart skips a beat, even though it’s not the first time he’s said those words. Each confession feels just as raw and significant as the last. “I know, Dax. I love you too.”
And then his lips crash onto mine, a storm of passion that sweeps away any remaining thoughts. Dax kisses me like he’s pouring every ounce of his love, fear, and desire into it. His mouth moves against mine with an almost palpable hunger, his tongue tracing my lower lip in a silent plea for entry. I grant it without hesitation, tangling my fingers in his dark hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
The kiss deepens, and I can taste the cinnamon sweetness that is uniquely Dax, mixed with the edge of his alpha strength. Our mouths move together in a perfect dance of give and take, which is intoxicating and dizzying. I arch into him, craving more of this connection that sears straight through to my soul.
His hands explore my body with a reverence that makes my skin burn, every touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Our breaths mingle, ragged and heavy, as the kiss grows more fervent. The world narrows down to the space between us, to the heat of Dax’s body pressed against mine, to the relentless pounding of my heart that matches the rhythm of our desperate embrace.
“,” he groans against my lips, the sound vibrating through me, setting off sparks behind my closed eyelids. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” I whisper back, a challenge laced with need.
I shiver under the heat of his palms, feeling the gentle pinch and roll on my nipples, sending electric pleasure straight to my core.
“Dax…” My voice comes out breathy, thick with desire, as he lowers his head and tugs my shirt down. His hot breath fans over the sensitive peak, and then his tongue is there, swirling around the raised flesh before latching onto his bond mark on my breast. The sensation is like lightning, striking deep within me, igniting fires.
“More,” I gasp, desperate for his friction, connection, and raw intensity. My hands are on him then, fumbling with the button of his jeans because I need him – need to feel him against me, in me. He helps, pushing the denim down his hips just enough, freeing himself.
Dax lifts me onto the counter, which just happens to be the perfect height for his cock to be pressed against my core.
His fingers hook into the sides of my underwear, the lace offering no resistance as it’s torn away. And then he’s pressing into me, and I’m so slick, so ready, that he slides home in one smooth, deep thrust. The stretch, the fullness, it’s overwhelming, and I moan loud enough to fill the room.
“Dax!” It’s a plea, a declaration, his name carrying all the wild emotions crashing through me.
The scent of cinnamon rolls, uniquely his alpha aroma, wraps around us, intensifying the moment. It’s comforting and arousing all at once, spurring me on. My hips rise to meet his thrusts, each movement driving us closer to that edge.
“, you’re everything,” he groans, his rhythm unrelenting, his grip on my hips firm. Each stroke hits a spot inside me that blazes with pleasure, every nerve ending alight and singing his name.
“Please, don’t stop,” I beg, lost in the sensation, in the storm of our joining. I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, marking him as surely as he’s marked me.
“Good girl,” Dax growls into my ear, his husky whisper sending heat racing to my core. His hands grip my hips with a possessiveness that’s all-consuming as he drives into me with relentless urgency. The hard marble of the kitchen counter digs into my back, but it’s nothing compared to how he’s filling me up, stretching me in the most deliciously torturous ways. “You’re such a good girl for me, taking me so deep.”
The fragrance of him is intoxicating, like cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven, mingling with the tang of sweat and the musky sweetness of sex that’s undeniably ours. My own slick makes each thrust smoother, faster, as I arch my back and urge him closer, deeper.
“More, Dax, please,” I whimper, feeling the heat coil tighter in my belly. The sounds of our bodies slapping together, the wet slide of skin on skin, is the only music I need to hear. It’s filthy and primal, and it’s us.
His breath hitches, and I know he’s close. So am I—so close I can almost taste the release on my tongue, sweet and sharp. His fingers tighten around me, nearly bruising in their intensity, and something about that sends me spiraling even further into this haze of lust.
“You look so perfect on my cock,” he praises, his voice infused with awe and a touch of wonder that matches the stars in my eyes. I feel every inch of him, the rippling muscles of his thighs against mine, the hard planes of his chest as he leans down to claim my mouth once more.
“Feel so incredible, ,” he confesses between thrusts, each word punctuated by another powerful push inside me. “So tight, so warm… fuck.”
He devours my mouth with the same fervor he’s claiming my body.
Dax growls low in his throat, a sound that entrances me. And then, with one deep thrust, I feel the unmistakable swell. His knot locks into place, securing us together. The world narrows down to nothing but Dax and me.
“Damn, ,” he groans, his voice infused with raw need. “I was made to fit you perfectly. You’re my perfect omega.”
The sensation is overwhelming, an exquisite mix of fullness and connection that anchors me to him, heart and soul. Our gazes lock, hazel to green, and something unspoken passes between us.
“Can you feel that, angel?” Dax breathes out, his movements slowing to a deliberate grind that keeps the fire burning inside me. “You’re wrapped around me so tight like you’re pulling me deeper. It’s incredible.”
I can only nod, words failing me, as every inch of my skin feels alight with sensation. His hands explore my body, rough and reverent all at once, as if he’s memorizing the shape of me. The scent of cinnamon rolls, pure Dax, fills my nostrils, stoking the flames of my desire even higher.
“Your slick makes it perfect,” he whispers against my ear before pressing a kiss to the bond mark on my breast. “So wet for me… always ready for my knot.”
I arch against him, the heat from his words as potent as the friction of our bodies. The kitchen disappears, and there’s only us.
“Such a good girl for me, taking my knot like you were born for it,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “You’re mine, . Mine.”
“Yours.”
Pinned beneath Dax, his knot locked in place, a sudden realization pricks at my haze of ecstasy—the ticking clock. Chase’s sister is due to walk through that door any minute now, and here we are, knotted in the kitchen like a couple of impulsive teenagers. The notion sends a flicker of panic through me, but it’s quickly drowned out by the pulsing lust that thrums from Dax and his quiet purr.
“Chase is going to kill us if we’re not untangled by the time his sister arrives,” I manage to say between gasps, even as laughter bubbles up inside me.
Dax groans, a sound mixed with frustration and satisfaction. “I know, I know…” He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize my scent. His lips find my ear, and he murmurs, “But can you blame me for wanting to knot my omega?”
His words make me tremble, and I can feel every ounce of his desire, hot and demanding, through our bond. It’s intoxicating, and for a moment, I forget about anything else but the man enveloping me.
Then, footsteps echo nearby, and our shared blissful bubble bursts. Chase’s familiar, teasing voice carries into the kitchen before his presence does.
“Hope I’m not interrupting something!”
I can feel his lust down our bond. Aiden and Jack’s too. That’s something I will have to get used to.
He stands, leaning against the doorway with that classic smirk plastered on his face. His green eyes twinkle with mischief, and it’s clear he’s more amused than mad.
Chase waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t mind me. Carry on—or, you know, don’t. Your call.”
Dax lets out a low chuckle, his breath warm against my skin. “We’re a little stuck right now,” he admits, the vibrations of his voice sending me a new wave of pleasure.
“Ah, you knotted our omega in the kitchen,” Chase laughs, shaking his head. “Of course you did.. Well, I’ll just tell my sis you two are… tied up. I’ll handle the entertaining until you can get free.”
“Appreciate it,” Dax says, his tone laced with relief and amusement. I can tell he’s grinning without even looking at him.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Chase adds, giving us a mock salute before he leaves, whistling a tune.
“Your packmate,” I begin once Chase’s footsteps fade away, but Dax’s deep, rumbling laugh cuts me off.
“Is the best wingman,” he finishes, kissing my forehead. “And he’s your alpha. Now, where were we?”
“Trapped, I think, was the word,” I reply, feeling another rush of warmth flood through me—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer thrill of being so utterly connected to Dax, even in the most unexpected moments.