Emma’s POV
The east-wing guest room feels like a cage.
Heavy oak door, unfamiliar bed, no trace of Richard’s scent except what still clings to my skin and the ache between my legs. I shut the door and lean against it, chest heaving, tears burning tracks down my cheeks.
I did this.
I opened my mouth and ruined everything.
I crawl onto the bed fully clothed, curl into a ball, and try to think.
How do I fix this?
Apologise on my knees?
Beg?
Offer to leave the pack if that’s what he wants?
None of it feels like enough.
The silence is suffocating. My body, traitor that it is, remembers the exact weight of him on me this morning, the stretch of his knot, the way he growled “mine” like a prayer. My thighs clench involuntarily, a fresh pulse of slick wetting my already-ruined pa
