Page 83 of Knot the Last Chapter

I shift slightly, trying not to wake her, but her thigh tightens around my hip like even in sleep, she doesn’t want to let go.

I bite back a groan. Her skin is hot. Her breath ghosts over my chest, and every inch of me is on edge—body locked in place by restraint and want and desperation.

I can’t stay like this.

Slowly, carefully, I slip out from under her.

She whimpers once but doesn’t wake. Her hands tug the blankets around her, nuzzling into the pillow, lashes fluttering.

“Sleep, plot bunny,” I murmur, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

I grab a clean towel and pad barefoot into the hall, not bothering to turn on the lights in the fading light of day. The house is quiet. Still. Everyone’s giving us space—and thank fuck for that.

I close the bathroom door behind me, twist the lock, and turn on the shower.

Steam fills the room almost immediately. I lean against the tile and brace my forearms on the cool surface, dropping my head between my shoulders. The water hits my back in hot, heavy pulses, but it’s not enough to ease the ache.

I’m too far gone for that.

I close my eyes, the scent of her still thick in my nose.

Her voice. Her moans. The way her thighs shook as I dragged my fingers through her slick, made her come on my tongue, made her sing for me—

Fuck.

My hand wraps around my cock and I groan, the sound ragged and low. No pretending now. No restraint.

I stroke myself hard and fast, hips jerking into my grip, forehead pressed to the tile as I imagine her tied beneath me—those sweet little cuffs biting into her wrists, her legs spread wide, begging for more.

“Fuck, Lila—”

The image of her mouth parted, cheeks flushed, voice cracking as she says my name—gods, it undoes me.

I’m so close it’s painful. Muscles tight, thighs trembling, everything coiled—

A soft knock.

Then a voice.

“...Tyler?”

I freeze.

My eyes fly open, pulse thudding in my ears.

The door creaks open. Steam rolls out into the hallway, curling around her silhouette.

Lila.

Barefoot. Flushed. Wrapped in one of my old shirts that’s slipping off one shoulder, her hair a wild halo around her face.

Her eyes lock on mine through the haze. Then drift down. To my hand.

My cock.

And she smiles. A slow, sleepy, wicked little thing.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks, voice husky from sleep.