Page 84 of Knot the Last Chapter

I almost come just from the sound of it.

Chapter forty-eight

Lila

I’ve never been this forward in my life. But maybe heat makes rebels of every omega.

I lean against the edge of the sink, wrapped in the oversized towel I barely remembered to grab. Tyler stands a few feet away just outside the shower, steam still rising from his skin, the droplets of water trailing down the hard lines of his chest. His dark hair is damp and curling slightly at the edges, and his eyes…they steal my breath away.

They're locked on me like I’m both the threat and the promise.

“You know it’s too soon,” he says, his voice ragged, the restraint in it making me want to push harder. “I shouldn’t knot you again. Not yet.”

“Then don’t,” I say sweetly, walking closer. My fingers skim the towel knot at my chest, holding it closed just long enough to see his eyes drop. “You’re not the only one who can give.”

His throat bobs. “Lila…”

“Shh.” I press a hand to his chest, warm and slick with lingering heat from the shower. “I owe you. And I’m not going to be a bad guest.”

That earns me a half laugh, hoarse and low. “You’re going to undo me.”

I grin. “That’s the idea.”

I kiss the center of his chest first, then just below his ribs. He’s standing completely still, like any movement might crack his control. I trail my lips slowly down his torso, lingering, biting gently where the muscle curves under his ribs.

“You’re enjoying this,” he rasps.

“Very much.” I glance up through my lashes. “You?”

His eyes are pure wildfire. “You have no idea.”

I sink to my knees with deliberate slowness, dragging my fingers down his hips, relishing every flex of his body under my touch. He groans—quiet and feral—and when I look up, his hands are fisted at his sides like he’s barely hanging on.

“You’re so easy to tease,” I murmur. “Is it always like this for you?”

“Not even close.” His voice is strangled, honest. “Only you.”

I’ve never felt more powerful.

My fingers stroke him first, testing, learning. His hips twitch and he makes a sound that’s almost a growl. When I lean in and place a kiss against the base of his cock, he mutters something that sounds a lot like a curse and my name strung together.

“You’re too good,” he groans.

I hum, lips fluttering over him. “I’m just getting started.”

His hand brushes my cheek—not guiding, just there, trembling. The heat rolling off his skin matches the rising thrum inside me. As I begin to take him deeper, I feel the way he shudders, his hand moving to my hair, anchoring.

“Fuck, Lila—don’t stop. Please—”

His voice breaks, and I press closer, tasting, exploring. I find a rhythm, a depth, and with every sound he makes, I get bolder. My own body responds—tight, aching, wet—but this moment is all about him. About making him feel the way he made me feel.

Seen. Worshiped. Undone.

He’s shaking now, every muscle drawn tight as a bowstring. His praise pours over me—gravel-rough words and groaned pleas. He begs with his hands, his voice, his whole body.

I cup his balls, stroking them as I take more of him. He wants me to take more, his hand behind my head, but he’s not pushing. Not forcing. I’m the one in control, and he knows it.

I gulp the taste of him and take more of him in me—much more than I’d have believed possible, my omega biology suppressing my gag reflex and allowing me to take most of him in. His fingers are in my hair, his hips trembling, and I know he’s close. I suck, hard, and stroke his balls with one hand, while holding his large knot with the other.