Page 2 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
DESTINED FOR CATASTROPHE
~AUREN~
" T hat's it, Auren, choke me like you fucking mean it."
I groan, knowing damn well this fucker is absolutely insane because he says stupid shit like this when he could toss me off him in a second if he wanted to. His hands are barely restrained beneath my grip, and we both know it.
But he loves this dominance shit and is yet to admit he's a fucking bottom in our chaotic, unbalanced relationship that defies every logical explanation.
"Shut the fuck up," I hiss, but even as the words leave my lips, I'm slamming my mouth against his, kissing him with the kind of desperation that should embarrass me but only makes me hungrier for more.
Our kisses are merciless—all teeth and tongue and the taste of adrenaline mixed with the lingering burn of the energy drinks we've been chugging since the simulator session ended three hours ago.
When we fuck, it's always like this.
Fast. Electric.
Always on some sort of invisible timeline that's driving us both insane, like we're racing against something neither of us wants to name.
It's maddening to realize that the Alpha I'm playing these dominance games with is so far down the love rabbit hole that he can barely see daylight, and I'm on a crash course to join him because I'm just as madly in love with this fucker.
But neither of us is going to admit it. Not when admitting it means facing the fact that this thing between us is bigger than sex, bigger than competition, bigger than the careful walls we've built around our hearts.
His scent surrounds me—pine and motor oil and something distinctly him that makes my Omega purr even as my rational brain screams warnings. The combination should be nauseating, but instead it's intoxicating, wrapping around me like invisible chains that I have no desire to break.
"You keep making those little sounds," I breathe against his mouth, feeling his cock twitch beneath me where I'm straddling his hips, "and I swear I'll make you release that load you're so desperately trying to tame."
He gives me that cocky grin—the one that makes me want to either kiss him senseless or punch him in his perfect face.
Maybe both. Definitely both. His eyes are dark with lust and challenge, pupils blown wide as he leans up to capture my lips again, biting my bottom lip hard enough that I flinch and pull back.
The metallic taste of blood hits my tongue, and when I touch the corner of my mouth, my fingers come away red. He grins with unmistakable pride, as if that hint of pain only turns him on even more.
Psychopath.
"What if that's what I crave, sweet sugar?" His voice is rough, gravelly with arousal and that slight accent that only comes out when he's either furious or about to come. Right now, I'm betting on both.
"I'm closer to spice that will burn your fucking cock off than sweet like sugar," I huff, using my grip on his wrists to pin him down more firmly before I release one hand to grab his hardened cock.
It's thick and hot in my palm, already leaking precum that makes my mouth water despite my determination to maintain some semblance of control.
I don't wait for his smart-ass response—can't wait, because if I give him time to speak, he'll say something that will either piss me off or make me melt, and right now I need action more than words.
I slide onto his cock in one smooth motion, my overflowing slick making it so fucking easy, so perfectly good, to be filled by his thick shaft.
The stretch is exquisite torture—that perfect burn that walks the line between pleasure and pain. My body molds around him like it was designed for this, for him, and that thought should terrify me but instead makes me clench around him harder.
We're both groaning in defeat, the sound echoing off the walls of his penthouse bedroom.
We know how crazy this relationship is, how toxic and addictive and completely unsustainable.
But it's only getting worse because we both can't stop coming back to each other, even though we're both collateral damage waiting to collide and explode in spectacular fashion.
"Fuck," he breathes, his accent thicker now, his hands flexing beneath my grip as he fights the urge to take control. "You feel so goddamn perfect, sugar. Like you were made for my cock."
The possession in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly, but I refuse to let him see how much his words affect me. Instead, I start to move, lifting myself up until just the tip of him remains inside me before slamming back down. The sound that rips from his throat is pure animal satisfaction.
"Bounce like the sexy bitch you are," he groans, his eyes rolling back as I establish a rhythm that has us both teetering on the edge of sanity.
I laugh, breathless and wild, my hair falling around us like a curtain.
"Keep ordering me around and you won't get shit.
" But I'm already moving faster because I need the relief just as badly as he does.
Need the way he fills me completely, the way his cock hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
My thighs burn with the effort, muscles straining as I ride him harder, faster, chasing that perfect high that only he can give me.
His hands break free from my grip—when did I let go?
—and settle on my hips, guiding my movements but letting me stay in control.
It's a delicate balance we've perfected over months of this madness.
The slick sound of our bodies connecting fills the room, punctuated by ragged breathing and half-formed curses in multiple languages. He's always been multilingual when he's close to coming, switching between English and Cortian and sometimes languages I don't even recognize.
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his thumbs tracing circles on my hip bones. "Take what you need. Use me."
The encouragement in his voice, the way he's looking at me like I'm a goddess worth worshipping, breaks something loose in my chest. I lean forward, changing the angle, and we both cry out as he hits deeper, harder, exactly where I need him.
My orgasm builds like a wildfire, starting as warmth in my belly and spreading outward until every nerve ending is singing. I can feel my walls fluttering around him, can see the way his jaw clenches as he fights to hold back.
"Come with me," I gasp, my rhythm becoming erratic as pleasure threatens to drown me. "I can feel you're close. Let go."
"Only if you come first," he growls, one hand sliding up to palm my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple in a way that makes me arch into his touch. "I want to feel you fall apart on my cock."
The command in his voice, combined with the perfect pressure of his thumb and the relentless stretch of his cock inside me, sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me like a tsunami, stealing my breath and making my vision go white around the edges.
I clench around him helplessly, my body milking his cock as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me. He groans my name like a prayer, his hips bucking up into me as he chases his own release.
He follows seconds later, his cock pulsing inside me as he fills me with hot spurts of cum. His grip on my hips tightens almost painfully as he forces me down harder, deeper, like he wants to bury himself so far inside me that we'll never be separate again.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his voice breaking on the words. "Take it all, sugar. Every fucking drop."
I can feel his knot beginning to swell, that telltale expansion that would lock us together for the next hour if I let it happen. But I can't. Won't. The panic rises swift and sharp, cutting through the post-orgasmic haze like a blade.
"No," I whisper, placing my hands on his chest in warning. "You know the rules."
He grunts in disapproval, his Alpha instincts clearly at war with his rational mind.
I can see the struggle in his eyes—the desire to claim me completely warring with his respect for my boundaries.
It's one of the things that makes this so complicated, the way he can be utterly dominant while still giving me control when it matters.
Before his knot can fully inflate, he lifts me off his cock with a reluctant groan. I can see how much it costs him, the way his hands shake slightly as he sets me beside him on the bed. His cock is still hard, still leaking, his knot partially swollen and angry red.
Without giving him time to object or recover, I grab his knot forcefully, knowing if I don't take control now he won't let me do what I want to do. His sharp intake of breath tells me he wasn't expecting it, and the moan that follows tells me exactly how much he likes it.
"Auren," he warns, but there's no real heat in it. Just desperate arousal and the kind of vulnerability that he only shows me in moments like this.
I massage his knot with firm strokes, watching the way his eyes flutter closed and his mouth falls open. He's beautiful like this—wrecked and needy and completely at my mercy. It's a power trip that goes straight to my core, making fresh slick drip down my thighs.
Before he can process what I'm doing, I slip out of his grasp and take his cock into my mouth in one smooth motion. The taste of us combined hits my tongue—salt and sex and something uniquely him that makes me moan around his length.
"Fuck!" The curse explodes from his lips as I work him with my mouth, my tongue swirling around his sensitive head before taking him deeper. "Auren, baby, you're going to kill me."
I can feel him trying to hold back, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but I'm relentless. I use my hand to continue massaging his knot while my mouth works his shaft, creating a dual sensation that has him babbling in Cortian.
The foreign words spill from his lips in a stream of consciousness—praise and pleas and what I assume are very creative curses based on the way his hips buck involuntarily. I don't understand most of it, but I don't need to. The tone tells me everything I need to know.
His hands tangle in my hair, not to control but to anchor himself as I work him closer to the edge. I can taste more precum leaking from his tip, feel the way his thighs tremble with the effort of staying still.
"Please," he gasps, switching back to English. "I'm so close, sugar. Your mouth is so fucking perfect."
I hum around his cock, the vibration making him curse again, and increase my pace. My jaw aches from taking him so deep, but the sounds he's making—broken and desperate and completely undone—make it worth it.
When he finally comes, it's with a shout that I'm sure the neighbors can hear. His cock pulses against my tongue as he empties himself into my mouth, hot spurts of cum that I swallow greedily. The taste is overwhelming—bitter and salty and addictive in a way that should probably concern me.
I work him through it, not stopping until his knot begins to deflate and he's speaking what I'm pretty sure isn't even a real language anymore. Only then do I pull off with a satisfied smirk, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Next time you dare me during a race," I say, my voice rough from taking him so deep, "you'll find out I'm not one who likes to lose. Even for appearances."
He's still catching his breath, his chest heaving as he stares at me with a mixture of awe and something that looks dangerously close to love. It makes my heart skip in a way that has nothing to do with the physical exertion.
I lean down and press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, tasting the last traces of his release. "I'm using your shower."
"It's our shower," he groans, his voice still wrecked and breathless.
"Whatever makes you sleep at night," I toss over my shoulder as I head toward the bathroom, leaving him naked and sated and probably plotting his revenge.
Because this is what we do—we tear each other apart and put each other back together in an endless cycle that's as destructive as it is addictive. And despite every rational thought in my head telling me to run, I know I'll be back tomorrow night for another round.
We always come back to each other, no matter how much damage we do along the way.