Page 29 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

His tongue is everywhere, hot and clever and relentless, lapping up every drop of slick and then chasing more, refusing to give me even a split second of relief.

He sucks my clit between his lips and flicks it until I’m arching off the counter, grabbing at the edge for dear life, the marble leaving indentations in my palms as I hold on.

He moans into me— actually moans, like this is a gourmet meal and he’s dying to devour every last bite— and the vibration sends me over the edge with terrifying speed.

It’s not a gentle orgasm this time.

It’s a tsunami, ripping through me so violently my vision whites out, my ears ring, my whole body tenses until it feels like I’ll break in half.

My legs slam closed around his head, and I think I might suffocate him, but he just keeps going, hands locked around my thighs, pulling me even closer, refusing to let up.

And then, impossibly, I feel another one building right on top of the first.

I’m sobbing his name now, or maybe just making helpless animal noises, and he’s eating it up—literally. The slick between my legs has turned to full-on flood, and I have a split-second to realize what’s about to happen before I’m squirting straight into his mouth.

He groans with delight, drinking it down, licking every drop off my skin like it’s his life’s purpose.

“God, you taste even better than I remember,” he mutters, voice muffled against my core.

If I had the motor control, I’d insult him for being a pervert.

But I’m too busy riding out another wave of pleasure as he hooks my ankles over his shoulders and tongue-fucks me so deep I see stars again. I can barely breathe. I can barely move.

All I can do is hold on as he wrings every last spasm out of me, my body shuddering uncontrollably until I collapse boneless on the counter.

He finally relents, lips trailing up my body, kissing my stomach, my ribs, my sternum.

Each press is a little softer than the last, a gradual climb-down from the insanity of before. He nuzzles at my neck, kisses the place just below my jaw where he knows I’m most sensitive. I feel the brush of his teeth, then the gentle suction as he gives me a hickey I’ll be wearing for days.

He holds there for a moment, breathing me in, and then I hear the words, almost too soft for the world to deserve.

“I missed this,” he says, voice muffled against my pulse. “Missed you. Missed the way you smell when you’re like this—so fucking alive, so real.”

It knocks the wind out of me.

For a second, I don’t know what to say. My brain is scrambled, my body is ruined, and my heart is doing weird things I don’t want to analyze right now. So I do what I always do when things get too heavy—I crack a joke.

“You missed the taste of me squirting in your mouth?” I croak.

He laughs, the vibration traveling through my bones.

“That too, Omega.” He kisses me again, this time softer, more like a promise than a dare.

He lets go of my wrists, finally, and I reach up to tangle my hands in his hair.

For a moment we just stay like that, tangled up and panting and not bothering to move, the aftermath thick and humid around us.

Eventually, he looks down at me, eyes half-lidded, voice slow and sated.

“You look like I just murdered you.”

“You might have,” I say, grinning up at him. “But I’ll come back to haunt you. Guaranteed.”

He shakes his head, but his smile is pure sunshine.

“You’re insane.”

“Takes one to know one.”

We kiss again, and it’s easier this time—no sharp edges, no games, just the messy, lovely aftermath of two people who can’t stay away from each other, no matter what the world tries to do to keep them apart.

And for a few long minutes, that’s all that matters.

After.

There’s always an after, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

The heat lingers in the air, clinging to the surface of the marble, mixing with the smell of fresh basil, scorched bread, and sweat. My limbs are useless, just heavy weights tumbled around his body as he keeps his cheek pressed to the side of my neck, his breath coming in slow, unsteady bursts.

I want to stay like this—boneless and satisfied, the world held at bay by the warmth of his chest and the slow, steady beat of his heart.

But I can feel something else brewing, too.

Not lust this time, but something sharper, something sadder. The way his fingers tremble where they brush my ribs. The way he keeps inhaling at my skin like he’s searching for something that isn’t there. The way, even in the afterglow, there’s still a question mark written in the space between us.

He starts to say something, then stops. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself: the urge to fill a silence, to fix what’s been broken, to say what needs to be said and hope it doesn’t detonate everything.

I beat him to it, voice small.

“It’s not as strong as it used to be, huh.”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head, hair tickling my cheek. “I know it should be,” he says, almost to himself. “It’s like… I can’t get enough.”

I want to laugh, but the sound comes out more like a whimper.

“There’s a reason.”

He lifts his head, searching my face.

“Auren, what did you do?”

It stings, the accusation. Not because it’s mean, but because it’s true. I did do something. I let my parents, my doctors, the entire fucked-up world convince me that it was safer not to exist as myself.

That it was better to live on half-power, to keep everything tamped down, neat and clean and manageable.

I look away, staring at the cluster of pendant lights above the island, the way they halo everything in honey.

“They put me on suppression,” I say. “Pills. Doses every day. It’s supposed to make things easier, you know? Less heat, less drama, less—” I gesture vaguely at my ruined body, the mess between my legs, the evidence of every wild thing I just did. “Less everything.”

He’s silent, processing. I brace for judgment, for disgust, for the kind of pity that makes my skin crawl.

Instead, I hear a sound I don’t recognize—almost like a growl, but lower.

Hurt, not anger.

“I fucking hate that,” he says. “I hate that they’d rather see you faded out than burning bright.”

I finally look at him, and the fury in his eyes isn’t for me— it’s for them . For the parents who’d cage their own daughter to keep her safe. For the doctors who think chemistry is a curse. For the world that can’t handle anything it doesn’t control.

He drags his thumb over my jaw, gentler than he’s ever touched me, and the difference is enough to make my eyes sting.

“It’s not like I don’t…” I flush, unable to say it. I want him to smell me, I want him to want me, I want to see him lose it because of me and only me. I’m afraid to admit it, even to myself.

But he gets it. He always did.

He silences me with a kiss, this one the opposite of everything that came before—soft, slow, so careful it feels like an apology.

“Stop,” he whispers against my mouth. “Don’t ever be sorry for what they did to you.”

“I’m not,” I say, and mean it. “But I’m done letting them have a say.”

He smiles, and it’s brighter than any chandelier. “Good. Because I’m so fucking tired of pretending this raw connection between us doesn’t exist when it’s a fucking firestorm waiting to happen.”

He pulls back, just enough to catch my gaze, and then— deliberately, one slow movement at a time— he peels off his shirt.

The muscles in his torso move like clockwork under his skin, every ridge and hollow mapped out in sharp relief by the kitchen lights.

I’m powerless not to stare, not to devour the sight of him with my eyes, not to remember every place that used to belong to me.

He sees me looking, and grins like a wolf.

“You gonna keep drooling, or you gonna do something about it?”

I arch an eyebrow, challenge clear.

“Only if you think you can handle me.”

He unzips his pants, the sound so loud in the quiet room it makes my heart stutter. When he slides them down, his cock springs free, thick and already leaking at the tip. The sight sends a new rush of heat through me, my entire body tensing in anticipation.

He palms himself, just once, and looks down at me.

“You sure you want this?”

I laugh, because the question is ridiculous and also perfect.

“I literally begged you to fuck me on your kitchen island, Wolf. If you can’t handle it, just say so.”

He steps closer, crowding between my legs, and the sudden shift from gentle to dominant makes me squirm with need.

“Last chance, Auren,” he says. “If it gets to be too much, say the word.”

I meet his eyes, all traces of bravado stripped away.

“I want you,” I say, as plain and honest as I ever have. “All of you.”

He kisses me again, harder this time, hands finding my hips and yanking me to the edge of the counter. The jersey is up around my ribs, my whole body on display for him, and I don’t feel shy—I feel powerful.

Desired. Alive.

I reach down and spread my folds, showing him just how wet I am.

He sucks in a breath, pupils blown, and I smile, lazy and smug.

“Stop keeping your Omega waiting,” I whisper, “and fuck me like you missed me, Wolfe.”