Page 45 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
I slam her up against the window so hard the pane shudders, and she laughs, the sound guttural and triumphant.
The lights of the city reflect off the glass, painting us in split-second snapshots of writhing bodies and open mouths and eyes that refuse to close.
She digs her heels into my back, using the leverage to ride me harder, and when I reach between us and press my thumb to her clit, she jerks like I’ve wired her straight to the mains.
“Fuck, Wolf—” she says, voice gone hoarse, and her nails rake down my spine, red slashes bright and raw against my skin.
I want to bite her, mark her, claim her so thoroughly there’s no ambiguity left for the press or the pit or even the ghosts of our past to gnaw on.
I want her to feel this in her marrow, to remember it in the moments between races, in the slow hours of the night, when the world outside is silent but her body is still humming with the memory of us together.
The view outside is a blur—traffic, neon, the far-off flicker of drone cameras—but the only thing I can see is her.
The way her pupils blow wide and her lips go slack when she’s right on the edge, the sweat beading at her hairline, the pulse in her throat fluttering wild and uncontrollable.
She’s so close, so goddamn close, and the knowledge that I’m the one putting her there is as intoxicating as the scent of her, the taste of her slick still coating my lips.
She buries her face in my neck, biting down hard enough to make my vision white out at the edges.
I thrust deeper, desperate to chase that sensation all the way to the end.
Our bodies slap together, rhythmic and ruthless, and when she breaks away to look at me, her eyes are glazed and savage and so fucking alive it almost brings me to my knees.
“Wish you remembered this?” I ask, breath ragged.
She grins, teeth stained with lipstick and desire.
“Nah. Experiencing it all over again like it’s the first fucking time is probably far better.”
I fuck her harder, her ass braced on the ledge, back arching so her breasts graze my chest with every movement.
Her hands are everywhere—my hair, my shoulders, the small of my back—pulling me closer, pulling me apart.
It’s not polite or careful or even remotely gentle.
It’s raw. It’s brutal. It’s honest in a way almost nothing else is.
Every time I think she’s about to break, she digs in and drags me with her.
The pleasure is a razor, a knife-edge that cuts in both directions.
My head is swimming with it, every muscle straining, every nerve ending firing like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces.
I want to give in, to lose myself in her, to let the hunger take over.
But I can see in her face that she wants the same thing—the loss of control, the obliteration, the mutual annihilation.
We’re both close, both right on the edge, but I hold back—wanting her to come first, wanting to see her unravel one more time.
She does, seconds later, her whole body seizing around me, dragging my orgasm out with her.
“LACHLAN!” She cries out in pure bliss.
I come with a roar, hips jerking, filling her so deep it feels like we’re fused together.
We stay like that for a long time, neither of us willing to move, and I only force myself to depart when I feel the swell of my knot begging to slip into her and seal the deal.
As much as my body is begging for it, I know this isn’t the right time for it just yet.
Soon but not yet. I pull out, and thank goodness she’s already doing her thing — hand massaging my knot the way she knows best to tame my wild knot that only quells for her.
I press my forehead to hers, both of us panting, slick with sweat and release and something that feels a lot like peace.
She cups my face in her hands and kisses me, slow and tender this time.
“Winning sex is the best,” she whispers.
My grin is wide as I nod.
"That’s just the appetizer, Sugar.”
There’s nothing else to say.
Not now, not while the world is still spinning and the future is as bright and sharp as her smile.
I know there will be complications—media, family, the fallout from today’s stunt.
But none of it matters, not really. Not when I have her back in my arms, not when I know she’s mine and won’t give some other Alphas a chance at having her now that she’s about to be known across the globe and hit the wild fame that comes with competitive racing.
We eventually make our way to the bedroom, and though I’m positive the media is desperate for us to return sharply for all the interviews and madness, I couldn't care less right now.
A power nap sounds nice…
She’s curled up in my arms before I truly register it, the softness of the bed only an invitation as exhaustion settles in my body that can finally leave the tension behind and fucking relax.
For now, I hold her close, memorizing the sound of her breathing, the weight of her in my arms, the way her scent lingers in the air like a promise.
I fall asleep with her hair tangled in my fingers and her heartbeat echoing against my chest.
For the first time in a year, I actually believe we might be okay.
We might even be unstoppable.