Page 5 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
She huffs in that way that tells me I'm about to be in trouble, spinning in my arms so fast that water droplets fly everywhere.
Before I can react, she's wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down for a kiss that's equal parts needy and sultry, sending us both into a dominant fight with our lips and tongues.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to tug my bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard enough to make me hiss.
"And what about it?" she huffs in pure rebellion, those lavender-sapphire eyes flashing with challenge.
The defiance in her voice makes me smirk, and then we're making out like teenagers again, all desperate hands and clashing teeth and the kind of passion that burns everything else away.
I can taste the lingering sweetness of her release on her lips, mixed with the sharp bite of her attitude that never fails to make my blood run hotter.
Without breaking the kiss, I slip my arms under her knees, lifting her up and pressing her back against the tiled wall of the shower. The position puts her at the perfect height, and I don't hesitate for even a second before I bury my face between her thighs.
"Fuck!" The curse explodes from her lips as my tongue finds her clit, still sensitive from my fingers.
Her hands immediately dig into my scalp, tangling in my short dirty blonde hair as I use my mouth to drive her wild all over again.
My blue eyes look up to meet hers, and Christ, she's so fucking lustful to look at like this.
Her head thrown back against the tile, mouth open in a perfect 'O' of pleasure, water cascading down her body like she's some kind of goddess created specifically to torture me.
Her nipples are hard peaks that beg for attention, and if I had more hands I'd be touching every inch of her at once.
I use my tongue to map every fold, every sensitive spot that makes her gasp and writhe against my mouth. The taste of her is addictive—sweet and musky and uniquely her in a way that makes my head spin.
I could spend hours worshipping her like this, bringing her to the edge over and over until she's a trembling mess in my arms.
"Lucius," she moans my name like a prayer, and the sound goes straight to my soul.
When she says my name like that, breathless and desperate, I can almost pretend that things are the way they used to be. That she knows exactly who I am and chooses to be here anyway.
I double my efforts, sucking her clit between my lips while I slide two fingers back into her slick heat.
The combination of sensations has her crying out, her legs trying to clamp around my head as the pleasure builds to an unbearable crescendo.
When she finally comes undone, it's with a scream that I'm sure echoes throughout the entire penthouse. Her whole body goes rigid against the wall, her pussy clenching around my fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her.
I can feel every pulse, every flutter, and I drink up her release like a man dying of thirst.
But I'm not finished with her yet.
Even as she's begging me to stop, oversensitive and shaking, I don't let up. I gentle my touch but keep working her with my tongue, building her toward another peak before she's fully recovered from the first one.
"I can't," she gasps, but her body betrays her words as she grinds against my mouth. "It's too much."
"You can," I murmur against her flesh, the vibrations making her whimper. "One more for me, sugar. I know you have it in you."
It doesn't take long before she's cumming again, this orgasm somehow even more intense than the first. She's completely breathless by the time it's over, her chest heaving as she tries to remember how to form words.
I lower her carefully, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright because I know her legs don't have the strength to support her right now. She's boneless against me, all soft curves and satisfied sighs, and I want to keep her like this forever.
"Guess this means you have to shower with me," I say, unable to keep the smugness out of my voice.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her expression softens as she studies my face.
"You look at me as if I'm going to disappear any minute from now," she observes quietly, and the accuracy of her statement hits me like a physical blow.
I don't say anything because what can I say?
That she's right?
That every moment with her feels borrowed and fragile?
That I'm terrified she'll remember everything and realize that being with me is a mistake?
That she'll leave again, and this time there won't be any coming back?
Instead, I pull her close and press my forehead against hers, letting the silence speak for me.
"Why are you able to read me so fucking well," I mutter, "but the rest of the world can't?"
She smirks against my lips, giving me a soft kiss that tastes like promises neither of us can keep.
"Some jigsaws aren't meant to be understood by everyone," she whispers, and the words hit deeper than they should.
We share another kiss, slower this time, before we actually get around to the business of showering.
I help clean her up, running soap-slicked hands over every inch of her skin under the guise of being helpful. She lets me, probably knowing exactly what I'm doing but allowing it anyway.
By the time we're finished, my fingers are pruned and the bathroom is fogged with steam, but I'm more relaxed than I've been in months. There's something about taking care of her, even in small ways, that settles something restless in my chest.
Twenty minutes later, she's dried her hair and changed into jean shorts and one of my shirts—a black racing tee that's way too big for her but looks incredible anyway.
The sight of her in my clothes does something primal to my brain, marking her as mine in a way that I know isn't really true but feels good nonetheless.
"Your gaming friend called," I say, trying to keep my voice casual as I watch her reaction.
She beams at that news, and I hate it.
Hate the way her face lights up at the mention of another man, even though I know it's my twin brother in disguise.
She doesn't know it's Lachlan, doesn't know that the mysterious online racer she's been challenging for months is actually part of the pack she used to belong to. The idea of her being happy about another man playing games with her infuriates me on a level that's probably unhealthy.
"Perfect," she says, bouncing slightly on her toes in excitement. "I'll beat his ass on the track tonight. I've been practicing a new technique that's going to leave him in the dust."
The determination in her voice should make me proud— and it does, somewhere underneath the jealousy. She's still the same competitive firecracker she always was, still ready to prove herself against anyone foolish enough to challenge her.
I pout without meaning to, and the expression must be obvious because she notices immediately.
"What?" she asks with a giggle that makes my chest tight. "Jealous?"
"Yes," I grumble, not bothering to lie about it.
She laughs, the sound bright and teasing as she grabs her bag and quickly puts her hair up in a messy bun that somehow makes her look even more beautiful. Casual perfection that she doesn't even have to try for.
She's at the door when she pauses, looking back at me with those dark lavender eyes that give a hint of sapphire mix—the shade not quite blue but not purple either, reminding me of the perfect night sky when the sun just sets.
The color that used to be my favorite thing in the world.
I dare secretly admit it still is.
"Don't be jealous," she says, and there's something almost sad in her voice. "I won't be jealous when you find your Omega."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I frown at the casual way she delivers what feels like a death sentence.
She looks away quickly, like she can't bear to see my reaction.
"I'm off," she says with forced brightness. "See you around?"
I stop her before she can fully leave, my hand reaching out almost of its own accord.
She looks confused as she turns back to me, and I lean down to lay a soft kiss on her forehead—the kind of gentle affection that we used to share so freely.
She pouts and looks up at me with those innocently confused eyes, and I want to tell her everything. Want to say that she's ours, always has been, always will be. That there is no other Omega for me because she's it, she's everything, she's the reason I keep breathing even when it hurts.
But that confused gaze reminds me too much of that day in the hospital when the doctors tried to explain that I used to be her boyfriend, and she looked at them like they were speaking a foreign language.
Like the idea of the bad boy with the bad girl—two people who had nothing in common but destruction and mayhem—was so impossible that it couldn't be real.
"Be safe," I whisper instead, the words barely audible.
She smirks and gives me a saucy wink that makes my heart skip.
"I'll follow the speed limit. Just got this driver's license back, and that's clearly the only thing I'm getting back since Omegas don't belong in racing bullshit."
She says the last part with exaggerated drama, but I can hear the real pain underneath.
The reminder that her dreams were taken from her just as brutally as her memories were.
"See ya!" she calls out cheerfully, walking toward the private elevator like she doesn't have a care in the world.
I watch her go, memorizing the way her hips sway in those shorts, the way my shirt hangs off her shoulder to reveal a glimpse of collarbone.
She waves back at me just before the elevator doors close, and then she's gone with a soft "ding" that sounds like finality.
I don't know how long I stand there staring at the closed elevator doors, but eventually the truth settles over me like a heavy blanket.
We're destined to fail.
Again and again and again.
Because you can't build something real on a foundation of lies, and every day I don't tell her the truth is another day that foundation cracks a little more. Eventually, it's all going to come crashing down, and when it does, I'll lose her for good this time.
But until then, I'll take whatever scraps of her attention I can get.
Even if it's slowly killing me.
Even if pretending is all I'll ever have.