Page 120 of Knot So Lucky

When he finally surfaces, mouth slick and gleaming, his eyes are completely feral. “Again,” he commands. “This time, don’t try to hide.”

I don’t. I pull him up and crash my mouth onto his, tasting myself and his devotion in every punishing kiss. He grinds his thigh between mine again, and I ride it shamelessly, chasing the next explosion of pleasure with single-minded violence. This time, when it hits, it’s nuclear—blanking out everything except the red-hot center of us, burning away every thought.

After, we collapse into a tangle of limbs and sheets, bodies throbbing, nerves fried and humming.

The moment Cale flips the switch from teasing to predatory, the rest of the world vanishes—language, light, even the wild thump-thump of my heart. All that remains is raw electricity, a brutal education in what it means to be utterly surrendered to someone else’s touch.

His hands crawl over me, calloused and heavy from engines and fights. When his fingers ghost along the insides of my thighs, I arch and tremble like he’s charged me with live current. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t stop leaking—slick pooling under me, soaking the sheets, drenching my self-respect.

Cale slides his palm between my legs, prying me wide with a deliberate cruelty. “Look at this mess,” he rasps, dragging two fingers through my wetness so it gleams even in the dark. “You’re fucking swimming in it, princess. Didn’t even have to beg.”

I try to speak and all that escapes is a ragged whimper.

He circles my clit with one finger, slow and torturous, and I shred—hips shooting off the mattress, breaths ragged like an animal. He never eases up, pressing just hard enough to steal my will.

My nails rake his arm, claw his shoulder, twist through his hair—anything to anchor myself, anything to keep from detonating completely.

“Shh,” he coaxes, but it’s not comfort. It’s a dare. A claim. I hate how badly I need it.

Heat blossoms—violent, unbidden, like nitromethane in my veins. I want to scream at him to stop, to bury deeper, to rip his clothes off and fuck him until my bones break… but all I manage is shuddering against his hand, crying until my throat bleeds.

He grins, dark and victorious, then slips a finger inside.

The stretch rips me open. I clamp down around him, greedy, ravenous—my body doesn’t know gentleness and neither does he. He fucks me with one finger, curling, pumping, thumb worshipping my clit with metronome precision.

I shatter.

One heartbeat I’m hanging on; the next, I’m spiraling through white-hot oblivion—my back arching, my vision flooding with light. Wetness explodes, painting his hand, his forearm, my thighs.

“Fuck, Aurora,” he growls, as if my name is a prayer. He doesn’t relent. He doesn’t give me a moment to pretend I’m anything but undone.

“Cale—” My voice fractures, a ragged plea. “Oh god—please?—”

He pulls free, slick glistening on his fingers, then lowers himself between my trembling legs like he owns every inch of me.

I clamp my knees, try to hide, but he licks a bold stripe up my slit and I lock in place. Then he devours me—lips parting, tongue sketching filthy patterns around my clit, starting slow and savage, building until I’m a quivering nerve waiting to snap.

“Taste your fire,” he breathes, voice husky. “Need you broken for me, Trouble. Need to hear you scream.”

And I do. I give him my voice, my bones, every desperate cry he demands.

My Omega instinct caves. My skin ignites, my sight blurs, and I’m drowning in slick I can barely contain. I don’t care. All that matters is his tongue, his grip, his relentless rhythm.

He shifts from tight, teasing circles to broad, filthy sweeps, each stroke pulling sobs from my throat. “You’re sugar and gasoline,” he growls, and I weep because he’s right—I’m combustible, decadent, completely his.

I yank his hair—tug, twist, trying to wrench him away because the pleasure cuts so deep it hurts. He only buries himself deeper, tongue plunging as I claw at his scalp, animal sounds tearing from my chest.

And I erupt again—shattering, blacking out, slick pulsing so loudly I can taste it in my ears. When I come apart, my body convulses around his mouth, dripping, trembling, lost in the holocaust of sensation.

By the time he pulls back, I’m spent—limp, trembling, every muscle evaporated. My cunt throbs empty, aching for the next storm.

Even then, even after two exorcisms of pleasure that would have killed a lesser Omega, I ache for more.

Not ashamed. Not yet.

My skin is blazing hypersensitive; every brush of air feels like fire. My pupils are blown wide—vision swimming in the afterimages of him.

He climbs back up, wipes his mouth, then pins my wrists above my head. “You’re devastating like this,” he growls, eyes devouring my broken, needy form. “Exactly how I want you.”