Page 121 of Knot So Lucky

A new flood pools beneath me—hot, tangy, primal. The scent of us hangs heavy: smoky vanilla, gasoline, the echo of burnt cedar.

Cale nuzzles my throat, voice low. “Want me to fuck you now?” He sounds amused, hungry, as if I wouldn’t beg for his cock inside me.

I nod so violently I might shatter, limbs shaking, voice gone, cunt clenching around air.

He chuckles darkly, gathering me like a prized mess. “Good girl,” he whispers, and I’m undone again—suspended in the savage sweetness of anticipation, ready to be destroyed all over.

My Heat is only beginning. If this is the prelude, I don’t know how I’ll survive the finale—and I never want it to end.

In the infinitesimal silence that follows—a void filled only by my ragged gasps and the lingering ghost of his mouth on my cunt—Cale moves with the deliberate precision of a predator.

He doesn’t rush; he stalks. Every shift of his body is a calculated maneuver, like he's defusing a bomb, knowing one wrong move could detonate us both.

His hands clamp onto my hips, massive and immovable, pinning me to the mattress as if I’m the sole treasure in his universe. The Alpha in him is raw, primal, shaking with the effort of restraint. Every muscle is taut, his jaw clenched so hard I can almost hear his teeth grinding.

I need him inside me so badly I could scream.

Instead, a desperate, pleading sob escapes my lips—“Please, Cale, please—"—because I’m beyond pride, beyond strategy, consumed by raw, primal need.

He positions his cock, thick and perfect, dripping with anticipation above my entrance, and drags it through the slick pooling between my legs. The sensation is obscene, debauched, igniting every nerve. "Breathe, Aurora. Let me in." I arch into him, wild and out of control, trying to force him in—but he grins, all teeth and malice, keeping me at his mercy.

"I said breathe," he growls, his voice a blend of threat and seduction. I obey.

He pushes in slowly—agonizingly, torturously slow—parting me inch by inch until I’m stretched around him, gripping him so tight I can almost hear his breath hitch. The burn is glorious, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes me want to cry, laugh, and lose myself entirely. My cunt pulses around him, memorizing every inch.

He bottoms out, hips flush against my ass, hands digging into my skin so hard I know his fingerprints will be branded on me for days.

I make a wild, ugly noise, and he answers with a slow, savage thrust of his hips.

My toes curl. My back arches. My head slams into the pillow. I’m lost.

He fucks me like it’s a battle, each deep stroke a claim, a conquest, staking out territory no one else can touch.

"That’s it, princess. You take me so fucking good. So hungry for it—aren’t you?"

All I can do is nod and gasp. My body is ahead of my brain, bucking and clenching, slicking him down so thoroughly it sounds filthy—wet, greedy, feral.

Every time he pulls out, my cunt tries to cling to him, desperate for the knot swelling at the base of his cock. My Omega biology is in control now, all instinct and survival drive: lock him in, make him stay, make the Heat stop for just a minute…

But Cale holds back. Refuses to let the knot take. He’s sweating, trembling with the effort, every muscle carved in shadow against the dim light.

“You want it so bad,” he pants, voice pure razor-wire. “But you need to wait. Need to learn how to handle your heats, Trouble. Not just give up at the first sign of withdrawal.”

I want to argue. I want to bite. Instead, I just moan—loud, unguarded, desperate.

He changes the angle, lifting my hips to pound deeper, and that’s the end of my consciousness. The orgasm hits like a tsunami, liquid heat boiling over, wringing every last drop of energy and sense from my body.

I shudder, clutching at his arms so hard my nails leave marks. My whole body shakes, cunt spasming around his cock like it doesn’t know how to let go.

He fucks me through it—slow but merciless—and every time the aftershocks fade, he starts up again, relentless as a ticking clock and twice as unforgiving.

He finally pulls out with a groan—no knot, not yet, not this time—and collapses beside me, hauling me against his chest like a trophy.

I’m limp. Leaking everywhere. The ruined sheets are a disaster zone—soaked with sweat, slick, the bruised perfume of our scents mingled so thick I could pass out just from breathing.

He kisses my hair, my cheek, my jaw—gentle, reverent, completely at odds with the violence of his grip on my hips moments ago.

“Sleep,” Cale murmurs. “You did good. So fucking good.”