Page 123 of Knot So Lucky

Then he trails downward, brushing my temple, my cheek, the curve of my jaw. Each press is deliberate, teasing, building tension like revving an engine before the green light.

I squirm under him, my body responding before my mind can catch up, heat flaring anew as his mouth moves to my neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. A moan slips out, unbidden, and I feel Cale's low rumble of approval beside me, but he's content to watch for now, his presence a grounding force.

Elias continues his path, kisses feather-light down my collarbone, across the swell of my chest.

His hands join in, one cupping my breast with tender dominance, thumb circling the nipple until it's peaked and aching. I'm writhing now, hazy and flushed, the room's competitive vibe mirroring the push-pull inside me—the thrill of being pursued by these Alphas, each turn a challenge, each touch a bid for control.

My vanilla-gasoline scent spikes, mingling with theirs in a heady cocktail that smells like lightning-struck asphalt, sweet and sinful, electric with tension.

He pauses just above my lips, pulling back enough to lock eyes with me. His are dark, pupils blown wide, but there's that playful glint, confident and assured.

"Tell me what you want from me, sweetheart," he says, voice a velvet command wrapped in tenderness.

I hesitate, shyness crashing over me despite the heat's bold fire.

In my day-to-day life, I'm Rory Lane, the androgynous Alpha tech, all grease and grit, "he" to the world, hiding my Omega truth behind bindings and suppressants.

But here, in this intimate arena, the facade crumbles; internally, I'm she, Aurora, raw and exposed, my body betraying every secret.

The words stick in my throat, but the heat surges, making me bold, pushing past the guarded walls I've built.

"I... I want to ride you," I admit breathlessly, the words tumbling out like a daring overtake on a tight corner. "Like a bull. Hard and fast until we both break."

That earns a low laugh from him, rich and wicked, his grin flashing white in the dim light.

"Oh, sweetheart, I like the sound of that." His eyes sparkle with confident amusement, but there's dominance there too, tender in how he plans to let me take the lead—on his terms.

He strips down efficiently, shedding his clothes with the same precision he applies to quantum simulations or engine tweaks. His body is a revelation—towering yet soft around the edges, freckles dusting his chest, his cock thick and veined, already hard and waiting.

He settles back against the headboard, leaning casually, like this is just another playful challenge in our competitive world.

"Come take what you need," he invites, voice laced with that tender dominance, his hands extended in welcome.

I climb onto him slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch.

My hands brace on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin, the subtle freckles under my palms.

As I lower myself, his thick length stretches me open, inch by veined inch, filling me with a burn that's exquisite. His hands grip my hips, guiding me down with confident tenderness, not forcing but supporting, his thumbs stroking circles that send shivers racing up my spine.

Our scents collide—my smoked vanilla enveloping his sandalwood and steel, creating something new, like heated metal forged in vanilla fire, tense and thrilling.

I start with slow circles, taunting him, rolling my hips in languid figure-eights that make him groan low in his throat. The sound of slick and skin fills the room, obscene and rhythmic, like tires screeching on wet asphalt during a high-stakes drift.

"Good girl," he praises, voice husky, eyes locked on mine. "Just like that. Fuck, you feel made for me." Each word is a boost, confident and playful, his hands tightening slightly to encourage harder movements.

I pick up the pace, riding him harder, bouncing with deliberate force that slams our bodies together.

The tension builds, competitive and electric, like we're racing each other to the edge—me chasing release, him holding back with that tender control.

Cale watches from the side, his presence adding to the vibe, his burnt-cedar scent threading through, making the air thick with alpha dominance and my omega submission.

My breaths come in ragged bursts, panting out into the heavy air as the pressure in my core ratchets up impossibly tight.

The thrum of it is electric—every thrust of Elias’s cock inside me stretching me wider, deeper, sparks flaring up my spine anddown through my fingers where they claw for purchase on his freckled shoulders. His hands, big and sure, grip my hips like a vice, guiding my every movement with the precision of a master engineer, but letting me set the tempo; I ride him hard, rolling my hips with each drop, grinding down on the thick, veined length inside me.

The sensation is raw and scorching, slick heat building with each collision of our bodies, my own scent spiking—vanilla sweet, gasoline sharp, spattering through the air like a racing stripe painted hot and fresh over the earthy sandalwood of Elias and the lingering burnt cedar and coffee of Cale.

The whole room feels like a pressure cooker, charged with the tension of two Alphas vying for domination and one Omega at the center, desperate to shatter and be claimed.