Page 204 of Knot So Lucky

Kissing The Rival, Pleasing The Queen

~LUCA~

The warehouse breathes around us like a colossal, living beast—its concrete walls pulsing with the steady throb of bass, every surface slick with the heat and sweat of bodies pressed too close.

Light flickers in jagged pulses, painting the space in hungry, unstable flashes that feel like barbs against the skin. A raw, electric want ripples through the air, growing sharper with every step we take toward its source.

We stumble through a side corridor, Cale’s hand locked around Aurora’s wrist like she’s going to disappear if he lets go. She’s barely walking—more like stalking, hips moving in a rhythm that’s never going to leave my head—and I’m right behind them, one hand on the small of her back, the other flexing open and closed like I’m trying to remember what it means to have restraint.

Doors. More doors.

The bouncer outside the private lounge sizes us up and down—probably clocking the boots, the glitter, the "fuck with me and find out" in Cale’s glare—and just grunts as he presses the button to let us in.

Inside, the world narrows to pulse and color.

The chill room is nothing like the main floor. Gone is the retina-shredding strobe, replaced with slow-motion washes of purple, cyan, pink—layers of shadow and soft, almost liquid light pooling in the corners. The music is still there, a steady throb under the floor and seeping through the furniture, but it’s background now—a pulse to sync our heartbeats, not blast them out of my chest.

Plush circle couch, low to the ground. Pillows scattered everywhere, velvet and metallic, tactile and inviting. It’s a nest, is what it is—a place to fall apart and maybe put yourself back together if you have enough time and enough hands.

We collapse in a tangle. I sit first—because god knows my knees don’t want to work after that marathon on the dance floor. Aurora immediately climbs into my lap before I can even process basic input. Cale drops beside us, one leg thrown over the cushion, his jacket half-off, hair a mess from sweat and fists and wanting to be feral.

And then reality hits:the world is moving way too slow except for where it’s moving way too fast.

That’s the weed. Cale’s fucking gummies—creeping up on me, dragging claws through my bloodstream so everything is over-bright, over-sharp, over-intense.

Aurora’s scent is the first thing I notice.

Smoked vanilla, gasoline, underpinned by something sharp and sweet, like burnt sugar licked from hot metal. It’s everywhere—my skin, my shirt, stuck to Cale’s jaw where he was marking her on the dance floor. It doesn’t just fill the air. Itownsthe air, gets into your lungs, rewires every synapse until you’re either on your knees or starting a war for the right to do so.

She’s vibrating. That’s not poetic, she’sliterallyshaking—thighs spread indecently over my lap, dress riding up, skin sparking with sweat and blue glitter. Her hands are all over my chest, nails scraping in a way that’s not supposed to be gentle.

She turns—those eyes lit from inside out, storm green blown wide and wild. She grabs my face and kisses me.

Not a question. Not a negotiation.

More like a challenge thrown onto the tarmac just to see who’s going to run it over first.

Her mouth is soft but demanding, lips moving against mine with a greed that makes my entire body tense. Every Alpha instinct I have screams for dominance, for control, but she’s not having it—she bites my lower lip,hard, tongue demanding entrance, and I open for her because fighting is pointless when Aurora Lane wants something.

I’d drown in this.

In her.

In the way she tastes—sweet, a little bitter, a lot dangerous. The kiss is so good it makes my vision go static for a second.

But Cale is not a fucking spectator.

He growls—real, low, warning rumble—and yanks Aurora off me with a force that makes my head snap back. For a heartbeat I think he’s going to throw a punch (wouldn’t be our first time) but he just grabs the back of her neck and devours her.

His kiss is different. All teeth and tongue, no preamble, like he’s trying to erase the taste of me from her mouth and replace it with his own. Aurora’s hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer until they’re breathing the same air, and every second they're fused like that raises the temperature in the room by another degree.

I don’t realize I’m touching myself until my fingers dig into my thigh—hard enough to leave marks.I don’t care.I want the marks. I want pain to anchor me because if I let go, I’ll do something reckless and probably get us kicked out of the club for public indecency.

Cale finally breaks the kiss, but he keeps her right there, his forehead pressed to hers, both of them panting like they’ve run a marathon.

“Fucking hell, Trouble,” he mutters, voice so low it barely makes it through the haze. “You’re already dripping and we haven’t even started.”

She gasps—swear to god, the sound can send my cock to rock central—then turns those hungry eyes on me like she’s daring me to disagree.