Page 26 of Knot So Lucky

Tame it, Cale…

Even now, with her body arching into my touch like it's the only thing that matters, I can't shake the storm raging inside me—the one that's been building since we were kids throwing insults across the track.

Her breath hitches, a soft, sleepy sound that hits me right in the gut, and I slide my fingers deeper, curling them just right to hit that spot that always makes her shatter. She's soaking my hand, her slick coating me like a goddamn invitation, and I press my hips harder against her ass, letting her feel how hard she makes me, how this obsession never fucking quits.

A rumble claws up from somewhere low and guttural, filling the hollow of my chest before it shudders out through my lips and teeth, vibrating against her throat. There’s nothing gentle left in me now, nothing but the raw, insistent need to push her right to the edge and make her know the only reason she ever sleeps this deep is because she’s in my arms. Because I’ve ruined her for anyone else.

I slide my fingers—slow, then fast, then slow again, teasing her with a rhythm designed to confuse and devastate. My thumb finds her clit, circles it, then backs away, never quite letting her have what she wants. The taste of her neck, salty and sweet andimpossibly alive, fills my mouth as I suck, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make her whimper even as she dreams. I want to leave her marked up so bad she’ll remember me every time she passes a mirror or touches her own skin.

She’s stirring more now, the way she always does when her body’s caught between sleep and the sick gravity of want.

Her hips twitch, try to rut back against my palm, and her fingers curl unconsciously in the bedsheet. There’s nothing conscious about her voice yet, just a string of half-words and broken sounds, little pleas that never fully form.

But that clench around my fingers—that’s pure Omega. It’s instinct, a physical language, and it tells me everything I need to know:she wants this, even if her mind isn’t awake enough to admit it.

I work my hand deeper, spreading her open from behind, knuckles brushing her softest places, slipping in and out with the kind of control that makes me see stars.

Every time I slide in, she squeezes tighter, slick pooling at the base of my hand, her heat insane. I swear, if I died right now, I’d die happy just knowing this is what I get to have.

My cock is hard enough to hurt, leaking into the cotton of my own shorts, but I grit my teeth and keep my focus where it belongs—pinning her right here, making her melt.

My lips trace her vertebrae, mouth watering as I lay a line of marks—one for every time she’s ever called me an asshole, one for every time she’s rolled her eyes, one for every time she’s pushed me away so I could only want her more.

She thrashes a little, finally waking enough to know what’s happening, but instead of shoving me off like she would in daylight, she lets out a sound that’s half moan, half warning. I smile against her skin; she’s going to rip me apart when she’s fully conscious, but until then, I’m king.

I take my other hand and use it to spread her thighs wider, just enough to get the angle right. My fingers scissor inside, stretching her, and I can feel the ripple of what’s coming—a low, rolling wave that’ll build and break.

She’s so wet now it’s obscene, slick running down my wrist, dripping onto the sheets, and I want the whole fucking apartment building to smell it. To know she’s mine.

She bites down on a pillow, muffling another moan. Her body bows, a perfect arch.

For a split second, I slow down, just to watch her hover at the brink, her stomach trembling, the muscles of her legs turned to liquid. She’s gasping my name now, the syllables blurred by need, by the sleep still tangling her mind.

All I want is to hear her beg.

Her thighs clamp around my wrist, and I know she’s about to lose it, so I drag my thumb over her clit, just the way she likes, and that’s all it takes—her whole body goes rigid, then shatters. She spasms around my fingers, her orgasm silent at first, then a desperate, shattering whine as she comes apart.

I don’t let up.I keep fucking her with my hand, drawing it out, milking every last drop of pleasure from her until she’s shaking.

Her scent explodes in the space between us, raw and sharp and so fucking sweet it makes my eyes water.

I want to bottle it, drink it, drown in it.

"That's it, princess," I whisper, the words a growl against her ear, lips grazing the shell as I let her taste every edge of my intent. "Gonna come undone for your villain, hmm?" I want her to know—no, to remember—that she’s mine, and there’s no universe where I’ll let anyone else fuck her like this. She shudders, hips twitching, one last feeble attempt to resist before the pleasure bulldozes through her. Her hand claws at thesheets, knuckles whitening, and the sound that drags itself out of her throat is fucking art.

I crook my fingers inside her, just the way she likes.

She’s so wet that every movement is met with that obscene, sucking sound—music, really, a filthy soundtrack to her unraveling. I can feel the tension in her, a live wire ready to snap, and I want to watch her break.

I want to see her ruined, trembling, the high-performance machine of her body brought to a screeching, shattering halt by nothing but my hand and the need I pour into her.

She’s so close now I barely have to move—a thumb’s-width of pressure against her clit and she clamps down, squeezing so tight it hurts, and then she’s gone.

Her orgasm tears through her, wracking her whole body, arching her spine back against my chest until I can feel every bone, every muscle, locked and shaking. Her breath stutters out, a high, keening whine that’s more animal than human. I fucking love it.

But I don’t stop.

I keep my fingers moving, slower now, coaxing every last wave from her—prolonging it, milking the aftershocks until she’s gasping, twitching, completely at my mercy.