Page 27 of Knot So Lucky

Her slick coats my hand, dripping down to stain the sheets, and the scent of her release is so thick in the air I want to rage out of my own skin.

My cock aches, pressed painfully against her ass, but I don’t give in, not yet.

This is still about her, about wringing out every ounce of surrender.

She collapses into me, limp and boneless, her head falling back onto my shoulder.

Her hair tickles my nose, wild and tangled from the sleep she’ll never get enough of. I brush it back, kissing her cheek,her jaw, the sweat-damp skin behind her ear where her pulse hammers loud and frantic.

She tastes like everything I’ve ever been addicted to.

I ease my hand from between her legs, slow and careful, not wanting to spoil that perfect post-orgasm haze. I study her face, the slack, open-mouthed expression of someone who’s been thoroughly, completely fucked.

I drag my fingers along her inner thigh, painting lazy, possessive patterns in the mess I made, and for a second, I just watch her breathe.

She stirs, mumbling something that could be a curse or a prayer, I can’t tell which. Doesn’t matter. The part that matters is the way she turns toward me, seeking out my mouth with the blind hunger of someone who’ll never admit how much she needs to be taken care of, even when I’m the only one who can.

I kiss her slow and deep, letting her taste herself on my lips, and when I pull away, her eyes crack open, unfocused but burning with the kind of heat that could melt fucking steel. Her hand comes up, fumbles for my wrist, and she tries to shove me away—but she’s too tired, too relaxed, and all she manages is a lazy slap that makes me grin against her mouth.

"So insane.." she slurs, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.

The accusation is half-hearted, almost affectionate.

I lick the slick from my fingers, slow and deliberate, knowing exactly how it’ll make her blush even now.

I capture her lips in a hungry kiss, groaning into her mouth, then pull back just enough to bring my slick-coated fingers to my lips again, sucking them clean with a deliberate slowness, tasting every bit of her sweetness before crashing my mouth back to hers.

If teasing her like this can feel so blissful, what would it be like to claim her?

Not just fucking—owning, branding, making it impossible for anyone else to measure up.

Even half-awake, she belongs to me.

And I’m never letting her go.

I kiss her again, deep and filthy, until our lungs start to burn and the only thing in the world is her, her body, her taste, her scent.

CHAPTER 5

Unclenching Blissfulness

~AURORA~

Kissing Cale Hart is like being shackled to the starting line at Monza, two seconds before the light sequence counts down.

Everything freezes—air, blood, even time itself—while every inch of me leans forward, feral and locked on the singularity of him.Nothing exists but the pressure of his mouth on mine, the taste of my own want ricocheting back and forth between our tongues, and the silence—oh, the addicting silence—blankets my thoughts in blackout velvet.

There’s no noise, no background static, just the static roar of being here—liplocked with the one man engineered to ruin me, piece by beautiful piece.

This is the part of the race only drivers ever talk about—the split-second blackout before the world detonates into color and chaos, the endless, breathless pause between who I was a second ago and who I'll be once this hunger goes nuclear.

That’s what kissing Cale always is.

A straight shot of adrenaline to the cortex, a hit so pure it scorches out everything else, leaves my body high from chemistry alone. My lips vanish against his, lost, and my brain empties. Not a single other thought gets traction. Not food, not work, not even fear or consequences.

Just the taste of him—burnt cedar over raw amber, laced through with this molten sweetness that only happens when he’s close to me.

I wonder if that’s why I keep letting him back in.