Page 29 of Knot So Lucky

My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my toes.

Every part of me is raw and exposed, but he’s the one on display, letting me look because we both know nobody else gets to see this side of him. The part that’s not armor, not threat—just skin, ink, and my leftover bruises.

He stands to strip the rest, not caring that I’m staring.

His belt comes off with that signature snap, and when he shoves his boxers down, his cock comes springing out, thick and perfect and already drooling beads of precum down the shaft. It pulses, angry red and ready, and I have to bite my lip so hard I taste iron.

My pussy clamps down so hard I almost whimper.

Slick starts pooling again, undeterred by the fact that I just got wrung out less than sixty seconds ago. My body wants him so bad it doesn’t care about logic or cooldowns—just craves the stretch, the fill, the roughness.

He watches me watch him, and for a second we’re both frozen at the tipping point—waiting for the lights to go green, waiting for who makes the next move.

It’s always a standoff with us.

It always ends in carnage.

But damn, if every second in the deadlock isn’t worth the pain that follows.

He strokes his cock like it’s the rarest thing in the world—slow, precise, the kind of movement that turns time syrup-thick and makes my chest tighten. The head glistens, leaking precum that strings down his fist, and every motion is deliberately unhurried, a silent rebuke to all the impatience snarling through my pulse.

He’s not just showing off; he’s daring me to look away, daring me to deny I want this more than I want oxygen.

“Is this what you want?” he croons, and his voice is so thick with swagger it practically drips onto my thighs. Each stroke is a challenge, knuckles pale with tension, his whole body flexing with the effort of holding himself back.

It pisses me off, which only makes me hotter.

“Like you’re the one with any of the power here,” I shoot back, curling my lip in a smirk that’s pure challenge. “You talk big, Hart, but the second I make my move, you’ll fold faster than cheap carbon fiber.”

He huffs a laugh and for a heartbeat, just looks me over—top to bottom, a predator staring down prey, but there’s a wildness in his eyes that says he knows exactly what’s coming and he desperately wants to lose.

“Oh really?” He leans back on his knees, cock in hand, that gold-and-steel gaze never blinking. He jerks himself with deliberate slowness, making a filthy show of it, thumb twisting over the head with every stroke, precum smearing slick over silk-smooth skin.

The veins stand out in sharp relief, and I swear I want to taste every inch, but this isn’t his turn…not yet.

I arch an eyebrow, letting the look speak for itself.

If this is a war, I’m not just a foot soldier—I’m the field marshal.

Game on.

I brace my spine against the headboard, shifting so the pillows cradle me at just the right angle. My slip hikes up, barely more than a scrap of silk at this point, clinging to my ribs, riding high on my hips. Heat fires up my skin—anticipation, nerves, there’s always this microsecond of performance anxiety before I go all in, but pole class has made me bulletproof.

I curl one leg up, foot flat against the headboard, and the other swings wide, toes pointed, flexed out to impossible angles because fuck it, I’m not going to play shy tonight.

Silence crashes back in—thick, electric.

My scent floods the room, smoky vanilla gone molten with need, and I don’t even try to pretend I’m hiding it. Let him fucking choke on it. Witness how wet I am—slick pooling between my thighs, my pussy glistening in the city light, folds flushed and swollen, open for inspection like the world’s most exclusive menu item.

Only difference?

There’s no one else on the guest list.

Only Cale…

For a split second, he stares like he can’t process what he’s seeing. His bravado short-circuits—eyes go dark, jaw clenches, breathing stutters. He stops stroking, hand frozen at the base of his cock, and I watch the mask shatter.

Every trace of control he thought he had evaporates, replaced by a hunger so sharp it might cut me.