Page 30 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

“It didn’t feel right until you got here.

” She curls against me like she’s finally found the missing piece that makes everything complete.

“Like, I kept adjusting and readjusting, and nothing worked, and I was starting to think maybe I really am just losing my mind, but then you walked in and suddenly it all made sense?—”

“Because you were trying to nest alone. Your body knew something was missing.”

“You.” Certainty in her voice makes my chest tight with possessive satisfaction. “You, and Declan, and Adrian. All of you, right? That’s what this is about? My brain finally figured out what it wants and decided to stage a hormonal intervention?”

“Smart brain.” I tip her chin up so she’s looking at me, and the trust in her expression makes something crack open in my chest. “Karma, what do you need right now? In this moment?”

“I need you to touch me like you mean it.” No hesitation, heat flooding her cheeks even as raw need makes her bold.

“I need you to make the restless feeling stop. I need—God, Reed, I need you to want me as much as I need you, which is probably way too much for someone I’ve known for like five minutes, but there it is?—”

“I do want you. Your scent is driving me crazy, you’re beautiful and wild and trusting me with this, and I never expected to feel this possessive about someone.

” My hands find the hem of her oversized sweater, and she lifts her arms immediately, urgent to eliminate barriers between us.

“This isn’t mediation—this is pure selfish need disguised as care. ”

Underneath she’s wearing nothing but lace panties, and the sight of her—flushed and raw with need and absolutely perfect—makes my mouth go dry and my hands shake with the need to memorize every detail.

“You’re incredible.” My hands trace the line of her ribs, and I brush the soft curve of her breasts.

She arches into my touch with a broken cry, back bowing like my hands are electric. Pre-heat has made her hypersensitive—every brush of my fingers makes her gasp, every kiss makes her writhe against me like she’s trying to get closer than physically possible.

“Please,” she whispers, the word broken with need, fingers clutching the quilt beneath her like she’s trying to anchor herself to something solid.

“Please, Reed, whatever you’re going to do, just—don’t make me wait.

I can’t wait. I’ve been waiting all day for something to feel right, and this feels right, and I need?—”

I lay her back among the pillows, taking a moment to appreciate the picture she makes—auburn hair spread across soft fabric, skin flushed pink with arousal, looking at me with complete trust and raw need.

“I’m going to take care of you. Every need, every craving, everything your body’s asking for.” I press kisses to her throat that make her breath hitch, her collarbone where her pulse hammers against my lips, the sensitive skin just above her heart that makes her arch beneath me.

I work my way down her body with deliberate care, learning what makes her gasp and arch and make those soft sounds of pleasure.

When I take one pink nipple into my mouth, she cries out like I’ve touched a live wire, back arching clear off the pillows while her hands tangle in my hair with urgent, almost painful strength.

“Reed, that’s—oh God, I can’t—it’s too much, but also not enough, how is that possible?—”

“Let me give it to you. Let me give you everything.”

I kiss my way down her body, pausing to map every sensitive spot, every place that makes her gasp and writhe beneath me.

By the time I reach her panties, she’s already arching against me like I’m the solution to every problem she’s ever had, and that honeyed scent is so concentrated I’m half-convinced it’s rewiring my brain chemistry in real time.

“Please.” She gasps, lifting her hips so I can strip away the last barrier between us. “Please, Reed, I need—I can’t even say it, but I need?—”

The words die when I put my mouth on her, replaced by a cry that tears from her throat like I’ve solved every urgent need she’s been carrying.

I don’t tease, don’t build slowly. She needs satisfaction, needs the relief that only this kind of care can provide. I use every skill I have focused entirely on giving her body what it’s craving.

“Reed.” She sobs, hips rolling against my mouth in frantic rhythm while her hands twist in the quilt beneath her like she’s trying to anchor herself to something solid. “I can’t—it’s too much—but don’t stop, please don’t stop, I need?—”

“I know what you need.” I murmur against her, adding fingers to complement what my mouth is doing, feeling the way she clenches around me like her body is trying to keep me exactly where I am. “Let me give it to you. Let go, Karma. Trust me.”

When she comes apart beneath me, the sound she makes is pure relief—like every tense, frantic need she’s been carrying all day finally found exactly what it was looking for. Which, apparently, was my mouth, and I’m weirdly proud of that fact.

Her whole-body arches like every muscle just discovered its purpose, and I can feel every wave of her release against my mouth like I’m the conductor of the world’s most intimate symphony. Not exactly the metaphor I expected my brain to come up with, but here we are.

I stay with her through every aftershock until she’s completely boneless among her perfectly arranged pillows, and her scent finally settles from frantic-honeyed-crisis to something that smells like satisfaction.

Which should probably concern me—how much I love that my scent is all over her—but honestly, I’m too satisfied to overthink it right now .

“Holy shit.” She breathes when she can speak again, chest still heaving as she looks at me with dazed satisfaction and pupils still blown wide with endorphins.

“That was—I didn’t know it could feel like that.

Like, I knew it was supposed to feel good, but that was like.

.. that was like every romance novel I’ve ever read decided to have a conference in my nervous system?—”

I settle beside her and pull her against my chest, satisfaction thrumming through me as she curls against me like a satisfied cat. The evidence of our intimacy clings to both of us—her hair mussed from my fingers, my shirt carrying traces of her warmth.

The possessive satisfaction that floods my chest should probably worry me, but apparently my beta instincts have some surprisingly territorial opinions about satisfied omegas.

She curls against me like I’m her personal heating pad, and while her scent has settled from panic-mode-nesting to something more manageable, there’s still that underlying intensity humming beneath the surface.

Pre-heat intermission, not pre-heat finale. My brain is already trying to calculate logistics for round two, which is either impressive forward thinking or pathetic over-planning. Probably both.

“Reed.” She speaks quietly. “I need to tell you something, and it’s probably going to sound crazy.”

“Try me. I’ve got a pretty high tolerance for crazy, especially after the day we’ve both had.”

“I think I’m starting to trust you. Like, really trust you.

With all of this, with whatever comes next.

And that terrifies me because trusting people hasn’t worked out well for me before, and what if this is just my brain being grateful because someone finally understood what I needed?

What if once the hormones settle down, I realize this was all just biology and not—” The words tumble out in a rush, her heart hammering against my chest where she’s pressed against me .

“Hey.” I stroke her hair, gentle and sure. “What we just shared? That wasn’t just biology, Karma. Biology brought us together, but what we’re building is choice. My choice, your choice, all of our choices.”

“Even when I’m frantic and needy and rearranging furniture at three in the afternoon like some sort of nesting-obsessed interior decorator?”

“Especially then. Though I have to say, your interior decorating skills under pressure are impressive. This nest could be featured in Better Homes and Gardens.”

That gets a laugh, genuine and warm, and I feel some of the tension leave her body.

“Reed?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For understanding what I needed. For not making me feel broken or wrong for needing it.” Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, touch gentle but certain.

“Thank you for trusting me with it. For letting me take care of you.”

The shop bell jingles with the cheerful announcement that someone just walked into what is definitely a compromising situation. We both freeze like teenagers caught making out in their parents’ basement, except we’re adults and this is significantly more naked.

Karma’s scent spikes with panic as reality crashes back—her shop door is unlocked, she’s naked except for my shirt draped over her, and someone just walked into What Goes Around.

“Oh shit,” she whispers, scrambling to pull the quilt higher. “Oh shit, oh shit, we forgot to lock the door.”

Heavy footsteps move through the front of the shop with the deliberate pace of someone who’s either very confident or very concerned. Given that Karma’s pre-heat scent is probably detectable from the harbor, I’m guessing it’s both.

“Karma? You back there?” Declan’s voice carries that protective edge that means he’s already picked up her distress through the air. “Reed?”

My phone buzzes with a text.

Adrian: “Found Reed’s car at Karma’s shop. Going in.”

“Well,” I murmur against Karma’s hair as she buries her face in my chest, “I guess the conversation that changes everything is starting right now.”