Page 60 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter sixty

Cam

T he blanket is still warm from my shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to him.

Theo’s body radiates heat, steady and solid, the kind that seeps into me and makes my bones feel pliable.

My back is against the porch railing, my fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt because I’m afraid if I let go, I’ll float away.

The night air cools my overheated skin where the blanket has slipped, teasing over bare calves, but every other inch of me feels like it’s burning. I can smell him — deep, grounding, a hint of woodsmoke and pine beneath the darker, headier alpha note that curls through my heat like a hook.

When his mouth grazes my neck, my knees nearly buckle.

The first brush is feather-light, as if he’s tasting the shape of me, learning how my pulse flutters beneath the skin.

Then the nip comes — a sudden, delicious sting — and I gasp, clutching tighter to him.

His low, satisfied sound vibrates against my throat.

The bite throbs, warm and sharp, and then his tongue is there, soothing, making my eyes close.

The world outside narrows to the rhythm of his mouth, the slide of his hands over my hips, the way his chest moves against mine with every breath.

My scent flares in response, and I know he feels it — the subtle shift that means my heat is climbing again, faster now.

I’d meant to be in control. To decide if and when I let any of them touch me like this. But Theo’s control is iron, wrapped in velvet — and it feels so good to stop fighting.

“Cam,” he murmurs against my jaw, his breath warm. “You’re shaking.”

“I know,” I breathe. “I just—” Words dissolve into a small, involuntary whine when his hands tighten, pulling me against the unmistakable press of him. My body answers before I can think, heat pooling low, every muscle aching for more contact.

He draws back just enough to search my face, eyes dark in the moonlight. “You know what you’re asking?”

“Yes.” My voice doesn’t even tremble. “I want you to.”

It’s like something in him snaps. His alpha scent sharpens, and I feel the change in the air — heavier, hungrier.

The next kiss isn’t gentle. His mouth claims mine, coaxing my lips apart, his tongue sweeping in to taste me like he’s been waiting forever.

My head tips back, giving him more, chasing the heat of his mouth.

His hands find the edges of the blanket, peeling it back slowly, deliberately, until the night air kisses more of my skin.

Goosebumps rise along my arms, but inside, I’m molten.

He touches like he’s savoring — the pads of his fingers sliding up my sides, memorizing every inch, every shiver.

I let the blanket go, revealing my naked body, and he sucks in his breath like he’s standing before the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He makes me feel like a goddess.

He sinks to his knees in front of me like he intends to worship me, and my breath catches.

The sight of him there — broad shoulders framed by moonlight, head lowering toward me — makes my pulse thunder in my ears.

The first press of his mouth between my thighs is devastating.

Heat flares outward in a rush so strong my hands fly to his hair, tangling there.

Theo works me with slow, unhurried precision, teasing, tasting, letting my heat climb higher with every pass of his tongue.

He knows exactly how to push me to the edge and hold me there, until my hips are moving without thought, chasing more.

When he finally gives it to me — the right pressure, the right rhythm — the pleasure hits like a wave, pulling a cry from deep in my chest.

I barely have time to come down before he’s on his feet again, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me to the nearest solid surface — the railing again, sturdy beneath me — his mouth never leaving mine.

The first push of him inside is overwhelming. My body stretches around him, heat gripping, pulling, wanting. He moves slow at first, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged.

And then we find a rhythm. The night air is cool on my overheated skin, the forest a blur around us. Every thrust drags another sound from me, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, my head tipping back in surrender.

When the knot starts to swell, my body clutches at him instinctively, needing the anchor, the fullness.

Theo growls low, the sound vibrating through me, and with a final push he knots, locking us together.

The sensation is everything — security, possession, the deep, primal satisfaction of knowing I’m held.

We stay like that, breathing each other in, the world pared down to the steady thud of his heartbeat against my chest and the warm night holding us both.