Page 88 of Ruthless Knot

The handcuffs rattle as I flex against them, fighting the need to thrust—to force her deeper, to rut into her throat the way instinct demands.

But I can’t.

I’m helpless.

And she fucking loves it.

Her hand strokes what her mouth can’t reach, perfectly coordinated so there’s never a moment without sensation. She hums as she works, the vibration transferring through my length to my spine, making me arch again.

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

There’s a kind of humiliation in how fast she can reduce me to this.

But it doesn’t feel bad.

It feels honest.

Like maybe I was built for this, for being wrecked by a beautiful monster who never learned her own strength.

I have to know.

Have to talk, or I’ll lose it.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” The words come out ragged.

She pops off—just the tip, a wet sound, obscene.

Her hand keeps working, rhythm never faltering.

She cocks her head, eyes huge and wild in the dark.

“Needed to know,” she says. Another giggle, quick and sharp. “If I was going to survive, I had to be the best. Omegas don’t get power, Sage. They don’t get anything but scraps. So I learned how to do this right.” She gives a slow pump, deliberate. “It’s the only leverage I get. Why wouldn’t I master it? Why wouldn’t I want to make an Alpha lose his mind, even if it’s the only time the tables turn?”

The words hit hard.

Deeper than she can ever suck me.

I know what it’s like.

To be the weapon they pass around.

To make your helplessness your art.

I want to tell her she’s more than that.

But she’s already back on me.

Mouth wide, hair brushing my thighs, wrapping her hand around the base to keep it steady as she sinks down—two, four, six, eight, always even, always slow. Her tongue massages the underside as she draws back, and when she hollows her cheeks I almost sob.

“—fuck—“ It’s all I can get out.

She pulls up, nips the tip, smears the bead of slick across her lips like warpaint.

Then she pauses.

Just holds there, face hovering inches above my shaft, eyes locked on mine.

“Do you think I’m like other Omegas?” Her voice is soft. Not playful now—genuine, vulnerable, a shimmer of something raw beneath the bravado.