Page 53 of Knot Your Sugar

Because you make me remember what true beauty actually feels like, Elena. Because you seem to see past the billions, past the Beaumont name, to the actual, flawed, yearning man underneath. Because when I’m with you, I feel like just… Dorian. Not Mr. Beaumont, CEO. Not the heir to a global empire. Just… Dorian, a guy trying to impress a really incredible woman.

"Because you, Elena Avery," I say instead, the words simpler but no less true, "have a real appreciation for beauty."

The air between us crackles, charged with the bewitching magic of the night and the irresistible pull of her scent. She’s close enough that I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. I could step back. Say something clever. Retreat to the safety of casual flirtation.

But I don’t want to.

So I reach out, my hand trembling imperceptibly, and brush a stray strand of dark hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger against her soft skin. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into my touch.

And that’s all the permission I need.

I lower my head, our foreheads brushing for the briefest heartbeat. Her breath hitches as my hand slides gently from her cheek to the delicate curve of her jaw, anchoring us both as I close the infinitesimal space between us.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative like a question neither of us is sure we’re allowed to ask. But then she answers. Her lips move against mine with a quiet urgency, a slow deepening that tastes like longing and the lingering sweetness of lavender syrup from our cocktail.

She makes a soft sound sigh, her hands gripping the front of my shirt, grounding us in this moment. The world narrows to the heat of her mouth, the slow brush of our tongues, the warmth of our bodies, the way we seem to fall into rhythm without trying.

And just when I think I’ll never be able to stop, she breaks the kiss, our lips still brushing, her breath coming in soft, ragged gasps.

"Maybe," she whispers, her voice husky, her gaze locked with mine, "maybe we should… go back inside now?"

I don’t need to be asked twice.

* * *

Elena’s breath hitches as I press her against my bed, my hands roaming her curves. Her skin is warm, flushed, and that scent—God, that scent—sweet and heady, like fruits and honey, coils around me, pulling me under. My alpha's been aching for her since the moment she walked into my villa tonight, with her tight little dress clinging to her skin.

“Dorian,” she whispers, her voice a soft plea as she arches beneath me, her thighs parting. My fingers find her, slick andready, and I groan against her throat. This isn’t like the first time, when I tasted her until she shattered, only for her to fall asleep in my arms. Nor is it like the second time, when we stayed clothed, grinding against each other like desperate teenagers. Tonight, there’s nothing between us.

I shed my clothes, and she watches, her eyes dark with hunger as I free myself, hard and straining for her. I settle between her legs, kissing her deeply, my tongue tangling with hers as I nudge against her entrance. She’s so wet, so warm, and I grit my teeth to keep from losing control.

“Elena,” I rasp, barely holding on. “I need you.”

“Then take me,” she breathes, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"Are you sure you can take my knot?"

She arches toward me, lips brushing my ear.

"Take. Me."

I push into her slowly, savoring the tight, molten heat of her. She gasps, her head tipping back, and I freeze, giving her time to adjust. But then she rolls her hips, urging me deeper, and I can’t hold back. I thrust fully inside, and a low, guttural sound escapes me.

“Fuck,” I rasp, the words spilling out as I start to move. She feels like heaven, her body gripping my knot with every stroke. I angle my hips, finding that spot that makes her cry out, her legs trembling around my waist.

"Dorian, oh god," she moans, her hands fisting the sheets, then finding me; gripping, grounding, pulling me closer. I thrust harder, the rhythm tightening, building. Our bodies are damp, moving in perfect, desperate sync.

Her scent is everywhere and it coils around my brain like smoke. My instincts scream to claim, to bite, to seal her as mine. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in like salvation. Mylips graze the tender skin there, and I kiss her, almost bite, my control trembling on a knife’s edge.

She gasps beneath me, hips rising to meet every thrust, and the soft whimpers falling from her lips unravel what’s left of my restraint. I shift my angle, hitting deeper, feeling the growing pressure as my knot begins to swell, locking us tighter with each desperate movement.

"Dorian," she cries out, voice fractured, and that’s all it takes.

She shudders beneath me, her body pulsing around mine. The feel of it makes my knot swell fully, tearing the climax from me with brutal force. I groan her name like a vow, spilling into her as everything else falls away.

I hold her tight through the aftershocks, breath ragged, hearts thundering, our bodies locked together in that perfect, fleeting moment.

* * *

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