Page 166 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

Sable's hands trail down my spine as he repositions himself behind me, touch gentle yet possessive in ways that speak to pack dynamics and shared claiming.

The contrast between their approaches becomes immediately apparent—where Sable employs careful strategy and measured control, Riot operates through instinct and overwhelming intensity. Both methods create arousal, yet through entirely different pathways and tactical implementation.

Riot's hand rises to cup my throat with surprising gentleness despite the obvious strength in his calloused fingers.

The contact sends electricity racing through nerve endings still hypersensitive from recent stimulation, yet carries comfort rather than threat. His thumb traces patterns against my pulse point while his grip provides security rather than constraint—dominance manifested through protection rather than intimidation.

"Look at me," he commands with authority that brooks no argument, voice rough with desire that transcends tactical consideration or strategic planning.

When our eyes meet across minimal distance, the intensity proves almost overwhelming.

Dark depths burn with hunger that makes my stomach clench with fresh arousal despite comprehensive satisfaction moments before. His gaze holds territorial possession yet underneath flows genuine affection that transforms simple dominance into something approaching worship.

Without warning, his mouth crashes against mine with desperate intensity that steals what little breath I've managed to recover.

The kiss carries none of Sable's measured exploration—just raw need finding expression through contact that borders on violent yet somehow remains perfectly controlled. His tongue invades my mouth with tactical precision while his teeth catch my lower lip with pressure that sends liquid fire racing through my veins.

I moan into his mouth as the kiss consumes rational thought through pure sensory overload.

The taste of him proves intoxicating—salt and something uniquely masculine that creates immediate craving for deeper exploration and continued contact. His scent envelops me completely as proximity eliminates atmospheric dilution, leather and gunpowder now carrying undertones of arousal that speak to mounting desire.

My hands rise to frame his face despite trembling from the recent climax, fingers threading through dark hair while I press closer.

The kiss transforms into a battle for dominance with neither of us willing to yield control completely. Tongues tangle with equal ferocity while teeth clash in a symphony that createspain and pleasure in perfect harmony. The intensity transcends simple attraction to encompass primal clarity and pack claiming.

Lost in the heated exchange, I barely register Sable's appreciative chuckle from behind me.

His hands massage my ass cheeks with gentle attention to areas still tender from previous slaps, touch clinical yet affectionate in ways that speak to concern for my comfort alongside obvious appreciation for visual display. The contrast between pain and soothing creates an additional layer of sensory complexity.

The kiss continues with mounting intensity that threatens to overwhelm conscious thought entirely.

Riot's grip on my throat tightens fractionally—not restricting airflow but providing an anchor point during overwhelming stimulation and emotional connection. His other hand tangles in my hair while he claims my mouth with systematic thoroughness that leaves no territory unexplored.

When he finally breaks contact, we're both breathing hard enough that the sound fills the space between us.

His dark eyes burn with satisfaction at my obvious response, pupils dilated with arousal that speaks to mutual attraction and designation compatibility. The air around us crackles with electricity that makes every nerve ending sing with anticipation.

That's when I feel Sable's impressive length rubbing against my clit with deliberate precision.

The contact sends shockwaves through systems already overwhelmed by dual stimulation, each pass creating friction that builds arousal with mathematical inevitability. His considerable size creates pressure that borders on overwhelming yet somehow remains perfectly calibrated for maximum pleasure.

Fresh slick gushes from my core with embarrassing abundance as my body responds to the promise of penetration.

The wetness flows generously despite recent climax, Omega instincts compatible with Alphas, whose desire aligns with my own mounting need for connection and satisfaction. Chemical preparation transcends conscious control to access the designation imperative that operates beyond rational consideration.

He teases my entrance with maddening patience, impressive head sliding through accumulated moisture without providing the penetration my body craves.

Each pass creates exquisite tension between promise and denial, anticipation building toward unsustainable parameters while biological imperative demands immediate fulfillment. The systematic torture proves more effective than any aggressive approach through delayed gratification.

"So impatient," Sable chuckles with dark amusement that acknowledges my obvious desperation while maintaining judicial control over proceedings. "I love seeing how your body reacts to my teasing."

His observation carries accuracy that makes heat flood my cheeks despite its obviously sexual context.

The way my hips can’t move backward seeking deeper contact, how my internal muscles clench with anticipation, even the increased slick production—all provide visual evidence of mounting desire that eliminates any possibility of concealment or tactical misdirection.

Without further warning, he slides into my welcoming heat with a single thrust that reaches his base completely.

The penetration sends my back arching with involuntary response as impressive dimensions stretch internal muscles beyond comfortable parameters. Yet the sensation createssatisfaction rather than discomfort—a perfect fit that speaks to designation compatibility and mutual desire.

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