Page 102 of Knotting the Cowboys

"Need to taste," he growls, and then his mouth is on me.

The first swipe of his tongue makes me see stars. I slam both hands over my mouth, muffling the cry that wants to escape as he licks through my folds like a man starved.

There's no hesitation, no careful exploration—he eats me like he's been thinking about it for months, like he knows exactly what he wants and how to take it.

When his tongue thrusts inside me, replacing his fingers, I almost scream. Only the last shred of awareness that we're in public keeps me silent, hands pressed hard against my mouth while he fucks me with his tongue. The sounds he makes—greedy, appreciative, absolutely filthy—vibrate against my sensitive flesh.

My thighs shake around his head as he works me over, alternating between fucking me with his tongue and sucking on my clit until I can't tell up from down.

The pressure builds impossibly fast, coiling tight in my belly, and when he sucks hard while pressing his fingers back inside, I shatter.

The orgasm hits like a lightning strike, white-hot and overwhelming. I bite my palm to muffle my cries, whole body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me.

River doesn't let up, licking me through it, holding my trembling legs to keep me from buckling completely.

He makes the most obscene sounds as he licks up every drop of slick, greedy and appreciative like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted. His tongue is thorough, catching what's run down my thighs, cleaning me with an attention to detail that has aftershocks rippling through me.

When he finally leans back, his mouth and lips glisten with my slick. The sight is so erotic I have to close my eyes, another pulse of arousal hitting despite just coming harder than I have in years. I watch through heavy lids as he licks his lips clean, savoring the taste with obvious pleasure.

"Fuck, that was divine," he says, voice wrecked. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

He stands with fluid grace, steadying me with gentle hands as I sway on unsteady legs.

The white lace is hopelessly twisted, and I'm sure I look thoroughly debauched. The thought should mortify me.

Instead, I feel powerful. Desired. Claimed in all the ways that matter.

"This piece," River says, fingers tracing the edge of the lace with possessive intent, "you can only wear around us. Understood?"

I nod, still too overwhelmed for words. The idea of wearing this for all four of them, of letting them see me like this—vulnerable and wanting and theirs—makes my pussy clench despite just being thoroughly satisfied.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and I have to bite back a whimper at how those words affect me.

"Is everything okay in there?" The sales attendant's voice from outside makes us both freeze. "I heard some... noises."

My face flames with mortification, but River just grins, looking supremely unbothered by nearly being caught with his face between my thighs.

"Everything's perfect," he calls back, voice remarkably steady for someone who just tongue-fucked me into oblivion. "Actually, we'll take this lingerie piece in every color you have."

"River!" I hiss, shocked. "That's?—"

"Every color," he repeats firmly, then leans in close enough that his lips brush my ear. "The white is gonna be for the night we officially make you ours, Dandelion. Want you wearing it when we claim you properly, when there's no more restrictions holding us back."

The promise in his words makes me shiver, already imagining that night.

All four of them seeing me like this, touching me, tasting me, making me theirs in every way possible.

"Now," he continues, pulling back with visible effort, "let me clean you up because we have some riding to do."

He produces a handkerchief from his pocket—of course he carries one—and gently cleans between my thighs with a tenderness that makes my chest tight. The contrast between his careful touch now and his hungry mouth minutes ago gives me whiplash in the best way.

"I'll wait outside while you change," he says once I'm decent enough. "Take your time."

He slips out through the curtain, leaving me alone with racing thoughts and trembling limbs.

I catch my reflection in the mirror—hair mussed, lips swollen, skin glowing with satisfaction—and barely recognize myself.

This isn't the controlled, cautious Omega who fled Iron Ridge.

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