Page 57 of Knot So Fast
The knowledge that she's been knowingly flirting with me, challenging me, building this sexual tension while fully aware of my identity, is intoxicating beyond belief. It means she wants this as much as I do, that some part of her remembers the connection even if her conscious mind can't access the specific memories.
I can't refuse this invitation, can't walk away from the opportunity to touch her again, to taste her, to remind both of us what we're fighting so hard to deny.
The consequences don't matter anymore—not the promises we made, not the complicated family dynamics, not the potential damage to her recovery process.
All that matters is the woman standing across from me, wearing my clothes and nothing else, challenging me to prove that the chemistry between us is still as explosive as it ever was.
I can't refuse.
VOLTAGE OF DESIRE
~AUREN~
If lust is a drug,I’m overdosing.
I stand at the kitchen island with my heart firing like a high-revved engine, knuckles braced on the polished marble, bare thighs pressed close enough to the cold edge that the contrast makes my whole body buzz. I can feel the heat coming off him like a pressure wave, every ounce of it focused on the space where my skin flashes through the hem of his racing jersey, the number 7 in heavy black digits slung obscenely across my hips. It barely covers my ass. It covers even less when I lean forward, which is exactly what I do as I challenge him with a look that would make most men snap in half.
Lachlan is motionless on the far side of the island, arms braced wide, biceps flexed enough to split the sleeves of his fitted black tee. His eyes are like glacier melt—icy blue, cutting right through the diffused overheads and straight into my soul. For one endless moment, neither of us moves. We just stare at each other, daring the other to break, to flinch, to admit that this has already spun way out of anyone’s control.
And then it happens.
His nostrils flare.
A minute ago, I was the one in charge, the one playing him, the one watching his face for signs of mental collapse. But now I see the exact second he catches the scent of my slick—warm, ripe, dizzying even from where I stand. The Omega in me sings at the confirmation. I know what pheromones do to a man like him; I’ve seen it in a hundred races, in a thousand press rooms, in the way even boardrooms can turn carnivorous with the smallest whiff of need. I could bottle it and kill someone with a single drop.
“Fuck,” Lachlan breathes, but it sounds more like a confession than a curse. He claws his fingers into the stone counter, his knuckles blanching whiter than the marble. The raw restraint in his face is almost as satisfying as what I’m about to do.
“You okay there, Wolf?” I tilt my head and smile, tongue flicking out to wet my bottom lip. “You look like you’re about to faint. I can fetch you a paper bag if you need.”
He doesn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, his eyes drag up my legs, over my exposed skin, slow and hungry as a predator’s. I know he’s remembering every inch, every memory, every time he’s had me pinned under him, fucked me raw, made me forget my own name. The knowledge sets my insides on fire.
“You’re always going to be the end of me, Sugar,” he growls, the words so rough I feel them more than I hear them.
That’s the closest thing to surrender I’ve ever gotten from him.
I smile sweetly, flutter my lashes, and lean even further over the island, shifting my hips just enough to make the jersey ride up higher in the back. My thighs squeeze together automatically; I can feel slick threatening to drip down to my knees if I’m not careful.
“I mean, if you can’t handle it, I could always go upstairs and entertain myself,” I say, making the words as bratty as possible. “There’s a perfectly good battery-powered friend waiting in my purse. Does things to me a man could only dream of.”
He closes his eyes for a split second, jaw flexing so hard I’m almost surprised he doesn’t crack a molar. But when he opens them again, the look in his eyes makes every hair on my arms stand at attention.
“You want me to beg?” he says softly. “Or do you want to see what happens when I stop pretending?”
There it is. The moment before the crash, when every calculation turns to pure instinct. I can feel it coming, a rush so potent it almost makes my knees buckle.
“Let’s find out,” I dare him, and then, because I’m a mean girl at heart, I add, “Or maybe I’ll just take this wet little Omega body somewhere else and see if anyone else can handle?—”
I don’t even finish. He vaults the island on all fours, a blur of muscle and anger and wolfish intent, landing so close to me I let out an undignified yelp. His arm snakes around my waist before I can even think of running, hauling me back against him with a force that makes my feet leave the floor. I squeal—actually squeal—and look back to find him grinning like the monster I always wanted him to be.
“Going somewhere?” he murmurs into my ear, his voice low enough to vibrate straight through my core.
“Maybe,” I manage, but my voice is trembling, and not from fear. “Depends if you plan on catching me, Wolf.”
He pulls me even tighter, hands splayed wide over my stomach, fingers spreading down toward the place I want them most. The jersey is bunched high on my hips now, my ass exposed to the kitchen, my front pressed so hard against the marble I can feel my nipples pebble from the cold.
“You have no idea how bad I want to taste you,” he whispers, breath hot against my neck.
“You say that like it’s a threat,” I toss back, but the words are almost lost in the shudder that racks my body.
