Page 63 of Knot So Fast
“Maybe I want to.”
She flexes her muscles on the next thrust, milking my cock in a way that sends lightning through my whole nervous system. It’s like she knows every button, every weak spot, and she’s using them all to reduce me to an animal.
I switch it up—pull her off the counter and bend her over so she’s standing, legs trembling, hands flat on the cold marble. Her skin is flushed, her breath fogging up the polished surface, and when I reach around to rub her clit, she damn near collapses.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, voice shaking, “don’t you fucking dare let up?—”
I don’t.
I hammer into her, relentless, and she shatters again, this time so hard her knees actually give out. I catch her with one arm around her waist, pinning her upright, and fuck her through the aftershocks until she’s sobbing my name.
“Holy shit, Wolfe,” she moans, “you’re such a fucking menace.”
I rest my chin on her shoulder, still moving inside her, and whisper, “You like being ruined, don’t you?”
She laughs through tears.
“If it’s you, yeah.Only you.”
Something about that phrase, the only you, hits me with a force I’m not ready for. I’m so full of her—her scent, her sweat, her voice—that it almost hurts.
,I want to stay here, locked together, forever.
I’m so lost in her that I barely register the scent of smoke in the air. At first I think it’s just the haze of sex, the way our bodies are overheating and turning the whole kitchen into a sauna, but then my brain kicks in and reminds me: oven. Bread. Something’s burning.
But I’m so close, so goddamn close to losing it, and she’s still pulsing around me, still milking every last drop of pleasure she can wring from my body.
I don’t want to stop; I can’t. Not now.
I fuck her through it, the smoke alarm a distant threat, my world reduced to the woman in front of me and the desperate need to mark her, claim her, remind her body of what it means to be mine.
The rhythm builds, faster, harder, until I’m slamming into her with everything I have. Her cries go from defiant to pleading, her body trembling with the force of another orgasm as I chase my own.
I can’t hold back any longer.
The wave crashes over me, ripping through my spine, my cock, my soul. I roar her name and come so hard I see white, my hands crushing her hips as I empty everything inside her.
For a moment, the world goes still.
All I can hear is our ragged breathing, the drum of my pulse in my ears, the distant whine of the smoke alarm as the burning bread finally becomes impossible to ignore.
I pull out, watching her collapse onto the cool marble, sweat and cum and slick smeared everywhere. I look at her and know, with a certainty that’s as final as a death sentence, that I will never be able to let her go. Not again.
She rolls onto her back, legs still trembling, and looks up at me with a smile so smug I want to either slap it or kiss it off her face.
“You really can’t cook for shit, can you?” she says, gesturing weakly at the smoke billowing from the oven.
I laugh, breathless and spent, and lean down to kiss her.
“I make up for it in other ways.”
She pulls me down on top of her, wraps her arms around my neck, and whispers in my ear, “Prove it. Next round. Upstairs. Bet you can’t make me scream louder than that fire alarm.”
I grin, already hardening again at the thought.
She’s a fucking maniac, and I love her for it.
But first, I have to deal with the burning bread. I sigh, pull on my boxers, and head for the oven, knowing full well that this kitchen is a disaster area and the only thing I care about is the woman lying on my counter, making me want to burn the whole world down just to keep her.
