Page 88 of Knot So Fast
It’s barely a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for my brain to catch up with the rest of me.
“You what?” I ease back, just enough to meet her eyes.
She shrugs, unrepentant.
“I didn’t tell you about all the side effects aside from suppression. They make me feel like a zombie half the time. Kinda why I sleep in more during the day and all wired up at night to play video games. I guess also what you said before…I just wanted to actually feel the race…and didn’t want you not being able to enjoy my scent…if it’s something you genuinely enjoy smelling.” She jerks her hips against mine for emphasis. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” I say, and it comes out as a growl. “No, it’s not a fucking problem. But next time you decide to come off, you tell me first.”
She arches a brow, amused.
“Why? Scared you’ll lose control?”
“Scared I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your own name,” I shoot back.
She grins.
“Promises, promises,” she hums and quietly adds, “I’ll stay off of it for a little bit.”
There’s a beat of stillness, both of us just breathing, pressed together so close I can feel her heart racing in tandem with mine.
Then she reaches behind her and drags my hand down to the apex of her thighs.
I almost lose it.
She’s soaked. Absolutely drenched, even through the layers of the suit and whatever ridiculous designer underwear she’s got on underneath.
I palm her cunt and she pushes into my hand, not caring about anything but the contact.
“So wet for me, Sugar?” I say, knowing exactly what it’ll do to her.
She bites my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.
“Fuck yes. So don’t keep me waiting.”
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her suit and yank it down past her hips. She helps, shimmying her ass and stepping out of the legs with a practiced ease that tells me she’s done this before, probably a hundred times in the back of some van or a garage or a pit stop somewhere. The only thing she’s wearing now is the tank top and a pair of dark purple lace panties that leave nothing to the imagination.
I step back and let myself look at her—really look. Her legs are long and lean, muscles carved from years of training and violence and refusal to be less than. Her ass is perfect, round and firm and begging to be bitten. Her skin is golden and glowing, a thin sheen of sweat making her look like some forbidden idol.
She catches me staring and rolls her eyes.
“You gonna fuck me or write a sonnet about it?”
I grab her by the hips and lift her onto the ledge beneath the window, spreading her legs wide. The move catches her off guard, and for a split second, I see something like surprise flicker in her expression.
“Don’t tempt me,” I say, and I mean it. “You’re perfect, you know that?”
She laughs, but it’s a shaky, breathless sound.
“You say that like I don’t know it.”
I kneel between her legs and drag her panties down, slow enough to drive her insane. She watches every move, lips parted, eyes hungry.
“You’re going to ruin my lipstick,” she warns.
“That’s the idea,” I say, and bury my face in her cunt.
She cries out—sharp and unfiltered, no pretense left.I lap at her, letting her flavor coat my tongue, drowning in the taste of her. She’s grabbing at my hair, at my shoulders, at anything shecan reach, her body rocking against me like she can’t decide if she wants to get away or force me deeper.
