Page 90 of Knot So Fast
The possessiveness is mutual and absolute.
We’re both starved for this—starved for each other, for touch and sweat and the violence of being known so completely.
She rakes her nails down my abdomen, finds the waistband of my briefs, and pulls them down in one swift move.
My cock springs free, and she wraps her hand around it immediately, stroking slowly and deliberately.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, fighting for air.
She grins up at me, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.
“You always were easy to break, Wolf.”
“Only for you,” I admit, because it’s true.
She positions me at her entrance, legs spreading wider, the invitation unmistakable.
“You want this?” I ask, giving her one last out.
She looks me dead in the eyes.
“More than anything.”
I thrust into her in one smooth motion, burying myself to the hilt.
The sensation is so intense, I see fucking stars.
We fuck against the glass, the whole world splayed out below, a thousand city lights flickering like cameras waiting for the perfect shot. This high-rise suite is supposed to be a fortress—VIP, sealed, exclusive—but it might as well be a stage, and in that moment, I want them all to see. I want the city, the paddock, every doubter and every bastard who ever said this wouldn’t work, to see exactly how desperately we fit. The sun is bleedingout in the west, sky bruised and backlit, and the streets below are a golden artery, the heart of the city pumping fast as we move in perfect, fevered tandem.
Auren claws her way up my body, nails breaking the skin at my shoulders, and it hurts in all the ways that tell you you’re alive. She’s wild. She’s fucking electric, muscles coiled with that relentless energy you only get from chasing death at two hundred miles an hour. Her legs lock around me with a strength that borders on violence, and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing under the weight of her need. Every thrust is a challenge, a retaliation—her hips bucking, teeth scraping my neck, sweat slicking our bodies until the friction is almost too much to bear. She takes everything, then demands more, meeting my every effort with a ferocity that leaves me lightheaded and shaking.
I slam her up against the window so hard the pane shudders, and she laughs, the sound guttural and triumphant. The lights of the city reflect off the glass, painting us in split-second snapshots of writhing bodies and open mouths and eyes that refuse to close. She digs her heels into my back, using the leverage to ride me harder, and when I reach between us and press my thumb to her clit, she jerks like I’ve wired her straight to the mains.
“Fuck, Wolf—” she says, voice gone hoarse, and her nails rake down my spine, red slashes bright and raw against my skin. I want to bite her, mark her, claim her so thoroughly there’s no ambiguity left for the press or the pit or even the ghosts of our past to gnaw on. I want her to feel this in her marrow, to remember it in the moments between races, in the slow hours of the night, when the world outside is silent but her body is still humming with the memory of us together.
The view outside is a blur—traffic, neon, the far-off flicker of drone cameras—but the only thing I can see is her. The way herpupils blow wide and her lips go slack when she’s right on the edge, the sweat beading at her hairline, the pulse in her throat fluttering wild and uncontrollable. She’s so close, so goddamn close, and the knowledge that I’m the one putting her there is as intoxicating as the scent of her, the taste of her slick still coating my lips.
She buries her face in my neck, biting down hard enough to make my vision white out at the edges. I thrust deeper, desperate to chase that sensation all the way to the end. Our bodies slap together, rhythmic and ruthless, and when she breaks away to look at me, her eyes are glazed and savage and so fucking alive it almost brings me to my knees.
“Wish you remembered this?” I ask, breath ragged.
She grins, teeth stained with lipstick and desire.
“Nah. Experiencing it all over again like it’s the first fucking time is probably far better.”
I fuck her harder, her ass braced on the ledge, back arching so her breasts graze my chest with every movement. Her hands are everywhere—my hair, my shoulders, the small of my back—pulling me closer, pulling me apart. It’s not polite or careful or even remotely gentle.It’s raw. It’s brutal.It’s honest in a way almost nothing else is. Every time I think she’s about to break, she digs in and drags me with her.
The pleasure is a razor, a knife-edge that cuts in both directions.
My head is swimming with it, every muscle straining, every nerve ending firing like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces. I want to give in, to lose myself in her, to let the hunger take over. But I can see in her face that she wants the same thing—the loss of control, the obliteration, the mutual annihilation.
We’re both close, both right on the edge, but I hold back—wanting her to come first, wanting to see her unravel one more time.
She does, seconds later, her whole body seizing around me, dragging my orgasm out with her.
“LACHLAN!” She cries out in pure bliss.
I come with a roar, hips jerking, filling her so deep it feels like we’re fused together.
