Page 78 of Tying the Knot
With a huff, I climb back into the bed and resume my exploration. My breathing becomes heavy. I let my fingers slowly trace the curves of my breasts under the tee. The heat and tension build in my body, and I close my eyes again, enjoying the sensation of my own touch. I move my fingers in circles around my nipples, feeling the tingles ripple throughout my body. My pussy gets wetter as I move my hands lower to the apex of my thighs. I let my fingers explore and play, feeling the pleasure grow stronger and stronger, imagining the men watching me. The thought fills me with even more pleasure. I let myself be consumed by this thought as I bring my fingers to my clit, feeling the desire course through me. As my climax approaches, I let out a soft moan and imagine Elijah’s hands replacing mine.
The thought of him watching me, and touching me, makes my climax even more intense. My body shudders with extreme desire as my clit thuds under my attention. Panting, I ride the orgasm, turning over, so I’m face down and dampening his sheets with my slick. I’m so horny now, engulfed with his scent. I wish I’d brought the knotty vibrator upstairs with me. I contemplate going back down for it but decide I’m too comfortable and lethargic now.
I lie there in the quiet, feeling my body come down from the high. A sense of peace and satisfaction, knowing I’ve just fulfilled my craving for the prime alpha in his own bed settling over me. At that moment, I feel closer to him than ever before, knowing that even while he is away from me, I can feel his presence and share an intimate moment with him. It’s more desperate for him. I can take the others whenever and wherever I like, but Elijah’s forced abstinence drives me crazy. I feel a sense of connection and love for him that is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
I yawn, feeling the warmth of his bed enveloping me. I smile, knowing that even when we are apart, we are still connected in a way that can never be broken.
ChapterForty-Eight
Dylan
As I shovethe gang member in my grip who held Morgan at knife point, into the back of the van, the feeling of dread and impending doom hits my stomach like a freight train.
I grunt and shake my head. “Morgan.”
Nodding to the officer in charge of the criminals in the van, I glance frantically around for the others.
“Dammit.”
Elijah currently has his knee in the back of Blackstock’s back, which is what the fucker gets for trying to run. He is in no mood to fuck about as he handcuffs the leader with extreme malice.
“What is it?” Kaleb asks, shoving his guy into the van behind mine.
“Morgan. Something’s up.”
His gaze fixes onto mine, panic rearing up. “Go!” he practically yells at me.
I don’t need anything other than a superior officer yelling at me to move my arse in the direction of the police car I drove here, digging in my pocket for the key.
Storming past Elijah, I see him look up and start to say something, but I keep going. Kaleb can fill him in. Besides, I don’t know what this is yet. It could be me projecting my fears of leaving Morgan alone, and I’ll turn up back at home, and she will be fine.
I unlock the car and scramble to open the driver’s side, finally getting it open and launching myself inside. I fire up the engine and do a U-turn, gunning it out of the side road without a moment's hesitation.
My mouth is dry when I pull up at the house more minutes later than I’d like. Our guy is still parked up, watching the house. But that doesn’t mean jack-shit. I need to see with my own eyes that she is okay.
I burst through the front door, only just remembering to switch the alarm off before I aim for the stairs, two at a time—no need to involve a shrieking menace if she is fast asleep and completely fine.
“Morgan!” I call out, trying not to convey the panic in my voice. “You okay, kitten?”
Silence.
I move my backside faster, taking the stairs three at a time.
“Morgan?” I shove Elijah’s bedroom door open, and my heart stops.
Morgan is lying in the middle of the bed haphazardly, her phone on the floor from where her dangling hand dropped it. Her eyes are closed, and she is sweating.
Her heat?
“Morgan, kitten,” I murmur quieter now, approaching her rapidly. I kneel and stroke her forehead.
“Dylan,” she croaks. “Is that you?”
“Yes, kitten, it’s me.”
“I can’t see you,” she says.
I smile. “Open your eyes.”
