Page 93 of Knotting the Firefighters
Just an imperative demanding completion.
The sensation as my knot swells, locking us together, is beyond anything my imagination supplied during lonely nights of fantasy. Pleasure explodes through every cell, waves of sensation that obliterate thought and steal breath and make my entire body convulse with intensity that borders on overwhelming.
Perfect.
This is perfect.
This is what I've been missing without knowing it existed.
Wendy gasps against my neck, her teeth still embedded in my flesh, her body shuddering around me as her own climax intensifies from the knotting. I can feel her everywhere—not just where we're physically joined, but somehow deeper, more fundamentally, like her emotions are bleeding into mine through a connection I don't understand but absolutely recognize.
Bond.
We're bonding.
Creating a permanent link that transcends physical proximity.
Her bite releases finally, tongue laving over the wound with instinct that soothes even as it intensifies the marking. The gesture sends fresh shivers through me, pleasure mixing with profound relief that settles like a weighted blanket over the anxiety I've been carrying for weeks.
She chose me.
Marked me.
Made claim that society will recognize even if the legal system doesn't.
We're locked together—knot ensuring we can't separate even if we wanted to, bodies joined in a way that makes hiding impossible, vulnerability absolute. The position should feel constraining, should trigger claustrophobic panic about being trapped.
Instead, it feels like relief.
Pure, uncomplicated relief.
Like I was navigating a maze in darkness, desperate for an exit, and suddenly the path forward illuminates with perfect clarity.
I can't leave.
Won't leave.
Refusing to abandon the woman I love for a career opportunity that promises everything except what actually matters.
Because an LA Chief position doesn't guarantee forever—departments restructure, politics shift, promotions get rescinded when budgets change, or administrations transition. The captain badge is a temporary validation, a professional achievement that feels significant until compared against a permanent bond with Omega, who just claimed me as hers.
Wendy is forever.
If I want her to be.
If I use actions instead of always relying on words.
My arms wrap around her, holding her close despite the awkward angle, keeping her pressed against me while my knot maintains its lock. Her breathing is ragged, exhausted, body going limp in my embrace as endorphins and physical exertion catch up simultaneously.
"Wendy," I murmur, needing to hear her voice, needing confirmation that she understands what just happened, what we just did, what permanent changes we just initiated.
She doesn't respond—breath evening into a pattern that suggests unconsciousness rather than simple exhaustion.
Asleep.
She fell asleep locked on my knot, marked and claimed and completely unaware of the magnitude of what we just initiated.
I try to nudge her gently, concerned about whether she's actually okay or if this was too much, too intense, pushed her body beyond safe limits when she's supposed to be recovering from injuries and smoke inhalation.
