Page 124 of Knot So Lucky
Elias meets my rhythm, thrusting up into me, smiling that wicked little curve of his mouth, freckles shifting on flushed cheeks.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice gone gravelly. “Take it, Rory. Ride me harder.” The encouragement is gasoline on the fire—I set my jaw, dig in my knees, and bounce faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the minimalist walls, the obscene wet sound of it making me moan.
A glance to my left, and Cale is watching, eyes molten, hand fisted in the sheets as he tracks every arch of my back, every gasp.
His presence is a dark star, gravity pulling at me, but he doesn’t interfere—just waits, patience on a knife-edge, letting Elias and me tear into each other until we’re both quivering, breathless.
My vision starts to blur at the edges, pleasure mounting with every grind of my clit against Elias’s pubic bone, every stretch of my cunt around his cock.
He leans forward slightly, chest pressed to mine, and his hands roam up my waist, one palm splaying over my back, pinning me to him as he fucks up into me.
My head drops to his shoulder, mouth open, gasping as the pressure spirals out of control. I want to scream; I want to break; I want to lose every last bit of composure in front of these two and drown in it.
I’m close, so close, and my Omega brain is screaming for more—for teeth, for knot, for everything.
When he's close, I feel it—the swell of his knot teasing at my entrance, his grip tightening on my hips, fingers digging in with dominant tenderness.
But before he can lock in, Cale steps forward, his hands gentle as he lifts me off Elias. I whine, desperate and needy, my body protesting the loss, slick dripping down my thighs.
"No, please," I beg, voice breaking, the heat making me ache for completion.
Elias catches my face in his hands, soothing me with dark-eyed confidence.
"Not yet, little Omega," he murmurs, kissing my forehead tenderly. "We're building toward that. You'll get what you need when your body's ready." His touch is playful yet firm, calming the storm inside me even as Cale eases me down onto the bed.
They work together now, giving me water from a bottle on the nightstand, cool liquid sliding down my throat to quench the fire.
Bites of fruit follow—sweet strawberries and juicy melon, their freshness cutting through the haze.
They cool my feverish skin with damp cloths, wiping away sweat and slick, their touches tender and coordinated, like a well-oiled pit crew tending to their prized driver.
My breathing evens, the world quieting to a hum, and I fall asleep between them again, sandwiched in safety,the competitive tension easing into something softer, more profound.
But sleep doesn't hold me long.
The heat is relentless, a biological imperative that won't be denied, pulling me back to wakefulness with a fresh wave of need.
This time, when my eyes open, the room feels even more charged, the scents thicker, layered with anticipation. Cale is asleep now, his body a warm wall behind me, but Elias is awake, his green eyes gleaming in the low light as he props himself on one elbow, watching me with that playful confidence.
"Back for more already?" he teases, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. He traces a finger along my arm, light and teasing, building tension like the slow build-up to a qualifying lap. "Tell me, sweetheart, what do you need this time?"
I bite my lip, the shyness warring with the boldness, the heat ignites.
"Touch me," I whisper, bold despite the flush creeping up my neck. "Everywhere."
His wicked grin returns, and he obliges, his hands exploring with tender dominance—palms sliding over my breasts, pinching nipples until I arch into him, then lower, dipping between my thighs to find me slick and ready.
The sound of his fingers moving through my wetness is lewd, filling the room with a slick rhythm that echoes the competitive pulse between us.
"So responsive," he praises, confidence radiating from him. "Like you're tuned perfectly for me."
I moan, grinding against his hand, the tension coiling tighter. But he pulls back just as I'm on the edge, teasing with a chuckle.
"Not yet. Let's make this last."
The playful denial only heightens the thrill, like dodging rivals on the track, each near-miss building adrenaline. He shifts, positioning himself between my legs, his mouth following where his hands left off.
His tongue is confident, lapping at me with broad strokes that make me squirm, then circling my clit with precision that speaks to his genius mind—analyzing every gasp, every twitch, adjusting like fine-tuning an engine for peak performance.
