Page 127 of Knot So Lucky
The competitive vibe surges—it's like racing him again, that first victory where I beat him, igniting something primal. His hands roam my body, rougher than Adrian's, but not unkind, pinching and teasing until I'm moaning into his mouth. Scents explode:his storm rain mixing with my gasoline vanilla, Adrian's vetiver threading through, creating that electric harmony.
He breaks the kiss, trailing his mouth down my neck, biting just hard enough to mark without breaking skin.
“You’re lucky you’re in heat,” Luca mutters into my neck, the vibrations of his voice shivering straight down my spine. He bites at my collarbone, just sharp enough, then laves the sting with his tongue, rough and claiming. “I have a competitive pick with you. On and off the track.” He punctuates it with a low grunt, shifting up to kiss me, and it’s not a gentle thing—his mouth is a throttle yanked wide, the promise of his dominance crashing into my lips and stealing the air from my lungs.
It’s ridiculous, I think, how easily I let myself fall into this rhythm with him. How my heat is overwhelming every wordless argument between us, that transpired during that press conference, where all I could do is stare while he grew angrier at the circumstances.
Now we’re tangled together in a greedy, squabbling mess of instinct and need. My Omega side wants to hate how much I love this, yet at the same time, I want to bite him back until he howls.
There’s no space for pride in the haze of his scent—spiced leather and black pepper, so thick it chokes out every thought except “mine, mine, mine”—but I dig my nails into his shoulders anyway, refusing to give him a clean win.
I tug his hair and he laughs into my mouth, the sound more dangerous than any engine growl.
“You think you’re the first Omega to try and outmaneuver me?” he says, breathless, goading. He’s cocky, but that’s the thing about Luca—he knows exactly how to take a corner at the edge of disaster. He knows I’ll chase him there, every single goddamn time.
His hand finds my breast, thumb rolling over the nipple until it’s almost too much, every nerve lit up and sparking. I arch into him, my thigh pressing against his hip, and he takes it as an invitation to wedge himself between my legs.
The friction steals my breath, the head of his cock lined up and dragging through the slickness, but he doesn’t rush, doesn’t give me the satisfaction of being filled.
Instead, he holds me just on the brink, teasing, until my Omega instincts are clawing at the inside of my skin.
“You want it?” he asks, voice gone rough, almost a snarl. “Say it.”
I bite his earlobe, hard, and whisper, “Fuck me, Thorne,” I practically beg, but I have to add more, as if not saying my thoughts to provoke him will make me lose my mind, “Or are you scared you’ll finish second again?”
His eyes, molten amber with that dark flare of rut, narrow with hunger and something like respect.
He slams into me in one driving stroke, deeper than should be possible, and the shock of it sends a cry tearing from my throat. He’s thick, perfectly shaped to stretch me open, and I feel the pulse of his knot already swelling at the base.
My heat seizes on it, every muscle clenching around him, desperate for that fullness.
“Arrogant little shit,” he groans, but the words are full of awe, like he can’t quite believe I’m real beneath him. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, setting a pace that leaves no room for doubt—he’s here to win, to drive me straight to the edge and hold me there until I break. Every thrust builds the pressure, the slick heat between us growing obscene.
Adrian stays close, his hand a steadying pressure on my hip, grounding me even as Luca tries to tear me apart.
He leans in, lips at my temple, whispering encouragement that mixes with my whimpers.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Let him show off. You can take it.”
I choke out a laugh, then a moan as Luca pistons harder, his fingers bruising into my thigh.
“You like showing off, Lane? I’ll give the whole pack something to talk about.”
With a noise somewhere between a growl and a plea, I lock my ankles behind his back.
The motion forces him deeper, and he snarls, lowering his mouth to mark me with another bruise, right above my pulse. His tongue flicks over the spot, as if he’s sealing me in place. All the while, his scent is bombarding mine, pushing at every last wall of resistance.
I fight to keep my composure, to not give him the satisfaction of how close I am, but my body betrays me.
I’m shivering, sweating, every nerve ending screaming for release, and he can feel it—he knows, the bastard. He slows, grinding his hips in slow, devastating circles, his knot bumping mercilessly against my entrance. I whimper, the sound soft and desperate, and he grins against my skin.
“That’s it, Omega. Show me how bad you want it. Show Adrian, too. He can watch, but this first win is mine.”
I could fight him—should fight back—but instead, I surrender to the burn, the raw, unstoppable hunger. I buck against him, nails raking down his back, and the sting only eggs him on.
Adrian’s hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit, and the added pressure shatters my last restraint.
I come with a scream, body convulsing around Luca’s cock, milking him for everything he’s worth.
