Page 132 of Knot So Lucky
The shower water runs cold against my skin, and I'm grateful for it.
Five days.
Almostfive fucking daysof heat-induced madness, and my body feels like I've been hit by a truck, dragged for a mile, then hit by another truck just for good measure.
Every muscle aches.
There are scratches down my back that sting under the spray, marks from Aurora's nails when she was riding me and chasing her own pleasure with single-minded determination.
Worth it, though.
Completely, absolutely worth it.
I brace my hands against the tile wall and let my head hang forward, watching water swirl down the drain while my thoughts try to reorganize themselves into something coherent.
Aurora's asleep now. Finally,blessedlyasleep after the heat broke this morning and her biology decided it was safe to actually rest instead of demanding constant stimulation.
I'd already washed her up—carefully, reverently, wiping away sweat and slick and the evidence of five days spent fucking like our lives depended on it. Changed the sheets while Elias held her, got her into fresh pajamas that the nerdy Alpha had thoughtfully picked up during one of the brief windows when we were locked together and content.
She looked so peaceful when I left her.
Small and satisfied, curled up in clean sheets with that little black kitten purring on her chest like a furry hot water bottle.
I sigh, scrubbing shampoo through my hair with more force than necessary.
Need to process…think…to figure out what the fuck just happened and how to navigate the absolute chaos that's about to descend when we leave this safe house and return to reality.
Because holy shit, I need to get in better shape.
The thought makes me laugh—a rough, exhausted sound that echoes off the tile. Here I am, a professional racing driver with access to world-class training facilities and nutritionists, and five days with an Omega in heat has me questioning my stamina.
But Aurora is... intense.
I knew she was competitive.
Knew she pushed herself hard in everything she did.
But I wasn't prepared for that intensity to translate so directly into her sexual preferences.
My girl is definitely a dominant lover who loves to take the lead.
The realization makes heat coil low in my belly despite my exhaustion. Images flash through my mind—Aurora on top of me, controlling the pace and angle, riding my knot with determination that bordered on aggressive. The way she'd pin my wrists above my head, teeth at my throat, demanding I stay still and let her have what she needed.
The way she'd whisper filthy things in Italian, her voice a low, rough growl that vibrated straight through me, right down to my fucking bones. I couldn’t resist it. She knew exactly what that language did to me, the way it curled around my ears and set off fireworks in the back of my brain, pinging back and forth between logic and lust until the only thing I could process was the raw sound of it. She weaponized that tongue—both of them, really, her mouth and her language—with ruthless precision, cutting through all my usual self-control like it was nothing. She’d wait until I was already trembling, already strung out from holding back, then lean in and let the filthiest phrases pour into my ear, laced with that accent that turned every vowel into something hot and dangerous.
Sometimes she’d say my name, just the basic moniker, but she’d spin it through her mouth like it meant something ancient and holy, and somehow it did. Sometimes she’d call me boy, or bastard, or her “little speed demon,” and each time the words landed harder than teeth. Sometimes she’d just talk—tell me what she wanted, what she was going to do, what I wasn’t allowed to do. The first time she told me to “be a good boy and stay still for me,” I came so hard I blacked out for a second.
It’s sick…yet, I love it.
I can’t remember the last time anyone took me apart like that, like I was something to be consumed instead of the other way around.
I let myself indulge the memory for a second—just a second.
The way she’d grind down, slow and threatening, hands on my shoulders, daring me to move. The way her pupils would blow wide, predator-black, and the only thing keeping her from tearing into me was the sheer delight she took in drawing things out. How she’d set a hand at my throat, not to squeeze but just to remind me she could, and whisper things that made the hot Italian blood in my veins boil. Sometimes I even forgot I wasan Alpha at all, because nothing about those moments felt like dominance. I was prey, and I fucking loved it.
I can’t believe I survived five days of that. Five days of waking up with her already over me, already hungry and restless, and not so much as a word exchanged before she was taking what she wanted.
Sometimes she’d bring me right to the edge and just…stop…until I begged, and then she’d laugh and press her mouth to my ear and say, “Così ti voglio, amore.”
