Page 210 of Knot So Lucky
Aurora just laughs, throaty and wild, and sits back on her heels.
The three of us—wrecked, tangled, glitter smeared and sweat-soaked, high on everything we shouldn’t be—look at each other and know:
There’s no going back…and secretly… I never want to.
CHAPTER 41
Double Trouble
~CALE~
The only thing louder than my own heartbeat is the wet, slurping sound of Aurora sucking Luca’s cock—raw and obscene, like someone let loose a pack of feral dogs and told them the only way out is through each other’s throats.
She’s on her fucking knees.
My mind can’t even process it.
Every time I think I’ve hit the limit of what turns me on, this Omega—no, this animal, this disaster-magnet masquerading as a pit crew tech—finds a way to take it further.
Luca’s basically shaking, hand fisted in her hair, jaw locked like he’s trying not to absolutely lose it, but he’s losing it anyway. Even the way he groans her name—ragged and guttural, not caring who hears—is a shout of defeat. Aurora’s got him on the ropes, and she knows it. She’s milking his knot, working the thick swell with both hands, and even though his cock is wrecking her mouth, she just grins around him, tongue flicking up the underside like she’s trying to make him black out.
Then it happens—Luca lets go.
Whole body tense, hips jerking, every sinew straining, and there’s a savage bark of “fuck, right there, don’t stop—” and then he’s flooding her mouth. Not a neat, polite little spurt—no, it’s a goddamn river, and Aurora takes it all, eyes wild and proud, throat working as she swallows most of it down but lets some of the load pool on her tongue just for the visual. She pulls back, cocks her head, and actually shows him—shows us—his release, thick and shiny, like a fuck-you trophy that says ‘I win, you lose, better luck next lap.’
She squeezes his knot, massaging it with deliberate pressure.
Luca actually makes a sound—part growl, part whimper, all Alpha wreckage.He wants to fight it, but the biology’s got him and he’s not breaking free.
I’m not letting this moment go to waste.
I lunge forward, hand in the back of Rory’s hair, yanking her up and smashing my mouth over hers before she can even swallow the last of Luca’s come. It should be disgusting, right? Should be gross.
Bullshit—it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done.
Her mouth is hot, slick, full of the taste of Luca and sweat and the fucked-up high of chemicals and bass thumping through the walls. The kiss isn’t gentle, isn’t anything but war—it’s teeth and tongues and spit, messy and desperate, both of us fighting for top position but neither one letting go. I bite her lower lip, hard enough to bruise, and she shoves her tongue deeper, daring me to flinch.
I don’t.
I lean into the chaos—let the filth, the mix of Alpha and Omega spit, the dirty sounds we’re making, become the whole fucking world.We’re wet, glitter-streaked, breathing in each other’s exhaust. Her jaw flexes under my palm, and I can’t stop—don’t want to stop—until she’s limp, panting, and wrecked for anyone but me.
When I finally pull back, there’s a line of drool, thick and obscene, still connecting us.
Her lips are ruined—red, puffy, glitter everywhere.
I’m so hard it hurts.
“Good girl,” I say, and holy hell, my voice is gone—like gravel, whiskey, and self-inflicted pain. “That’s how you do it. Ruin an Alpha so bad he can’t walk for a week.”
She shudders.
I don’t let go of her hair.
If anything, I twist harder, yanking her head to the side so I can bury my mouth in the junction of neck and shoulder. I don’t go gentle—I suck hard, right above her collarbone, then nip at the skin to leave a mark no amount of makeup could cover. Her scent is everywhere now—smoked vanilla, gasoline, and slick, all of it mixing with my own burnt cedar and the lingering burn of Luca’s storm-rain and leather.
The room is thick with it—alpha, omega, absolutely nothing in between.
Outside, the music surges. Bass shakes the floor, bleeds in through the walls, tries to remind us that there’s a world beyond this nest of pillows and sweat and fucked-up desire.
