Knot My Luck (Knot My…Omegaverse #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

1 MONTH PRIOR

Devlin

I’m not sure if it’s the green beer or the shamrock balloons swaying overhead, but something about finally being back in Cork feels surreal. It’s been five long years since I last set foot in this city. Five years since I packed my bags for the UK and never looked back – until now.

“God, it’s been ages, Devlin! You look amazing,” an old school friend, Sinead, shouts over the music. The rest of the hen party erupts in cheers, but their excited questions about my life – and especially about my ex, Cathal – are a little too loud, a little too close for comfort.

I force a laugh, pretending not to notice the curious stares and the unsubtle nudges. The last time any of these women saw me, I was a heartbroken beta, seemingly chasing after the alpha who didn’t want me any longer. I can see the unspoken questions burning in their eyes – way more probing and intimate than the ones they are voicing.

As far as any of them are concerned, I’m still a beta. No alpha’s ever going to look twice at a beta in a sea of omegas. And that’s exactly how I need it to stay. Shielding questions about Cathal, England, my job, my life, love, sex and relationships for the past few hours, has been more than enough. I don’t need to throw in a bunch of gossip about my designation too, especially not with it running the risk of getting back to the wrong people.

So I slathered myself in scent neutriliser before donning my Kelly green personalised hen-do t-shirt and bowler hat for tonight, ready to paint the town red…err green…with the rest of the city. Without it, the whole damn pub would know what I really am. One whiff of my scent and every alpha in this place would turn their head. Would watch. Would want .

And I’m not saying that to be conceited. History has unfortunately taught me that my scent is particularly potent - and alluring - to many unbonded alphas. I don’t know why, maybe because my designation emerged so late, but it’s what I have to deal with.

I’m here to celebrate my old school friend, Nuala, not to dissect my past or my currently non existent love life. But the more they press me for details, the more my nerves fray.

“Be right back,” I say, holding up my empty glass as an excuse. “The bride-to-be needs another round.”

I weave through the crowd of revelers dressed in shamrock hats and patriotic face paint, my ears ringing with fiddles and laughter. Their scents are overwhelming, even with the pub half heartedly pumping some bargain bin scent neutriliser through the air. A tangled mix of alcohol, excitement, and something deeper – something biological. Alphas, betas, omegas. The city is full of them, but none of them know what I am. Who I am. And that’s the only reason I can breathe.

At the bar, I catch the bartender’s attention and order a tray of shots for the bride-to-be, the temporary shamrock tattoo on the back of my hand glinting in the light.

Before I can pay, a deep Irish accent offers, “Let me get that.”

That voice, like hot molten lava cake on a cold day, washes over me and makes me shiver from my head right down to my emerald painted toes. God, I’ve missed that accent.

There’s no scent, beyond that of his dark, rich cologne. It coils around me and before I can brace myself, I’m leaning, breathing deeper trying to scent him.

Slowly, I turn and find myself staring up at a tall, dark, handsome stranger. It’s no cliché: the man is stunning. He has an intense, brooding appeal, with a rugged yet somehow still slightly polished look. Striking green eyes are framed by long dark lashes, giving him a piercing gaze.

His facial structure is sharp and well-defined, with prominent cheekbones, a strong jawline, and light stubble that enhances his masculine, slightly unkempt look.

His expression exudes confidence and intensity, making him appear effortlessly cool and slightly mysterious.

With confidence like that, he has to be an alpha, I think, slowly taking him in. He’s tall and broad shouldered too, wearing a simple forest-coloured t-shirt that hugs his muscular chest and shoulders just right, and his tousled brown hair has a deliberately messy, windswept style, adding to his effortless charm.

His sharp bright eyes flick over me – assessing, curious, maybe even a little amused.

“Oh,” I manage, my cheeks heating. “That’s really not necessary.”

He flashes a grin that sends a jolt of awareness through me. “It’s St. Patrick’s Day, cailín. I insist.” He hands a note to the bartender, who nods and starts pouring.

I can feel my friends watching from across the room, but for once, I don’t mind being the centre of attention. Not when this stranger is looking at me like I’m the most interesting thing in the bar.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound casual. “But now you’ve gone and shown me up in front of my friends. They’ll think I can’t even afford to buy a round of shots.”

He chuckles, leaning in just enough that I catch another hint of his cologne – something warm and woodsy that makes my pulse quicken. “Then you’ll have to let me make it up to you…maybe after you deliver these shots to the bride?”

I swallow hard, a mix of nerves and thrill skittering through my stomach at his proximity. “Maybe I will.”

The bartender sets out the small glasses, each one brimming with bright green liquor. The stranger slides a shot over to me before I can pick up the tray.

“To old friends,” he says, lifting his glass. “And new ones. May your troubles be less…”

“And your blessings be more…” I add, before we finish the toast together. “And nothing but happiness come through your door.”

Our eyes lock as we clink glasses. The lurid shot burns sweetly down my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in his viridescent gaze.

A shiver runs down my spine. For the first time since I left Cork all those years ago, I feel…alive. Maybe it’s just the holiday spirit. Maybe it’s this bar, packed with semi-familiar faces and memories I thought I’d buried. Or maybe it’s the way this handsome stranger is looking at me, like he already knows the answers to questions I’m not ready to ask.

I set my empty glass down, heart pounding. “I should get these over to the bride.”

He nods, stepping aside to let me pass, but not before leaning in and murmuring, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

My cheeks flush as I balance the tray and make my way through the crowd. In the back of my mind, I can still hear the questions about Cathal and the silent judgment about how long I’ve been away. But in this moment, all I can think about is the stranger at the bar – his voice, his smile, and the promise I see in his jewelled eyes. And suddenly coming home doesn’t feel like such a huge mistake.

Smiling at my old friends, I hand out the shots one by one, my fingers still tingling from where the stranger’s hand brushed mine at the bar. Nuala giggles as she downs hers, the rest of the group cheering her on. Sinead immediately grabs my arm the second I set the tray down, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“All right, Devlin,” she says, leaning in close so I can hear her over the music. “Out with it. Who was that fella?”

“Yes! Spill the tea, girl!” Orla chimes in.

“Ah, don’t be holding out on us now,” Mary adds, eyes gleaming. Their drunken excitement – especially the way they’ve suddenly forgotten all about Cathal – has me laughing.

I try to play it cool, but the heat rising in my cheeks gives me away. “Ah, just some lad,” I say, a little too quick and easily slipping back into old speech patterns of home surrounded by so much nostalgia. “Offered to pay for the shots, so I let him.”

A ripple of knowing laughter spreads through the group, and I shake my head, though there’s no stopping the grin tugging at my lips. There’s just something about him, something that has me buzzing.

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting him to be lost in the crowd by now. But no – he’s still there, propped against the bar like he hasn’t a care in the world, his eyes locked onto me. He doesn’t even pretend to look away when I catch him – just keeps staring, bold as brass, like he’s every right to.

“You’ve landed yourself a right one there,” Niamh says. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

My stomach flips. He’s tall and broad, the kind of alpha presence that draws attention without even trying. Of course, I’m making an assumption that he’s an alpha, but something tells me I’m right. Dark hair, intense green eyes, and a self-assured tilt to his head that makes me wonder what he’s like behind closed doors. My mind drifts, unbidden, to thoughts of being pressed against that hard body, of what it would feel like to give in to a spark that’s already crackling between us.

“Hello? Earth to Devlin?” Nuala waves a hand in front of my face, and I snap out of my daydream. My friends all smirk knowingly, as though they can guess exactly what’s on my mind.

I clear my throat, smoothing my hair behind my ear. “What?”

Sinead just laughs. “Ah, go on, girl. Sure, we won’t judge you for a bit of a holiday romance.”

I bite my lip, casting one more glance at the stranger. He’s still watching me, still making no effort to hide it. It sends a delicious thrill through my veins. Maybe it’s the St. Patrick’s Day energy or the fact that I haven’t felt this alive in a long time, but I’m already wondering how one night with him might change everything.

For now, I just lift my shot glass to my lips and down the neon liquor, heat blooming in my chest. One night, I think. One wild, reckless night might be exactly what I need. But for now, my focus is on catching up with the girls. It’s been too long, and as the alcohol starts to work its magic, I find myself enjoying their company.

The night stretches on, and before I know it, the girls are clamoring to head somewhere else – someplace with a dance floor and a DJ they know. I do a quick scan of the bar, my pulse kicking up in the hope that I’ll spot the mysterious alpha again. But he’s gone. A stab of disappointment twists in my chest. Part of me wishes I’d taken a chance when I had it. The rest of me is convinced it’s better this way.

Shortly after, we pile into a VIP booth at a new club, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the leather seats. A bottle of champagne appears, then a round of shots, and soon I’m on my feet with everyone else, letting the music flow through me. The crowd is a blur of green dress and shamrock accessories, and for once, I surrender to the carefree energy, pushing thoughts of the stranger to the back of my mind.

Then, strong hands settle on my hips. The heat of someone’s body presses up against my back, and I feel the steady rhythm of their movements in time with the pulsing beat. I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the dance. It feels so good to just…let go. My heart thrums with the bass, my senses dulled by the swirl of liquor and neon lights.

A ripple of laughter from my friends draws my attention. I open my eyes to see them smirking, giving me knowing looks. Curiosity flares in my chest, and I turn around, pulse in my throat. My breath catches.

It’s him.

The alpha from the bar, looking at me with that same unflinching emerald intensity. Relief surges through me, and I slip my arms around his neck, leaning into the heat of his body as the music thunders around us. His gorgeous cologne envelops me and I inhale deeply, drowning in him.

We dance wordlessly for a while, the crowd pulsing around us, the neon lights flashing. Finally, I force myself to speak, my voice sounding low and breathless in my own ears. “What are you doing here?”

He leans down, his mouth close to my ear. “I couldn’t bear to let you slip away.”

My heart skips a beat at his confession. Instead of pulling away, I let his words wash over me, and I find myself drawing him closer. The thrum of the bass and the glow of the club make everything else fade away, leaving only the possibility of what might come next.

The pulsing beat of the club wraps around us as we continue to move in sync on the dance floor. I feel his warm breath on my ear as he leans in, a gentle urgency in his tone as he begins, “I’m?—”

Before he can finish, I press my finger lightly against his lips, halting his words. “No names tonight,” I say, my voice almost lost in the music. “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company and see where the night leads.”

For a moment, his eyes go wide – almost as if he’s been struck by the boldness of my request. Then, slowly, he nods, his pupils reflecting a spark of intrigue. We fall back into the rhythm, the unspoken promise between us adding a delicious charge to every step and sway.

Hours pass in a haze of music, laughter, and clinking glasses. We share stolen smiles and knowing glances, never needing to say more. Every moment feels unhurried, each beat of the song drawing us closer into the night’s mystery.

We linger on the dance floor for a few more heartbeats, before the pulsing rhythm of the club gives way to a more urgent call – the night outside and the possibility of being alone.

Saying goodbye to the bridal party is swift and met with hollers of approval.

His hand finds mine as we leave, and together we step into the cool air. The celebration spills onto the streets: throngs of revelers in green, laughter echoing between brick walls, and music still thundering from nearby speakers.

We weave our way through the crowd, his arm securely around my waist. Every step feels charged, as if the chaos of St. Patrick’s Day has conspired to pull us into a world of our own. The city glitters under streetlights, and in the midst of the rowdy celebration, it’s just the two of us. His eyes, dark and unwavering, follow every move I make, and I can’t help but imagine what might happen if the night were ours alone.

A few street vendors pass us by, the scent of fried food mingling with the crisp night air. I hear snippets of laughter and song as we stagger along, our steps growing a little less coordinated, our inhibitions melting away with each echoing cheer.

He leans in, voice rough against my ear. “No way I’m letting you spend this night alone…not when we could be making better use of it.”

I catch my breath, heart pounding as I meet his gaze. I feel as if I’ve stepped into a dream where every touch and whispered word is a promise. Soon, the neon glow of my hotel comes into view – a quiet sanctuary amid the clamour. With the city’s wild energy trailing behind us, we slow our pace, the night still full of secrets waiting to be discovered.

At the hotel door, our steps finally slow to a stop. I hesitate for just a moment, savouring the closeness, the shared warmth that made the chaotic night feel safe. In that suspended moment, nothing is final – only the exhilarating uncertainty of what comes next.

We head for the elevator, and I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that we get to ride alone.

The tension between us crackles, thick and charged. His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, pulling me closer, pressing his body against mine with an undeniable heat. I can feel every breath he takes, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine. My pulse quickens, each second stretching longer than the last. I’m dizzy from the closeness, the hunger, the magnetic pull between us that’s only growing stronger.

He tilts my chin up, his thumb brushing my jaw, and his lips hover just above mine, the space between us so small I can taste the heat of his breath. “You’re not gonna run, are you, cailín?” he challenges, his voice low and dangerous, almost teasing. His fingers trace the curve of my waist, sending a jolt of heat through my body that I can’t suppress. That’s the second time he’s called me girl and the effect it has on me could be dangerous.

I swallow, trying to steady myself, but the closer he pulls me, the harder it is to think clearly. Every touch, every word, sends me spinning. “I’m not sure I have a choice,” I manage, my voice trembling as his lips brush against my neck. “I feel like if I ran, you’d just chase me.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that makes something inside me twist. His hands are relentless, exploring, savoring, as he nuzzles into the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. A shiver runs through me, my knees threatening to give way. “You’re right, cailín,” he breathes, his lips leaving a trail of fire against my skin. “You don’t. And I would.”

The elevator doors ding softly as they slide open, but neither of us moves. I’m trapped between him and the doorframe, caught in the rush of adrenaline and desire. My breath hitches when his lips finally press against mine – slow, deliberate, a teasing exploration. It’s everything I’ve been craving and yet…so much more.

Every brush of his fingers, every press of his lips, pushes me further to the edge. I’m trembling, my whole body alight with need, but I can’t decide if I’m desperate to end it or to stretch it out, make it last.

“I want you,” he says, pulling back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he searches my face. “But not until you’re sure. You’re in control here, remember that.”

His words are like an invitation, a challenge, and I don’t know whether to fight it or give in. The air is thick with everything unsaid, and the only thing that matters right now is the promise of what could come next.

I tilt my head, meeting his gaze with a hint of defiance, my pulse still racing, but the words spill out before I can stop them. “What if I don’t want to be in control?”

The air thickens, heavy and charged. His hand tightens around my waist, and the teasing glint in his eyes vanishes. For a split second, he stares at me, like he’s deciding whether I’m serious or just pushing him.

Then his lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re playing with fire, cailín,” he growls, voice rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

Without another word, he lifts me off the ground in one swift motion, pulling me flush against him. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist, and I gasp, feeling the raw heat of his body press into mine. His hands grip me firmly, possessively, and I can barely catch my breath.

“Left or right?” he growls against my ear, his voice low and demanding.

I don’t think. My hand shoots out, pointing right, and before I can even process it, he starts walking, his pace quick and unrelenting. The elevator doors close behind us, and the world outside is nothing but a blur, as his grip tightens around me. My breath hitches in my throat, the air thick with anticipation and the pulse of my own heartbeat.

I barely cling to him as we move down the hallway, his steps long, purposeful, and rapid, and the heat between us grows unbearable, consuming. His lips brush the side of my neck, and I shiver, unable to contain the soft moan that escapes my mouth. He responds with a growl, his grip tightening around my hips, pulling me even closer.

When we reach the door to my room, I grab his shoulders, my fingers digging in, breath coming faster, more frantic. “Stop,” I manage to say, my voice raw, trembling with need.

He doesn’t hesitate for a second. He halts, his body rigid with restraint as he lowers me slowly, but his eyes are dark, fierce, like he’s barely hanging on to control. His hands slide down my back, and the heat in his gaze smolders, setting every nerve in my body alight. I can feel the tension radiating off him, just inches from kissing me again, and everything in me aches to close the gap.

“I want you,” he rasps, his lips grazing mine, a warning and a promise. “Right now. No more games.”

His words ignite something wild in me. It’s not a request; it’s a command – and I’m ready to obey.

His words are a spark to dry tinder, setting me ablaze. Before I can think, my hands are on him, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection. My lips crash into his, fierce, frantic, and his response is instant – his mouth claiming mine with an urgency that takes my breath away. His tongue slides into my mouth, searching, demanding, and I melt into him, feeling the tension in his body as he holds me tighter, like he’s afraid I might slip away.

Somewhere behind us, a hotel door slams shut, but I’m too distracted to care. His hands glide down to my thighs, gripping them hard as he lifts me again, with no hesitation. My legs wrap around his waist as I fumble to open the door, and then he carries me through the open doorway, our bodies pressed together with such intensity it’s as if we can’t get close enough. His heart beats against mine, fast and wild, matching the frantic rhythm of my own pulse.

In the next instant, I’m pushed against the wall, his body pinning me in place. His lips leave mine only to trail down my neck, each kiss setting my skin on fire. He bites at the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I gasp, my head tilting back as my body arches into his. The need, the heat, the craving – it’s all-consuming, like nothing else matters except this.

“You’re mine tonight, Red,” he growls, the words more like a claim than anything else, and the sound of his voice sends a wave of heat rushing through me as he threads his fingers through my long auburn locks. Every inch of me is alive with anticipation, every nerve on edge. His hands slide up under my shirt, rough fingertips grazing the skin of my stomach, and I shiver, biting my lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

I pull at his shirt, impatient, desperate for more. “No more waiting,” I breathe, my voice hoarse.

His eyes darken even further, the raw intensity in them making my heart skip a beat. Without a word, he strips off his shirt in one smooth, confident motion, revealing a torso sculpted from strength and desire. His muscles ripple with each movement, hard lines and defined abs, the powerful curve of his chest rising and falling with the rush of his breath. The soft light catches the black tattoos that wind across his skin – intricate designs that speak of battles fought and promises made, a contrast to the flawless skin beneath them.

I can’t help but trace the outlines of the tattoos with my fingertips, following the patterns that wrap around his biceps and disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. Each mark tells a story, and I ache to learn them all, to feel the depth of what they represent. His skin is warm under my touch, smooth but taut, and my hands move slowly, memorising every inch, every ridge and dip of his chest.

I’m fucking lucky I’m slathered in scent neutraliser and taking suppressants which dull my sense of smell so that I can’t scent this guy. I bet he’d smell divine . Thankfully the suppressants I’m on also take care of my slick too, so that, paired with the dehydrating effects of all the alcohol I’ve consumed tonight, means we should be able to get through this night with him thinking I’m a beta with no issues.

His breath hitches as my fingers skim over the lines of ink, the art on his body, and I feel the tension between us shift. He watches me intently, his jaw clenched, as if he’s holding back a part of himself, yet I can sense the storm inside of him building, ready to break free.

I glance up, meeting his gaze again, and the smolder in his emerald eyes sends a shiver down my spine. There’s no going back now. The moment we’re in is everything, all-consuming, and I can’t pull away. His power, his control, it’s all wrapped up in every touch, every tattoo, every inch of his body. And I want all of it.

“I’m not waiting either,” he mutters, his voice a growl. His lips are on me again before I can catch my breath, kissing me hungrily, with a feverish intensity that makes everything inside me coil tighter. I can feel his desire, sharp and urgent, pressing against my belly, and it only makes my own need grow more frantic.

I tug at his pants, barely able to get the words out, “Please...now.”

He pulls back, eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and hunger. “You don’t have to beg,” he says, but the smirk is gone, replaced by something raw, something almost feral.

His lips hover just above mine, breath mingling, and for a moment, it feels like we’re suspended in time. The air between us crackles with raw energy, each of us holding on to something too powerful to let go of, but neither of us willing to be the first to break.

I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching mine, like it’s a signal, a language we both understand without words. His fingers trail down my side, sending shivers through me. There’s a heat building between us that’s impossible to ignore, but he’s holding back, just barely. The need to touch, to claim, to make this moment last, hangs in the balance.

“You’re dangerous,” I murmur, but the words feel charged, like they hold too much meaning.

His eyes darken further, and the almost imperceptible shift in his expression tells me everything I need to know. “You have no idea, cailín,” he growls, his lips brushing over my ear, the sound of his voice like a challenge.

I reach up, my hands trembling slightly as I touch the side of his face, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, memorising the feel of him – alive and all-consuming. His breath catches again, and it’s enough to push me further, to pull more from this connection that’s growing between us.

His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me again, but this time, it’s not just about moving. It’s about positioning, claiming control of the space between us. His touch leaves a trail of fire on my skin as he drags his fingers back down, testing the limits of my patience. “I won’t hold back much longer,” he warns, his voice low, dangerous.

I meet his gaze, determination in my eyes. “Then don’t,” I taunt, my pulse quickening as the words escape me before I can even process them. “I can take anything you’re willing to give.”

The tension snaps.

He flips me in a move that leaves me breathless, my back hitting the mattress before I can work out which way is up. His lips crash into mine, hungry, urgent, completely unrestrained this time, like he’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have.

The pressure between us grows, palpable, as his hands slide over my skin with an urgency that matches my own. His fingers find the edge of my skirt, pushing it up slowly, deliberately, as if savouring the moment, the anticipation. Each touch, each move, sends a jolt of electricity through me, making my breath catch in my throat.

He pauses, just for a moment, eyes dark with hunger, and then his lips are on me again. A searing kiss that doesn’t let up, as if he’s trying to drink me in. My body arches into him instinctively, the heat between us unbearable. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing against the curve of my waist, and I gasp as he pulls my top over my head in one fluid motion.

There’s no hesitation as his hands find the lace of my bra, pushing it aside, freeing me completely. His touch is possessive, reverent, as if every inch of my skin is something he’s dreamed about, and I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me as his mouth moves lower, kissing a trail over my body.

I drown in the intensity of his gaze, before I feel the heat of his mouth against me, and it’s a moment of pure, unrelenting fire. He takes his time, worshipping every curve, every inch of me, as though I’m something he can’t get enough of. The roughness of his touch and stubble contrasts with the tenderness in his lips, and it only makes everything more electrifying.

My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. “Don’t stop,” I beg, breathless, my pulse racing in my ears. Every touch, every kiss, only builds the craving inside me, making me want him more, need him more, until I can’t think about anything else but him.

His eyes lock onto mine for a split second, intense, darkened to a forest green with the strength of his desire, and then he moves lower, each motion sending a shockwave through my body. Suddenly he’s between my thighs, staring at my thong which is soaked through.

“Fuck, Red. You’re dripping. Is this all for me?”

I have to lock down the urge to whimper, instead nodding and swallowing roughly.

“Shall we see if I can get you even wetter?”

His voice is low, predatory, and it makes my breath hitch in my chest. My body’s already betraying me, every inch of me aching for him, every nerve ending alive with need. I need to keep my omega instincts under control. I won’t ruin this. I clench my hands into fists at my sides, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it’s slipping through my fingers like sand.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I shiver, my pulse hammering, heart racing in my ears. His fingers graze the waistband of my thong, a tease, before sliding underneath, the coolness of his touch a stark contrast to the heat flooding my core.

I want to push him away, to regain some control, but every move he makes has me falling deeper, further into the storm he’s creating. His thumb brushes lightly over the damp fabric, and I can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes me.

“You’re so fucking responsive, Red,” he hums, voice rough with barely contained desire. “You want me to make you come?”

The words hang in the air between us, daring me to admit it. To give in completely. And even though every part of me wants to scream yes, to beg him for more, all I can manage is a barely perceptible nod. He’s already got me, completely, utterly, and I can feel the weight of that discovery settle deep within me.

Without another word, his fingers hook into the fabric of my thong, pulling it aside as his mouth follows, trailing wet, heated kisses on my thighs, closer, closer to where I need him most. The anticipation is maddening, each second stretching on forever, and I’m so desperate for him to touch me.

His lips hover just above the edge, teasing me, sending shivers through my entire body. The air between us crackles with tension, every breath I take shaky with want. I feel him pause for a moment, and when I glance down, his eyes meet mine again, dark with that same hunger, before they flicker down to where he’s hovering just inches from my most sensitive spot.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice rough, almost like a growl. “Cailín…Tell me you want this. Tell me you need me.”

The words sit heavy on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say them, can’t bring myself to admit how much I crave him, how much I need him to fill this ache inside me.

But he isn’t having any of it.

His fingers trace the line of my thong, pressing just enough to drive me wild, but not enough to touch me fully. The tension is unbearable. “Don’t make me ask again, Red.”

I can barely think, my mind clouded with the burning desire that pulses between us. My body answers before my brain does, a soft, desperate whimper escaping me. “I need you.”

The sound of those words leaves me raw, exposed. But as soon as they slip from my lips, he’s on me. His mouth finally touches my skin, hot and demanding. I gasp, hips involuntarily rising to meet his touch as he kisses and licks his way closer to where I’m aching for him most.

His fingers finally, finally slide between my legs, his touch firm and sure, parting me with the skill of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. I let out a breathless moan at the contact, my body trembling in anticipation as he gently strokes, testing, teasing, making me yearn for more.

“That’s it,” he praises, voice thick with satisfaction. “Such a good girl for me.”

His words ignite something inside me, something primal that makes my entire body burn with need. I’m drowning in sensation, every touch, every movement, driving me to the edge of madness. His fingers move with precision, exploring, teasing, as if he’s memorising every inch of me, every reaction. I feel like I’m on fire, every nerve exposed and raw.

“Please,” I manage to gasp, my voice hoarse with desperation. “Don’t stop.”

He growls, the sound low and dangerous, his fingers quickening their pace. He knows exactly what I need, exactly how to drive me wild. The pressure builds, slowly at first, then suddenly, explosively, as his thumb circles where I’m most sensitive, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, his lips brushing my inner thigh as he watches me, his gaze filled with a dark satisfaction. The intensity in his eyes sends a shiver of both fear and desire through me, but I can’t look away. I’m completely lost in him, in the way he makes me feel – like I’m both unraveling and coming together at the same time.

He moves his fingers expertly, his thumb pressing harder, faster, and I feel the tension coiling tighter, winding me up until I’m ready to snap. I try to hold on, try to keep some semblance of control, but it’s useless. I can’t stop the moan that escapes me, loud and desperate, as my body bucks beneath his touch.

“That’s it,” he hums, his voice a dark promise. “Let go, Red. Let me have you.”

And just like that, the dam breaks. I come undone in his hands, a tsunami of pleasure crashing over me, too intense to process, too much to handle. I gasp for air, my body trembling uncontrollably as I ride out the waves of ecstasy. Every inch of me is on fire, and I can feel his smug satisfaction in the way he watches me come apart in his grip.

When the tremors finally begin to subside, I’m left panting, spent, and entirely at his mercy. My skin is flushed, my body aching in the aftermath, but still, I want more. I need more.

He leans down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, as if savouring the moment. I taste myself on his lips, loving the way we blend together. “You’re mine now, Red,” he promises, the words sending a fresh rush of heat through me.

And then he proves it to me. Over and over and over again.