Knot Just a Spectator (Knotlocke Academy #5)

Chapter 1

blair

The gym doors slam open behind me like they’re personally offended I showed up, and I step onto the mats with the kind of swagger that usually gets me pinned in under five seconds. Good. That’s the plan.

I’m wearing the smallest singlet Knotlocke’s rules will allow, black, skin-tight, and cut so high on the thighs it might as well be a thong with delusions of athletic grandeur. The fabric clings to every inch of my body like it was shrink-wrapped on.

My cock is already half-interested just from the walk across campus, and the way the material cups my balls and the thick silver piercing through the head is going to be a problem real fucking soon.

I added a new ring through my lower lip this morning on the right side, just to watch Coach Marisol Vega’s eye twitch when she pretends she doesn’t notice.

Because she always notices.

Dark cherry and burnt sugar roll off me in a thick wave as I drop my bag by the wall. The scent’s already sharpening at the edges, that smoky bourbon kicking in because my body knows exactly who’s about to spend the next two hours trying not to look at me. Sol.

Five-ten of pure coiled Alpha muscle, reddish brown braid tight enough to make me want to yank it loose, her cinnamon and gunpowder scent thick in the air like she’s been simmering since breakfast. She’s standing at the edge of the mat in her black Knotlocke gear, arms crossed, jaw set like she’s already regretting every life choice that led her to this moment.

“Reyes,” she says, voice low and flat, the way it always gets when she’s pretending she’s in full coach mode. “You’re late.”

I flash her my sweetest smile, twist the new lip ring with my tongue on purpose, and let my gaze drag down her body slow enough to be rude. “Miss me, Vega?”

Her eyes flick to the new ring for half a second, dark brown irises flashing with something that looks a hell of a lot like lust before she locks it down. She just jerks her chin toward the center mat.

“Warm-ups. Now.”

I saunter out there like I own the place, which I kind of do if you count the size of my dad’s last donation check.

The rest of the tiny wrestling squad is already circling up, Kenji giving me the side-eye, Devon looking like he wants to melt into the mat, but I ignore them.

My focus is one hundred percent on the woman who’s been haunting my jerk-off sessions for the last year.

We’ve crossed the line exactly three times.

Once, last spring, during my unofficial visit, she cornered me in the equipment room after I ran my mouth one too many times.

Her hand around my throat, my back against the wall, her mouth an inch from mine while she growled, “You keep pushing, and I’m going to push back, Reyes.

” She didn’t kiss me. She wanted to. I could smell how bad she wanted to.

The second time was two weeks ago, right after I officially transferred.

Late night in this exact gym, just the two of us “reviewing film.” Her thigh between mine, my singlet shoved down, her fingers wrapped around my pierced cock while she told me exactly what she’d do to me if I wasn’t her athlete.

She stopped before either of us came. Barely.

The third time was four days ago in the parking lot after I accidentally brushed my ass against her while we were loading mats.

She pinned me against her Subaru so fast I saw stars, her mouth on my neck, teeth scraping my scent gland, whispering, “One more time, Reyes, and I won’t stop.

” Then she walked away like she hadn’t just left me slicking in my jeans.

The coil between us is wound so tight, I can feel it vibrating under my skin every time she looks at me.

This year? I’m snapping it. I’m making it stick.

I want her bite on my throat and Roxie’s teeth somewhere a lot lower.

Though having a coach and one of the Alphas from the girls’ team is a pipe dream.

But I want it bad enough that I’m willing to risk getting kicked out of the program, the school, and possibly the state.

We start drills, the restlessness I’ve been trying to find an outlet for slipping out of my mouth.

“Little tighter on that grip, Kenji—unless you’re trying to feel me up.”

“Devon, baby, if you keep hesitating like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me on top.”

Every time I shoot in, I make sure to arch my back just a little extra when I end up on the mat, singlet riding up, ass on full display. Sol’s eyes track every movement. I catch the exact second her scent spikes, Sol growling at me before looking away.

“Again, Reyes.”

I shoot. She drops me. Hard.

My back hits the mat with a slap that knocks the breath out of me, and there she is, hovering just long enough for me to see the way her pupils have blown wide, the way her chest rises faster than it should for someone who’s barely moved.

Lust. Raw, barely-leashed lust. My cock throbs against the singlet, the piercing dragging against the fabric and sending sparks up my spine.

Slick coats my ass, threatening to drench my shorts, but I keep it together. Barely.

“Vega,” I pant, grinning up at her even though my tailbone is screaming. “You gonna keep putting me on my back or are we gonna do something about it?”

Her nostrils flare. For a second, I think she’s going to drag me into the office right there in front of everyone. Instead, she straightens, her voice flattening completely.

“Again.”

She drops me a second and then a third time.

Each time I’m slower getting up, letting her see exactly how hard I am, letting my scent pour out, dark cherry so sweet it’s obscene, slick already slipping between my cheeks because my body is a traitor and it knows what it wants.

Sol’s eyes keep darkening, and I can feel how bad she wants to stop pretending.

We’re thirty minutes in when the side doors bang open, and the women’s MMA team files in for shared mat time. Sol pushes to her feet as I sit up, tracking the second most beautiful woman in existence.

Well, they’re tied, but I saw Sol first.

Roxie Calloway walks in barefoot, black tape already wrapped around her knuckles, black sports bra, and fight shorts that should be illegal on a body like hers.

A long dark ponytail sweeps behind her as she approaches, that permanent half-smirk making an appearance that makes me want to bite it off her face.

Black tea and warm leather rolls across the mats, juniper spiking in her scent the second her eyes land on me.

She looks like she wants to eat me alive and then use my bones for warm-ups.

Yes, please.

She stops at the edge of our mat, arms crossed, and stares at me. “Your takedown form is embarrassing for both of us, Reyes.”

I push up off the mat, sweat slicking my curls to my forehead, my singlet plastered to every ridge of muscle, and the very obvious outline of my cock. I twist the new lip ring, letting my grin go feral. “Aw, Calloway. You been watching me? Didn’t know you cared.”

She doesn’t blink. “I care about not having to share mats with someone who wrestles like a drunk toddler. Fix it or get off my mat.”

Sol’s voice cuts in, a dangerous edge to her words. “Calloway. Focus on your own warm-up.” Something in Sol’s voice makes me wonder if there’s a spark there, but I dismiss it.

Roxie’s already stepping onto the mat, circling me slowly, eyes dragging over my body the same way mine dragged over Sol’s earlier. Her scent crashes into mine, the combination of both Alphas’ scents making my hole clench.

I can’t help it. The brat in me wins.

“Careful, Calloway. Keep looking at me like that, and people are gonna think you want a private lesson.”

She laughs once. “Private lesson? Baby, I’d put you on your back so fast you’d tap before you finished begging.”

My cock jerks so hard the piercing tugs against the fabric. Slick blooms between my cheeks, soaking the inside of the singlet. Fuck. I can smell it. So can they. Sol’s cinnamon spikes so hard I taste it on the back of my tongue as Roxie’s tea scent thickens.

I open my mouth for another quip, something filthy about how good I’d look begging, but my body is already screaming at me, slick threatening to drip down my leg if I don’t get the hell out of here.

I jerk my thumb toward the locker room. “Gonna hit the showers. Can’t have the new guy stinking up your precious mats, right?”

Sol’s eyes snap to mine. “Reyes—”

I don’t wait for the rest. I grab my bag and bolt.

The locker room is blessedly empty as I slam the door behind me, flip the lock, and peel the singlet off so fast the fabric burns my skin.

My cock springs free, the silver barbell at the head already shiny with pre-cum.

My thighs are slick and the scent of dark cherry, bourbon, and burnt sugar and desperate Omega floods the tiled space.

I love the teasing. I love pushing them until their control cracks. But my body? My body is a fucking traitor, and it’s not sure it can take much more without combusting.

I step into the last stall, crank the water as hot as I can stand, and brace one hand on the tile.

The other wraps around my cock, slow at first, just the way I know Sol likes to tease me.

I close my eyes and it’s her face in my head.

That arched brow, the faded scar through her eyebrow, the way her mouth goes tight right before she almost loses it.

I stroke faster, my thumb dragging over the piercing, imagining her voice in my ear.

“Reyes, you keep pushing and I won’t stop.”

My hips jerk forward as a broken sound slips out of me.

Then the fantasy shifts, because my brain is a greedy little shit, and suddenly it’s not just Sol.

It’s both of them. Roxie behind me, chest pressed to my back, teeth scraping the side of my neck while her hand settles on my waist. Sol on her knees in front of me, red braid loose, dark eyes locked on mine as she takes me down her throat.

Roxie’s free hand sliding between my cheeks, two thick fingers pushing into my slick hole while she growls against my ear, “That’s it, brat. Take what you’ve been begging for.”

I moan loud enough that it echoes off the tiles.

My hand flies over my cock as I picture Sol’s cinnamon scent mixing with Roxie’s, them sandwiching me between their bodies as they switch positions, Sol’s mouth on my throat, Roxie’s teeth on my inner thigh, both of them claiming me while I fall apart.

“Fuck—Sol—Roxie—”

My balls draw up tight and the orgasm hits like a train, whiting out the edge of my vision.

Thick ropes of cum paint the shower wall, my hand, and my stomach.

I keep stroking through it, my hole clenching around nothing while more slick leaks down my thighs.

The fantasy won’t stop. I see Sol’s eyes blown black with lust, Roxie’s smirk turning soft and dangerous, both of them pressing me down into the mats, into their bed, into their lives.

I come again, a softer orgasm than the first, but my knees buckle until I’m slumped against the cold tile, water beating down on my back.

For ten glorious seconds, it’s perfect.

Then reality crashes back in.

I just jerked off in the locker room shower to a double fantasy about my coach and a fellow athlete, both of whom are currently twenty feet away on the mats.

Both of whom definitely smelled how turned on I was before I ran.

Both of whom I’ve been lowkey obsessed with for over a year, and who have been dancing around the same obsession right back.

I’m so fucked.

I’m not just talking about the fact that I’m hard again already.

I’m talking about the way my scent is going to be all over this shower for the next hour.

The way my hole is still fluttering like it’s waiting for their fingers and their tongues.

The way I can already feel the emotional coil between the three of us pulling so tight it’s going to snap and take the entire athletic department down with it.

I press my forehead to the wet tile and laugh once, the shaky sound filled with mild hysteria.

“Shit,” I mutter, voice wrecked. “I am in so much fucking trouble.” Dad said I could do whatever I wanted so long as I behaved. This... is not behaving.

And the worst part?

I can’t wait for what happens next.