Chapter 16
Knox
Benji pulls back from the kiss, rolls us, and sits up, straddling my hips. The transformation happens fast—the raw, tear-streaked omega from two minutes ago vanishes, replaced by something sharper. Something I know. He flattens a hand against my chest and shoves me down into the mattress.
"You think because you dropped the L-word I'm going to be gentle with you?
" His voice is rough from shouting, but the mean edge is perfect.
"You smell like a hospital. You look like you haven't slept in a week.
I'm going to ride you until you forget your own name, and you're going to thank me for it. "
I grin. It’s the first real one I’ve managed since yesterday morning. Having Benji Rowe sit on my dick with dried tears on his cheeks and murder in his eyes is the best fucking thing to happen to me all week. This is him staying. This is his brat energy coming back online. We're going to be okay.
He grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head. He wrinkles his nose. "Disgusting. You smell like disinfectant and sad coffee."
"Sorry I didn't stop to shower on my way to your emotional ultimatum."
"Don't be cute. You've lost cute privileges." He pins my wrists to the mattress, leaning over me. His nose ring catches the dim light. "You don't get to touch yet. You went radio silent for six hours. Your hands stay where I put them."
My cock is rock hard. Benji knows it; he’s grinding down just enough to let me feel his heat through our jeans.
The weight of him, the pressure on my wrists, the bossy tone—fuck, it does more for me than any of my old cocky bullshit ever did.
I used to think I was the one in control in bed.
Looking up at him now, I realize I was just putting on a show.
This is real control: a bratty omega with a grudge, using my body like a throne.
He strips us with impatient, bossy efficiency.
His shirt goes over his head, jeans kicked off the side of the bed, then mine.
He works my belt and zipper like he’s clearing a workspace.
The claiming bite sits right on the curve of his neck.
Looking at it from this angle—pinned on my back while he undresses us—it looks different.
It’s mine. Something I put there that he chose to keep.
Benji sinks onto my cock in one smooth, wet stroke. My back arches right off the mattress.
He takes me all the way to the base. His body is slick and hot, and the fit of him around me just feels like coming home. His hand drops flat on my chest, shoving me back down.
"Stay," he commands. It’s the same word he used the night I caught him looking at my sketchbook, but tonight there’s a wicked grin behind it.
He rides me hard. The pace is entirely selfish—fast, deep, his head tipped back.
He braces one hand on my chest and grips the headboard with the other.
I watch his face. He's taking exactly what he wants, his mouth falling open when my cock hits his prostate, his throat working to swallow a moan.
I try to thrust up to meet him, but his hand slams me back down.
"I said stay."
He’d let go of my wrists at some point, so I wrap my hands around his thighs.
His skin is warm and slick with sweat. He’s so wet I can hear it—obscene, sloppy sounds filling the quiet room.
The claiming mark moves with every thrust. I don't even need to bite him again.
Just watching him ride me with my teeth marks on his skin is enough.
His cock bounces against his stomach with the rhythm. I reach for it, and he swats my hand away.
"I said you don't get to touch. When I want your hand on my dick, I'll put it there."
I groan, gripping his thighs tighter, letting him take whatever the fuck he wants. And then my knot starts to swell.
It builds at the base, thickening fast. The stretch changes. Benji feels it too. His eyes snap down to mine, and a slow, evil grin spreads across his face. He rises up until only the head of my cock is inside him, letting my swelling knot bump right against his slick rim without slipping in.
"You made me wait," he says casually, hovering right over my cock. "Six hours. So now you wait."
He rolls his hips in a slow grind. The knot presses against his rim, stretching the muscle around the widest part—and then he pulls off. The knot slips free. My hips jerk up involuntarily, my abs locking. I let out a pathetic, wrecked sound.
He does it again. Sinks down until the knot almost catches, stretching him perfectly, and pulls away at the last second. My whole body bucks against the mattress. His eyes track every twitch of my face, reading me with the same intense focus he gives his design projects.
"Benji—"
"Shh." He drops down again, taking the knot almost to the popping point before rising off. My breath punches out of me. "You don't get to rush this."
Another slow roll.
"You made me stare at my phone for six hours," he says, like we're discussing what to get for dinner. "Wondering if you were ever coming back." He sinks down. Pulls off. "So I'm going to make you feel every. Single. Second."
I’m shaking. Every muscle in my body is screaming to thrust up and lock us together, but I stay put because he told me to.
"Say it," he demands. He sinks down, stretching his rim wide around the knot, and holds it right on the edge.
"I love you," I bite out, my voice wrecked.
He pulls off.
"Again." He drops down, grinding the knot in but refusing to take it.
"I love—fuck, Benji—I love you."
He pulls off and sinks back down. His thighs are trembling under my hands. He’s working just as hard to hold himself back.
"Again," he says.
I groan, my brain completely short-circuiting. "I love you, I love you, please—"
"Please?" A startled, genuine laugh bursts out of him. It’s the brightest, happiest sound I've ever heard.
He wasn't expecting it. Knox Rivera begging while his omega edges his knot is apparently the funniest fucking thing in the world.
Hearing that laugh settles something deep inside my chest. The panic, the fear of screwing this up, the worry about what I am without the swagger—it all just shuts the fuck up.
Benji sinks all the way down.
With one final roll of his hips, my knot pops past his rim.
We lock. The fullness hits me like a freight train.
My back bows, my hands flying to his hips.
He lets me grip him now, grinding down into my lap with the knot buried deep.
His cock is leaking slick between us. I wrap my hand around it, needing to feel him come while I'm stuck inside him.
He comes first, spilling over my fist and across my stomach.
His whole body clenches, nails digging into my chest as he lets out a messy, satisfied moan.
I follow half a second later. The orgasm rolls through me in heavy waves.
I pull him down and press my face to his neck, my mouth finding the claiming bite while my knot pulses inside him.
The adrenaline drains out of the room. Benji's hands flatten against my chest, his fingers absently tracing the lines of my tattoos. My thumb draws lazy circles on his hip.
I reach up, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone where the tears dried earlier. He turns into the touch without a snarky comment. That small movement wrecks me more than any of the filthy shit we just did.
He slumps against my chest, the knot still holding us together. He buries his face in my neck, breathing in deep. I press my nose into his hair. Black coffee and something sharp.
When the knot finally eases, Benji shifts off me.
He reaches over the side of the bed and grabs the hoodie I wore to the hospital. He holds it for a second, pressing the fabric to his nose for a quick inhale, then tucks it against the pillows on my side of the bed.
He grabs the tangled blanket from the foot of the bed, pulling it over both of us and tucking the edge around my shoulder. He adjusts his pillow, grabs my arm, and pulls it around his waist as he settles back against my side.
My omega is building a nest.
He’s arranging my scent around us. He’s keeping me.
I hold completely still. If I say a fucking word, this stops. If I grin or point it out, the walls come back up, and the joke comes out. So I shut up and watch his hands arrange the space until it smells like both of us.
We settle into it. The bed is warm, smelling heavily of cedar, ink, and coffee. Benji curls into my side.
"My mom wants to meet you," I murmur into his hair. "Properly."
"Is she going to hate me?"
"She's going to love you. You're going to terrify her."
He snorts. "Good. Ruth says you have to come to Sunday dinner. She said if you skip, she'll find you. And she's found people before."
"I'll be there."
"Bring wine. She likes the cheap kind. She says expensive wine is for people who don't know what they actually like."
I file that away. I’ve never met the woman, but I’m already terrified of her.
Benji shifts against me. "Your apartment has shit lighting. If I'm going to work there, we need to move that desk near the window."
I blink. "If you're going to work there?"
"Don't make it a thing."
"I'm not making it a thing."
"You're making a face. Stop making the face."
I am absolutely making a face. He just casually planned out his desk in my apartment, and my chest is doing something so stupidly huge I have to bury my nose in his hair to hide it.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. I can see the preview—messages from Jude and Shay lighting up the group chat. Benji reaches over, squints at the screen, and types two words.
He's here.
He tosses the phone back down and drops his head onto my chest. That's it. Two words, and his friends know the whole story.
I press my mouth to the claiming bite on his neck. The scar is permanent now, just like my ink.
His breathing slows. His fingers uncurl against my chest. I cover his hand with mine, our fingers tangling together just like they did that first night.
His pulse beats steady and slow right under my teeth marks. I close my eyes in the dark, pull him a little closer into his nest, and stay.