Chapter 4 #2
His chest presses against my back. He’s burning up.
His heartbeat slams against my spine with nothing between us, and I can feel the sweat on his skin, and it’s so much more than it was thirty seconds ago when he was just fucking me.
This is something else. This is him wanting to feel me too.
His weight pins me to the platform, and I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
I don’t want to; I want to be pinned, I want to be held down so hard that I can’t do anything but take it, because making decisions is what got me into this, and my body is so much better at this than my brain ever was.
My cock is trapped against the platform, still hard, oversensitive from coming, and every thrust grinds me into the slick surface.
It’s too much and not enough at the same time.
I can hear myself making sounds, muffled, continuous, the kind of sounds that would humiliate me if I could hear them from outside my own body.
His mouth is close to my ear, and I can hear him breathing, harsh and ragged.
Underneath that, there's a low sound in his chest that’s almost a growl.
It’s the first time he’s sounded anything less than in control, and it does something to me, knowing I’m affecting him too, knowing this isn’t just my body coming apart.
His hand slides up from my hip to the back of my neck, and his grip tightens, and my whole body goes liquid under his palm.
Some omega reflex that I’ve never felt this strongly, the pressure on my nape turning off every muscle I have.
I go limp against the platform, and he fucks me harder.
I can feel tears burning behind my eyes, and I press my face down because I am not going to cry on this floor.
I’m not going to give the gallery that. I’m not going to give the cedar alpha that.
His knot starts to swell.
I’ve been knotted before. I know how it goes—the base of his cock thickening, catching every time he thrusts, getting bigger until it’s stuck inside me. It’s always intense. It’s always a lot.
But this isn’t just a lot. This is everything.
The knot swells, catches, locks, and my body clamps down so hard the black mask alpha drops his forehead to my shoulder and makes this sound through his teeth, like it got ripped out of him.
“Fuck. Stay with me.” Barely words, his mouth pressed to my shoulder blade.
I don’t even know if he’s talking to me or himself.
The pressure is insane—so full it’s almost pain, but not really, because pain and pleasure are the same thing now.
The knot pulses inside me, and every pulse sends a wave through my whole body—heat, need, and this awful, perfect sense of rightness I never asked for and can’t fight.
I come again, knotted, face down on the platform, my cock pulsing against the leather.
And this time, I actually cry. Tears soak into the fabric under my face, and I can taste salt and leather, and I’m sobbing through an orgasm that just won’t quit, because the knot keeps pulsing and every pulse sets off another wave that’s so close to pain I can’t even tell the difference.
He holds me through it, both arms wrapped around my chest, his face buried in the back of my neck.
His breathing is wrecked, his heartbeat pounding against my spine, his knot locked inside me, and neither of us can move.
That’s the thing they don’t tell you about knotting—the stillness.
You’re stuck, tied to someone, and you can’t run or distract yourself.
You just have to be there, in your body, feeling everything.
His hands are steady. Even now, even with his knot buried in me and his breathing wrecked, his hands are steady on my chest. I notice it the way I noticed it before, in the back of my mind, in the part of me that’s filing things away even when the rest of me is gone.
His hands are too steady. Not the shaking, overwhelmed grip of an alpha lost in rut.
Something practiced about the way he holds me, like he’s done this with bodies in crisis before.
Like he knows what it means when someone’s shaking this hard, and he knows the right response is pressure and warmth and not letting go.
I lie there and feel his knot pulse inside me and his heart beat against my back. My body is quiet for the first time in an hour. Not sated. The heat isn’t done. But the first wave has crested and broken, and for a few minutes, I can breathe without drowning.
I turn my head to the side. Cheek pressed down, one eye looking out across the floor.
He’s still there. Leather mask, standing right where he was, hands at his sides, just watching.
I’m lying here on my stomach, another alpha’s knot locked inside me, face wet from crying, slick everywhere—my thighs, the platform, probably the floor.
The alpha I drove across town for is watching all of it from ten feet away, and he hasn’t moved.
I close my eyes. I press my face back into the cushion.
Behind me, the black mask alpha pulls me tighter against his chest. His hand spreads over my heart and just stays there.
I feel the knot pulse again, my cock twitching against the ruined leather, and somewhere in the quiet between this wave and the next, my body starts winding up for something I’m definitely not ready for.
I’m not going to be ready for any of it.