Under Knox
Skyla
I thought I could do this.
I thought I could close my eyes, spread my legs, and just let it happen.
But the second that first orgasm faded, reality hit me like a slap.
This was a mistake.
I can’t do this.
Not again.
But Knox is enormous—easily twice, maybe three times my size. Towering and broad, with long black hair that clings to his shoulders, a rough beard shadowing his face, and scars etched deep into his skin like warnings.
He looks like a man who’s been through war. Or caused it.
What am I doing here?
Panic starts to rise in my chest, but I keep my lips clamped shut, trying to swallow it whole. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you aren’t allowed to say no to an alpha.
I said it once to Brayden, and I’ll never make that mistake again.
“Such a pretty omega,” Knox rasps, voice low and rough like it’s been dragged over gravel.
The heap of tangled blankets cradles my back, but there’s nothing soft about the way this alpha hovers above me—his shoulders form a cage, his weight pressing the air from the tiny tent. His scent clings thick and suffocating, flooding my head, making it hard to think.
Do it, I tell myself. Look at him.
Forcing my eyes to focus through the fog in my head, I look up, then swallow hard—his blown pupils swallow up the light, the sharp line of his jaw twitches, and the vein in his neck pounds like a drumbeat. He’s not just looking at me. He’s consuming me with his eyes.
He’s clearly gone.
Lost to whatever alpha instinct is ripping through him. There’s nothing but need in him now—raw and brutal. And there’s no getting out of this.
He’s a mighty alpha, and I’m a weak omega.
He decides where I go. What I say. Do. Wear. Eat.
And when we have sex.
I’m just a vessel for him to take out his aggression on.
“Fuck, you smell good.” Knox’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts as he drags his nose from my shoulder all the way up to the side of my jaw. My body tenses, going still on instinct as he shifts so we’re face to face, his breath ghosting over my lips like a warning.
My pathetic pulse skyrockets, and a whine slips from my throat before I can stop it. I swallow hard, throat tight, trying to choke it back—but it’s too late. He heard it.
Knox stills. His head tilts, barely, and he draws back a fraction—just enough to meet my eyes. His brows pull tight with confusion. “What did you say?” he murmurs, voice low and husky.
I try to answer, but my thoughts are slow, syrup-thick and drifting.
Everything is still too fuzzy. My body is burning up, but my skin prickles with cold.
It’s too much—the rustle of the tent in the wind feels like thunder as Knox’s big body looms over me.
Even his scent sticks in my nose like glue. I can't breathe past it.
Just let it happen, I whisper in my head.
“Nothing,” I mumble as I shake my head. Not in refusal. Just... shaking. Then I close my eyes and brace myself for the worst.
Knox’s hands drift from my face, trailing down the sides of my neck and over my shoulders. His touch is warm, heavy with intent but still gentle—like he’s taking his time, like he wants me to feel every second of this.
I wish he’d get it over with.
He grazes down my arms, fingers brushing lightly over the fine hairs, raising goosebumps. Even through the lingering fog in my mind, every inch of skin he touches sparks with awareness.
When he reaches my wrists, he pauses, cradling them in his hands for a breath before guiding them up, placing them above my head on the nest of blankets. Not to restrain me. Just to place me…I think.
Then his eyes meet mine, almost as if he’s checking on me, and something in his gaze quiets the last tremble in my chest.
When I don’t say anything, his hands move again, slower this time, gliding down my arms and over my ribs. I shiver as his palms mold to the curves of my body, tracing the shape of me like he’s memorizing it.
When he reaches my chest, he pauses, his thumbs sweeping softly under the weight of my breasts before he cups them fully in both hands.
A soft gasp escapes me.
His palms are warm, calloused, reverent.
He brushes his thumbs over my nipples, slow and feather-light, and the sensation has me arching just barely into his touch.
I shouldn’t like this. But he’s so careful with me.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Leaning in, Knox presses his lips to the hollow of my throat. His lips press against the edge of my bandage, moving carefully to avoid it. I feel his breath as he exhales there, steady and hot.
His hands don’t rush. They don’t grope or pinch. He touches me like I’m fragile and sacred all at once. Then one hand slides lower.
I feel the shift in him as he moves, his weight subtly adjusting, as his thigh brushes against mine.
His fingers trail down my stomach, then lower—finding the edge of my knee. He doesn’t force it, doesn’t yank or demand. He just rests his hand there for a moment, his thumb stroking small, patient circles.
And then he draws my knee upward.
Carefully. Gently. Guiding me open beneath him.
A tremor rolls through me—not from fear this time, but anticipation.
It has to be the drugs.
Because I don’t want this.
I don’t want any of it. Even now, fear lingers like smoke in the corners of my mind…but it does feel nice.
I think.
Moving slowly, Knox settles between my thighs, his body big and solid against mine, and I feel the heat of him as he presses his chest to mine. Panic begins to flare, but I fist the blankets beneath me, determined to get through this.
“Let me know if it hurts.” Knox reaches down between us, and I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance. Then he pushes in, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
He doesn’t rush.
The pressure builds, my body stretching around him—more discomfort than pleasure.
I’m wet—I know I am—but it’s not enough. While I can feel the slick dripping down my backside, it’s too little. It’s like the drugs have slowed every inch of my body, making Knox’s cock pinch and ache as he works himself into me, forcing me to take him.
I wince when he bottoms out, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. He stops instantly. His breath is ragged, warm against my throat.
“You okay?” he asks, voice gravel-thick, strained. His hands tremble where they grip the blankets next to my face.
I want to say yes. To tell him to get it over with. But the words catch in my throat. My body’s tight, unsure. Not ready.
Knox shifts, lifting up a little. He doesn’t pull out. He just… gives me space. A breath. A heartbeat. Enough room to breathe.
I blink up at him, and my heart stumbles. His eyes catch mine, and I realize—they’re not dark brown like I thought. They’re green. A shimmering deep green. And they’re filled with a shocking amount of tenderness.
Has anyone ever looked at me like this?
Not like I’m fragile, but like I’m precious.
Brayden never made eye contact when he fucked me—he always pushed my face into the sheets, taking me from behind.
He grunted through it like I was just a means to an end.
Martin liked to keep me quiet, still, obedient as he jackhammered into me.
Both of them made me feel like a body. Like something to use.
Even Douglas was cold when he kissed me. Stiff.
But Knox…
His gaze doesn’t stray. It lingers, searching my eyes. There’s something about the way he waits—not impatiently or frustrated. It unravels a knot in my gut that I didn’t even know was there.
“You okay?” he asks again, softer this time, as one of his hands moves—slow, careful—to brush my hair back from my damp forehead. He doesn’t touch me like he owns me. He touches me like I’m something lovely.
I want to say something. Yes or no. Maybe both. But my tongue’s too heavy, thoughts slipping out of reach before I can catch them. But what comes out is a broken whisper, “I…like how…you look at me,” I mumble, the words blurring together.
His brow furrows. “Like how?”
“Like…I don’t know.” I shake my head, too embarrassed to tell him that I can't remember the last time someone looked at me like I mattered. That, even though he’s a complete stranger to me, in the few short minutes we’ve been together, he’s already managed to make me feel more human than my pack could the entire time we were together.
My chest tightens, and tears sting the back of my eyes.
“Skyla?” Knox whispers as his thumbs brush against my temples. “Talk to me.”
I reach up, fingertips brushing his jaw. His stubble scratches my skin, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, like my touch undoes him. I feel his cock twitch inside me, sending a jolt of pain up my spine. But I don’t react to it.
My body is too slow. Too doped up.
“I’m scared,” I finally whisper, unable to stop the rush of emotions consuming me.
“I know,” Knox says. He leans down and places a kiss on my forehead. “But I’ll go slow.” He looks deep into my eyes. “I’ll be gentle, sweetheart.”
And then he purrs.
The sound is heaven to my ears.
It vibrates everywhere, soaking into my tight muscles and slipping into my bones.
Tears blur my vision as the vibrations soothe me. Then I nod, and my hips tilt just a little, an invitation.
Knox exhales slowly. It’s shaky but full of relief, then he moves—not deeper, not harder—just closer. Presses his forehead to mine. Our breath mingles.
I close my eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself relax as Knox’s purr doubles, growing louder against my skin. I urge him closer with a soft shift of my hips and the lift of my chest meeting his.
He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t surge forward like he’s been waiting to take. He just…moves.
Slow, careful, like he’s trying to memorize every part of me from the inside out.
His body glides against mine in steady, tender strokes, and I feel everything.
Every inch. Every pause. Every inhale he takes feels like he’s holding himself together by a thread.
He stays close, pressed to me, our skin damp with sweat, our breaths tangled, his hands braced on either side of my face, holding the world still.
It’s not rough. It’s not frenzied. It’s not what I’m used to.
It’s quiet.
And somehow, that’s what undoes me.
A tear slips from the corner of my eye, sliding into my hair. Then another.
They fall without warning. Just...a release as I’m filled over and over again.
I need more.
Reaching up, I curl my arms around his shoulders, holding him to me.
My legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper, but not harder. I don’t want harder. I want this…I don’t know what to call it. This aching sweetness. This tenderness that fills me in more ways than one.
Knox’s body moves with mine, his cock filling and stretching every wonderful part of me.
His lips skim my temple, and he whispers, “Open up for me, pretty girl.” Then he shifts above me, his breath warm against my cheek, and I feel his hand sliding down—slow, deliberate.
He curls his fingers around the back of my thigh and lifts, guiding my leg up, up, until my knee presses gently to the side of my shoulder.
The stretch makes me gasp, not from pain—but surprise. Vulnerability.
And then—
The angle shifts. He sinks in deeper, the drag of him pressing against something raw and aching inside me in the best possible way.
I suck in a breath, eyes flying open, and he groans softly like he feels it too.
“You like that?” One corner of his mouth lifts, obviously liking the look on my face.
I nod, breathless. “Yuh... yeah.”
It’s more than okay. It’s everything.
The heat inside me coils tighter, but it’s not frantic. It’s slow-burning, alive.
Each thrust lands in rhythm with my heartbeat, my whole body is vibrating in sync with his.
I feel stretched wide open, filled to the brim—not just physically, but emotionally.
Like Knox is reaching into all the hollow places inside me, places I didn’t know were still aching, and somehow touching them with care.
It’s like I’m being seen for the very first time.
How can a stranger make me feel this way?
Is it the drugs?
The exhaustion or the hunger?
Knox snaps his hips, a low sound rumbling out of him—half growl, half moan. Electricity crackles under my skin, and my eyes float closed.
Who gives a shit what’s causing it?
This feels incredible, and I’m going to let myself have it.
My head tips back, lips parting, and I moan—soft, unguarded, completely real. Pleasure licks along my skin, slow and sweet, a tingle blooming low in my belly. My pussy tightens around the thick cock inside me, muscles fluttering like they already know what’s coming.
It’s like the mixture of Knox and the drugs has unlocked something in me—opening doors to parts of my body I’ve never truly felt before. Every thrust sends another ripple through me, deeper, sharper, and more impossibly good.
And then it crests.
Not a crash. Not an explosion. But a deep, consuming pull—like my whole body is pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
I shudder around him, breath catching, nerves lit up and humming as the orgasm rolls through me, slow and endless. And Knox is right there, holding me through it, whispering into my ear as he keeps fucking into me, letting me feel every pulse and spark of pleasure.
“That’s it,” he pants against my neck. “Come for me. Let go.”
Tears spill again, trailing over my temples, into my hair. I don’t fight them. I don’t feel ashamed. I just feel.
Knox rocks into me gently, chasing his own end, but his touch never loses that softness. His fingers tighten around my thigh, his mouth brushes my jaw, and I swear his breath stutters like he’s overwhelmed, too.
“God, Sky,” he grunts, voice hoarse. “You feel like heaven.”
And maybe I do.
Because at this moment, I’m not used, rejected, or broken.
I’m just an omega, wanted and claimed.
And for the first time in forever, I don’t feel alone in my body.