Chapter 1 #3
She shoves my jeans down, along with my boxers, and my cock springs free, the base already swelling with the promise of my knot. She wraps her hand around me, stroking once, twice, but then she pushes me onto my back, her eyes dark with intent.
“Let me,” she says, and before I can protest, she’s leaning down, her mouth closing around the head of my cock. Warm, wet suction—fuck.
She takes me deeper, her tongue swirling along the underside, making me groan as I thread my fingers in her hair, guiding her gently. Her nails dig into my thigh as she bobs her head, saliva dripping down my shaft. It’s messy, perfect.
“Norah—shit, just like that.” She hums around me, the vibration shooting pleasure up my spine, and I’m leaking pre-cum onto her tongue.
She pulls off with a pop, stroking me with her hand, spreading the wetness. “You’re so big,” she murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “But I want it. All of it.”
I flip us again, settling between her legs. She’s dripping, thighs slick, and I play her body like an instrument—fingers on her clit, mouth on her nipple, whispering praises until she’s writhing.
“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. Ready?”
“Yes, please, Dorian.”
I guide my cock to her entrance, rubbing the head through her folds, coating myself in her arousal. “You can take it,” I tell her, voice low and steady. “You always have.”
Slowly, I push in inch by inch, her pussy stretching around me. She gasps, nails raking my back, but she pulls me closer, urging me deeper.
When I’m fully seated, balls deep, I pause, letting her adjust. She’s clenching around me, fluttering, and it takes everything not to thrust.
“Feels so good,” she breathes, rocking her hips. “Like coming home.”
I start moving in slow, deep strokes that make her moan with each one. The fire pops beside us, the room filled with the sounds of our bodies.
We talk through it, words weaving with gasps.
“That first time,” I say, angling my hips to hit that spot inside her, “you were so scared. But you trusted me. Let me rub you until you screamed. You let me take care of you.”
She laughs breathlessly, then moans as I thrust harder. “You were my rock. My best friend. I’m so glad it was you, Dorian. No one else could’ve—”
Her words cut off in a cry as I pick up the pace, pounding into her now, the base of my cock swelling. My knot begins to form, thickening with each thrust, and I feel her tighten in response.
“Gonna knot you,” I warn, voice strained. “Fill you up.”
“Yes—do it.” She drags her nails down my spine, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain pushes me over. I rock forward, the knot catching at her entrance, then popping inside with a wet sound. She screams in pleasure, and her pussy clamps down like a vise.
I can’t pull out, so I rock against her, grinding my hips, the pressure on her clit making her wild. “Come again,” I demand, one hand between us, rubbing her swollen nub. “Clench around my knot, milk me.”
She does, her orgasm crashing over her, walls pulsing, pulling my release from me. I come with a roar, spilling deep inside her, the knot sealing every drop.
We ride it out together, bodies shaking, sweat-slicked and spent.
When it fades, I collapse beside her, still tied, holding her close. Her head on my chest, nails tracing lazy patterns on my skin. “I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too.” And as the fire dies down, we drift, together and sated.
The room is dim except for the fire embers. Norah’s asleep, hair tangled over the pillow, her bracelet glinting faintly in the glow. Her scent still hangs in the air, sweet and drowsy.
I move and try to fight the disappointment that my knot released some time during our nap. I’m still contemplating waking her up for another round when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I reach for it, squinting against the light. Who the hell is texting me at 2 a.m.?
It’s a message from my father.
Good news. I spoke to an old colleague. Interview set up for you in Portland—Monday morning. Denzel and Ridge Architecture. This is a big opportunity, kid. Don’t blow it.
For a long breath, I just stare at the screen. Portland. The word looks foreign, heavy. It’s so far from my mom.
So far from Norah…
Portland means everything I’ve worked for. A real shot at the life I’ve been chasing. Designing, building, finally being someone worth something.
I set the phone down and glance back at her. Her lips are parted in sleep, lashes fluttering against her skin. She looks peaceful, like she belongs to the soft hum of the fire.
When we met, she was barefoot in her aunt’s shop, dirt on her cheeks, humming to herself while arranging tulips. I’d walked in needing flowers for my mother’s birthday and walked out with a heart I didn’t know how to guard.
Since then, every dream I’ve had has somehow wrapped around her. Even the big ones. Maybe especially those.
I slide closer, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She stirs, murmuring something, then settles again.
The snow outside thickens, swirling past the window. I watch it fall, that endless white, and wonder how much of life is made up of trade-offs like this—ambition or belonging, skyscrapers or greenhouses, the future or what’s right here in front of me.
My hand finds her bracelet. The metal’s cool under my thumb.
I whisper it to her, though she can’t hear. “Forever someday, Norah. I meant it.”
Her body shifts, curling toward me in sleep. I pull the blanket higher around us, tucking her close.
The phone buzzes again, another message from Dad. Call me in the morning. We’ll go over details.
I don’t answer. Not yet.
I trace the ink on my arm, the curve of the lilies that belong to her. Can I have both?
I don’t want to leave her, not now, when it feels like I already built something worth keeping.
Something that lasts.
Something that’s mine.