Page 46 of Knot Your Business

He freezes as the endearment falls from his lips, but I clutch him closer. My heart’s in my throat, the ache of having him with me after thinking he hated me for so long still pressing against my chest. But my body burns, slick coating my legs again as his hard body presses into my soft one. I arch into him, twisting my tongue with his as I lift his shirt up his chest. His chest is harder, more defined, a certain amount of youth I hadn’t realized he’d still had now burned away completely. There’s scars that I don’t recognize, too.

My nails dig into his back as he thrusts against me, dragging his covered dick across my clit. The friction of the fabric against my sensitized flesh is enough to make me moan and drop my head back against the pillow. His teeth nip at my throat, my collarbone, before he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it across the small room. My bra is gone before I can even try to help him, his body still hovering over mine, the front closure falling open like he’s done it a million times.

Maybe he has.

Jealousy burns through me, swift and fierce, but I don’t let it linger. It’s not like I’ve been celibate, either.

His hands are soft as they cup my breasts, his thumbs playing across my nipples. I arch into him, forcing his hands into his chest in silent demand that he ignores. He bites down my sternum, letting his teeth mix with soft kisses until I’m moaning and trembling under him, the odd mix of pain and pleasure making my body sing. His tongue traces my nipple with the barest pressure.

I break.

“Now, Jas,” I whisper, pleading with him.

I’m drowning in need, my scent so strong it reminds me of my heats, and my slick coats the sheets. He nods, pulling away from me and sitting back on his knees. He uses one hand to pull off his shirt, and my fucking core clenches around nothing. I thought that was something guys only did in movies.

He’s gorgeous, all golden skin and lean muscles. The light from the lamp outside the dorm makes him nearly glow, the blue of his eyes seeming unnaturally bright. He blinks quickly, and my stomach clenches. I don’t know why I’m caught frozen, but I can’t manage to move to catch the single tear that tracks down his cheek. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away as he undoes his jeans and kicks them off, his boxers quickly following. His cock juts forward, and my mouth waters. I want to taste him again, make sure that hasn’t changed, either. I reach for him, pushing up on one elbow, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he murmurs.

His body covers mine, his hands twisting into my hair and his dick nudging at my entrance. He locks his eyes on mine, our noses nearly touching, his breathing just as ragged as mine. Without a word, he pushes into me, one steady, long stroke that fills me so completely, I cry out and arch into him, letting my head fall back.

It's almost like muscle memory, like part of me has remembered all this time how this is with him. It remembers the feel of his skin against mine, the weight of his body over me, the press of his hips against my thighs. It remembers, and I bask in the feeling, letting it erase for the moment the years and heartache that sit between us, the resentment and anger that I can still feel lingering in my chest from everything left unsaid between us those final months he was in Seattle.

I rock my hips. I need him to move, to take me hard and fast to drive out the unwanted memories. When he doesn't respond to my urging, I wrap my legs around his hips and use the hold as leverage to fuel my own movements beneath him. His hands tighten where they’re fisted in my hair, and he bites my shoulder, his body trembling above me.

"Vi," he whispers, his lips tracing the shell of my ear. "Holy hell, I need a goddamn minute, or I'm going to come. And I need to feel you come again first."

I clench around him, and he groans. It's so deep in his throat, it sounds as if it's been forcefully pulled from him.The whine is slipping from between my lips before I can stop it. He drops his head into the cradle of my shoulder, his forehead pressing on the aching skin where his teeth just were. His breathless chuckle is more than a little desperate.

“There’ll be more times, Jas. Please.”

He groans into my skin, the sound of a dying man, and then begins to move.

He doesn’t take me hard or fast, but it’s consuming nonetheless. He strokes my clit with each thrust as his lips explore my body more, taking their time around my breasts until I’m shaking under him. I’m not even sure what noises I’m making, my mind halfway gone to the pleasure coursing through me.

His thumb presses against my clit, drawing tight, fast circles around it, and I shatter, clenching down around him as I scream, tossing my head and clawing at his back.

His rhythm breaks, his hips stuttering, and he breathes out a ragged moan into my hair, his lips pressing into my temple as he drops to his elbows above me. His arms shake, his body trembles, and he grunts as I roll my hips under him, the last of the aftershocks still washing through me.

“Love,” he murmurs. My hold tightens around him.

He pulls out of me and adjusts us until I’m cuddled into his side, my head resting on his shoulder.

“You’re magnificent,” he whispers.

I preen under the praise, the last bit of me worried over what happened in Seattle dislodging at last. I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer into me, breathing deep until all I can smell is him: his cologne, his aftershave, him. No Alpha scent needed. He’s perfect the way he is.

His hands run down my back, goosebumps following in their wake. I shiver against him, and he reaches to the end of the bed, pulling the soft blanket over us both.

“You’ll stay?” I ask, trying to fight against my body, trying to stay awake and enjoy this moment with him.

He nods, brushing my hair off my face. “Always, love.”

Twenty-Two

VIOLET

Two soft knocks pull me from sleep.

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