Page 112 of Knot Your Business

Our scents mingle as he pushes the pace faster, his hands steady on my thighs and his hips never faltering.

“Where, Sirena?” He presses the question into the hollow of my throat, his teeth scraping hard enough that I moan and twist my hands into the sheets. “Do you want it visible for the world to see, like a good little traditional Omega? Or do you want it somewhere more scandalous? Somewhere that betrays the way I took you when I forged the bond?”

“Anywhere,” I gasp. It borders on begging, but I can’t find it in myself to apologize. “I just need you. Now.”

His laugh skates over my skin. I whine again, arching into him, my body so fucking tight it feels like I’m going to combust.

“All right, Sirena, you can have me. Now. Tomorrow. For the rest of our lives.”

The confession is like gasoline on a bonfire. He pushes into me, his fingers messing with my nipples, and I fall off the edge, my release pulsing through me. My mind empties as my legs fucking shake, my fingers tingling with the aftershocks.

His thrusts grow faster, harder, for a few minutes until the pattern stutters. He curses under his breath, his teeth parting over my collarbone.

The pressure of his knot forcing me into a second orgasm eclipses the sharp pain of his bite. My back bows as I scream, a sudden sensation of outright pride filling my chest with a foreign warmth. He kisses the bite as my body eases back down, my mind slowly piecing itself back together. His elbows bracket my head as he pulls away from my skin.

His eyes are bright and open, something very nearly like affection warming them. Nerves rocket through me before I can curb the reaction. His body tenses over mine.

“Ti sono vicino,” he whispers, kissing my neck and then across my jaw. “Sei al sicuro.”

I breathe deeply, relaxing under him, his affection singing through the bond now forged between us. His body releases its tension, his chest brushing mine as he lowers himself further, brushing his hands through my hair.

“Sei bella,” he murmurs.

I preen, and he chuckles. My lids grow heavy as his knot releases us, the rush of cum and slick almost enough to make me blush. Almost.

He pulls away, taking me with him, and then readjusts on the other side of the bed, turning me so that we face each other as he stretches out on his side. That same softness is in his gaze, and I can feel it roaring through the bond.

This time, I don’t shy away from naming it.

“Ti amo,” he whispers.

Satisfaction sweeps through the link as I murmur it back.

Fifty-Three

VIOLET

Jasper leans his head against my knee, humming along to the song Rylan’s picking on the acoustic guitar. I don’t recognize it, but it’s beautiful. Dominic leans against one of the large stacks of equipment scattered around the room despite Rylan glaring at him twice already.

Dominic’s amusement weaves through my chest, and it takes all my control to not give away his humor at irritating the other Alpha. He leans over and runs a hand along my shoulders, tracing the shell of my ear, and I breathe slowly to keep from shivering.

It’s not fucking fair, and he knows it.

At least I’m wearing scent blockers despite Rylan trying for five minutes to convince me they wouldn’t be needed in the empty space.

His amusement grows stronger. I purse my lips and comb through Jasper’s short hair, trying to ignore Dominic behind me. Not that it really works. Nothing has really worked since Saturday evening. But I guess that’s just part of the bonding experience. My stomach tightens at the thought of experiencing it with Rylan and Jasper, too. Since settling into the feeling of Dominic inside my chest—what a fucking wild thought that is—I’ve been dying to talk about it with Rylan and Jasper, too.

Not that we’ve had a chance to have more than five minutes together in the last several days, though. Rylan’s been slammed with recording responsibilities pushed off due to my heat. By the time he’s made it home the last few nights, I’ve already been asleep in Jasper or Dominic’s bed. I really haven’t even seen him since signing the paperwork Thursday.

Thus the four of us sitting in the studio together on a Tuesday afternoon.

You create time where you can. And listening to Rylan play is one of those small pleasures I’ll appreciate even when we’re old and gray.

Jasper’s phone rings, and he digs it out of his pocket, keeping his head on my thigh. He taps on a message to read it but closes to his lock screen before I can snoop. He brushes his lips across my knee and then sits up.

It’s like the others were waiting for him to move. Rylan cuts off in the middle of the song, standing up and packing away the guitar. He moves through his process with a steady easiness that should not be a turn on but that has my core heating anyway.

Dominic chuckles, low in his throat, and pushes off the metal rack, tucking his hand into his pocket before helping me out of the large rolling chair they’d pulled into the room for me.

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