Page 25 of Knot Yours

Marisol takes a sip of her Modelo instead of responding. I pull the glass away. “What’s wrong, Olowa?”

Without the glass to fidget with, she begins tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “I’m not… I’m not used to this. I’ve been on my own for twelve years, and until now, I’ve never had a reason to be nervous. Or to accept help. The only relationships I’ve had have been professional ones.”

“Well, get used to it. Piper is your new best friend.”

Marisol’s eyes snap back to mine. “You’re not?”

I shake my head slowly, staring intently into her eyes. “I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be the one thing you can’t live without.”

Piper barks, making us both laugh. “Well, one of two things I can’t live without,” Marisol jokes.

Our food is delivered to the table shortly after: a burger for me, a club sandwich for Marisol, and a beef rib for Piper. Conversation for the rest of lunch is light, and we head back to the duplex once we’re finished.

After letting Piper back into the fenced yard, I collect the faucet and my tools from the steel box in the bed. “I thought I’d replace the faucet while I was here.”

“Great. This morning, I stirred my coffee to the rhythmic dripping like a metronome.”

Marisol keeps me company as I work above and below the sink to remove the old faucet. We swap stories and laugh over the next half hour. When I finish tightening the escutcheon from below, I open the valves. “Give them a test run while I check for leaks.”

I aim my flashlight at the new fittings to watch for drips, ignoring the bare tan feet beside my right hip. After about thirty leak-free seconds, I figure the job is done. “That’s good.”

I click off the light and look out, eyes widening, when one toned leg steps over me to straddle my waist. Marisol slowly lowers herself, and I nearly choke on my tongue when I see that she’s naked.

Gripping the countertop above me, I use my arm strength to leverage myself out from under the sink to the floor. I’m lying on my thick tool belt, but I wouldn’t move now if my life depended on it.

Marisol leans forward, dragging her lips across my jaw. The stubble there scratches against her cheek, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I wonder if she’d like it in other places. Needing to taste her again, I grip her hips, pulling her forward until she hovers above my face.

Her surprised yelp becomes a moan with the first lick up her slit. Then Marisol reaches out to hold onto the counter as I dive in.

Marisol

This is reckless. I’m reckless. And it feels damned good. “Ride my face, baby,” Austin demands.

The old me almost cringes at the filthy command, but the new Marisol revels in it. I’d hidden myself away, trying to have a nice, safe life, always doing whatever would make mommy and daddy proud, not that it ever did me any favors. I’ve since questioned what the hell that kind of life that is to live, never feeling anything, never chasing the highs.

If Austin isn’t going to run away after learning about me, I’ll run headlong into whatever this is. Life’s too short to pass up the few chances one might have to experience happiness. Austin has presented me with that chance, and I’m taking it.

The sexy jack of all trades laps at my center, arms locked around my hips until I’m trembling with the force of my climax. I let go of the counter, dropping my hands to the floor, quivering with its intensity. I meet Austin’s eyes, and my breath catches at the hungry possession in them.

A second orgasm tears through me, and a fresh wave of arousal gushes over his face. Austin doesn’t miss a beat. He sits up suddenly, ripping off his shirt. With a grin, he uses the soft fabric to wipe his mouth before gripping my ass and standing.

He bends me over the island, placing my hands beside my head. His heavy belt hits the floor with a loud thud. “Fuck. I don’t have any protection.”

“I’m on the shot. It’s okay. Please don’t stop.”

“Shit, Olowa. You’re killing me.”

I refuse to care about how fast things are going. I embrace it. I’ve never belonged to anyone before. The notion always seemed abhorrent to me. But then, I didn’t have great examples growing up. The men in my father’s organization are very old-fashioned. Many still see women as possessions, preferring them to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. And silent.

My father never treated my mother that way. To him, she was always a respected equal despite her quiet, submissive nature. I was, too, until my mother was murdered. Not so much after. I guess that’s why Apá worries so much about me.

While I have enjoyed my independence, there’s something to be said for the alpha male. Beneath Austin’s masterful body, I feel owned, dominated, and cherished, and I have no problem with it whatsoever.

Austin plunges in, stealing my breath. Fully seated, he stills and tangles his fingers with mine, holding them beside my head. He plants his lips against my spine as he moves, and I push back against each thrust, matching his rhythm. Closing my eyes, I soak in the warmth of his body at my back, the grip of his hands, and the sounds of his whispers against my skin.

I’m in danger here. In danger of falling for this man.

Austin pulls me up off the table, quickening his pace and reaching around to my drenched slit. He glides his finger up and down over my clit, pressing hard. Within seconds, I shatter in his arms, going limp.

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