Page 34 of Knot Your Rebel

thirteen - tate

. . .

There’s something strange about being in the dark. The nighttime is known for its creepers and crawlers. The wind rustles outside, scraping against the side of the house with its nails. It’s peaceful and haunting all at once. My mind keeps spinning, trying to mentally calculate how I’m going to track down and hurt this alpha who dared to step into my mate’s home. My mood is sinister. Being this close to her, but not being with her has me on edge.

My muscles contract slightly at every crack the floor makes as it adjusts to the night time temperature. Nova and Rebel keep the house colder than I thought they would. I get a chill and pull the blanket up farther to cover my bare chest.

I’d rid myself of my shirt for my omega to sleep in. I expected it to be hot. Omega’s like comfort, and I figured a warm space would be second nature.

The scents in this house are intoxicating. One in a very delicious way, a second one not horrible but not good, either, and the third one is of my teammate.

If it were any other alpha, I’m sure my hackles would be up, but it’s Gunnar. I’ve known him for years. You bond with your teammates those first few months after joining a team, doing stupid shit. There are certain things I’m definitely not proud of, sure. Everyone’s heard about the initiation stories and the toxic hockey culture. Hell, there’s been books written all about it. And sure, there are certain guys out there I wouldn’t leave my grandmother with, but not everyone is like that, even if we get labeled as such.

I may be labeled as psycho by some, and I may be a bastard to others, but everything I’ve ever done has been consensual. No, it hasn’t. The sadistic little voice in my head cackles like a hyena. Your mate didn’t have a choice.

The low hum of the fridge greets my ears, and ice in the ice maker drops, making a loud clanking sound. I can even hear the distinct whirl of the fan above me in the living room. The TV is turned on but muted. Hockey replays are on, and I’ve been focused on every small detail of the other team until now.

The brightness of the screen paints shadows that dance across the walls in complete contrast to the darkness surrounding it.

A whimpering noise catches my attention. A moan. The sweet sound of it pings against my ears. A short time later, I catch the scent of her perfume; that apple pie scent has me salivating at the mere thought. I’ve become Pavlov’s dog, just waiting for my next taste.

Now I’m moving… I can’t help it. Her moan is like a siren call… one I just can’t ignore, nor do I want to. I’ve been sitting here restraining myself all damn night, and my self control is already on the edge of a shatter, now it’s just willingly tipped over the cliff.

I’m not sure what I expect when I open the door, but this is clearly not it. She’s still asleep but that naughty little hand has gone astray again. There’s rustling and movement in her underwear, and it seems like she’s playing with that sweet little clit I’m dying to wrap my lips around.

Another shot of her perfume filtrates the air around me, pulling a low growl from my lips. She stirs lightly at the sound but doesn’t wake up. Closing my eyes, I focus on her scent and calming down because what I really want to do right now is pull down those sheets, straddle her, and knot the hell out of her while filling that pretty little cunt with my cum.

I have to tamper down that urge. It’s all consuming. I wonder if this is how serial killers feel when they plot murder. Do they think, ‘oh, I shouldn’t do this, its a bad idea’ or does it become a “fuck it” type of situation where they do it anyhow? Obviously, it has to be, right?

Walking to the opposite side of her bed, I pull down the covers and slide under, scooting behind her so I can feel her body pressed to mine. She’s rolled onto her side at this point, but she still has her hand down those silky panties.

I run my fingertips along the outside of her arm, tracking how sensitive she is to touch right now. My fingertips dip in and out, following the lines and curves of her tattoos. It’s too dark to see them clearly, but I’ve memorized them already.

A fire burns inside me with the ache to touch her so fucking badly, and I’m not sure if I care that she may wake up. Let her watch as I bring heaven and hell crashing down on her doorstep. I want to watch her writhe on the bed as I wring every last bit of desire from the place my cock will soon call home.

I’m not sure what wakes her up. If it’s me getting into bed, or maybe it’s the sensation of my fingertips running up and down her arm. Whatever the exact cause, it’s unclear.

Her eyes open, and then blink a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness surrounding us. A sliver of moonlight peers through the window curtains and highlights the creamy skin of her face. I resist the urge to reach up and touch her cheek just to feel how smooth it is against my fingers.

Her mouth opens as if she’s about to protest, and I lift a finger over her lips to silence her. A frown furrows her brows, and she narrows her eyes. She’s still a little miffed at me, so be it.

I run my thumb against her bottom lip and lean in. “Do I need to tape this pretty little mouth shut?” She thrusts her head to the left away from me, but I grab her by the jaw and pull her back, making her look into my eyes. Hers widen at the dominant pheromones I’m sending out, and she shakes her head vehemently. “Good. I want you to beg me for this. For me to allow you to come. Or maybe I’ll just edge you for a while?”

Closing my own eyes, I hum… “Yes, I can picture it now.” My cock hardens within my pants, and I know instantly that she can tell because I’m still pressed up against her body. Moving my hand away from her face, I anticipate a scream, knowing her best friend and Gunnar would come running. “Are you going to be quiet?”

She bites her lips before dipping her head in submission. “Good girl.” She squirms under the words I’ve spoken. I know that women like to be praised. It’s a weird kink. I’ve read about it countless times in those damn romance novels they write these days. I have to say, some of the shit people seem to like are typically the most taboo things, too.

The things I read about mostly are the primal play scenes.

The chasing.

The fucking that normally folllows. It makes me wonder if that’s how Rebel came up with the idea, not that I’m complaining in the least. It was visually arousing and so damn heated. I felt half-feral, and maybe that’s why I bit her. My subconscious knew something before I finally figured it out.

Hopping up from the bed, I trot over and snag the object I left in her desk the last time I was here. Lifting up the silver cuffs, I allow them to freely dangle from my fingertips and watch her eyes widen as she figures out what’s about to happen between us. Dilated pupils look between me and the cuffs. “But… you said…” she whispers.

“Uh, uh, uh. No talking, remember?” I climb onto the bed with her again. “Arms.” The alpha bark comes through in my tone. She’s fighting the omega instincts to obey. She squirms. “Arms,” I repeat.

She lifts them towards me, but her body language tells me she’s unwilling to participate. I know the truth, though. Once I start getting aggressive and dirty with her, she’ll give in. I know her fantasies after all.

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