Page 12 of Knot Happening

twelve

PIETRO

Even years later,the world outside our walls ceased to exist the moment Harlen's hands found my skin.We were a tangle of limbs, a storm of desire that eclipsed everything else.He was a force of nature, his touch igniting a fire within me that only he could quench.

Harlen's mouth was a brand, searing a path down my neck, across my chest, and lower still.His tongue danced along the ridges of my abdomen, each lick and nip sending me deeper into the abyss of pleasure.I writhed beneath him, my body a slave to his touch, my mind lost in a haze of lust.

"Pietro," he growled, the sound vibrating against my flesh.His voice was a dark melody that resonated in my bones, a command that I had no desire to resist.

I surrendered to him completely, my body yielding to his every demand.He flipped me onto my stomach, his grip firm yet gentle.I felt the heat of his body against my back, the hard length of his cock pressing against my ass.A whimper escaped my lips, the sound a mix of anticipation and need.

Harlen entered me in one swift motion, the sensation of being filled so completely causing a moan to escape my throat.My fingers clawed at the sheets, my body arching to meet his thrusts.The world around us faded into nothingness, leaving only the sound of our ragged breathing and the wet slap of skin against skin.

I could feel myself teetering on the edge, my body wound tight with the promise of release.Harlen's hand wrapped around my cock, his movements synchronized with the rhythm of his hips.I was trapped in a maelstrom of pleasure, each stroke of his hand pushing me closer to the brink.

Russian words tumbled from my lips, a stream of incoherent babble that I couldn't hope to control.Harlen's movements became more frenzied at the sound, his thrusts growing deeper, more demanding.He loved it when I lost control, when I became nothing more than a panting, begging mess beneath him.

"Look at the pretty mess you make," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.His words sent a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the power he held over me.

I felt him pull back, his cock slipping from my body.I let out a protest, a wordless plea for him to continue.But Harlen had other plans.He flipped me onto my back, his eyes dark with desire as he gazed down at me.

He stroked himself, his movements deliberate and controlled.I watched, transfixed, as ropes of hot cum spurted from his cock, painting my skin with his essence.The sight of it, the feel of his release against my flesh, was enough to push me over the edge.In a sudden rush of ecstasy, my orgasm tore through me, leaving me breathless and trembling.

Harlen leaned down, his tongue tracing a path through the mess he had made.He lapped at my stomach, cleaning me with slow, deliberate strokes.His mouth found my cock, his tongue swirling around the sensitive head before he took me into his mouth, cleaning me thoroughly.

I could feel myself growing hard again, the sensation of his mouth on me too much to bear.I came a second time, my body shuddering with the force of my release.Harlen swallowed every drop, his eyes never leaving mine.

When he was finished, he pulled away, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips."I told you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper."I love cleaning up messes."

After every encounter, Harlen would take great pleasure in cleaning me up, his tongue tracing the lines of my tattoos with a reverence that bordered on worship.He would lick every trace of our shared pleasure from my skin, forcing orgasm after orgasm from me with his skilled mouth.It was an act of care that spoke volumes of the unspoken connection between us.

Years of cunning and calculated moves had led me to the pinnacle of power within the organization.I wore my new status like a second skin, the stars on my knees a defiant symbol of my refusal to kneel to anyone.The epaulette tattoos adorning my shoulders were a testament to my leadership, a silent proclamation of my authority.

Despite the chaos that often surrounded me, the moments I shared with Harlen were a sanctuary.He was the one constant in my life, a confidant who understood the weight of the crown I wore.Our friends-with-benefits relationship had evolved into something far more complex—a bond forged in respect and the shared knowledge of what it meant to be predators in a world full of prey.

In those moments, I was utterly his, and he was mine.Our relationship was a paradox, a fusion of control and surrender that defied simple categorization.But it worked for us—it was our own private oasis in the midst of the tumultuous world we navigated with practiced ease.

I watched Harlen's retreating form as he left my apartment, the air still thick with the scent of our coupling.My body thrummed with the aftershocks of his possession, each muscle singing with the memory of his touch.I had allowed myself a rare moment of vulnerability with him, and the experience had left me both sated and strangely unsettled.

The cool water of the shower did little to wash away the scent of him that clung to my skin.I closed my eyes, allowing the memory of his touch to wash over me.Each scar, each tattoo on my body seemed to come alive under the phantom caress of his fingers.

Dressed in a fresh suit, I stepped out into the night, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts.The city sprawled before me, its lights a beacon in the darkness.I had clawed my way out of the frost-covered streets of Russia to claim a piece of this concrete jungle, and I would let nothing—not even my growing obsession with Harlen—jeopardize what I had built.

I made my way to the underground fight club that served as one of my many bases of operation.The familiar sounds of grunts and the impact of flesh on flesh greeted me as I descended the stairs.The fighters, a mix of betas and alphas, circled each other in the ring, their eyes alight with the thrill of the fight.

As I watched from the shadows, a young beta caught my eye.He was new, his fear palpable as he danced around his opponent, his movements a graceful ballet of survival.I could smell the anxiety rolling off him in waves, mingling with the sharp tang of his arousal.It was a heady combination that awakened the predator within me.

I approached the ring, my presence commanding the attention of the crowd.The beta's eyes widened as he recognized me, a flicker of fear crossing his face before being replaced by a defiant glare.I admired his spirit—it was a trait I valued above all else.

"What's your name, boy?"I asked, my voice cutting through the din of the fight club.

"Dmitry," he replied, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands.

"Well, Dmitry," I said, leaning against the ropes of the ring, "let's see what you're made of."

I had always found a perverse sort of comfort in the chaos of the fight club.It was a controlled madness, a place where the hierarchy of the outside world didn't matter.Inside these walls, it was all about raw power and the primal instinct to survive.

As the night wore on, the fights became a blur of fists and feet, a visceral dance that resonated with something deep within me.I watched from the shadows, my presence a silent threat that hovered over the crowd.They knew who I was—Pietro Volkov, the alpha who had clawed his way to the top of the Bratva food chain.

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