Page 123 of Knot Just for Show

Tears of joy spill from Ursula’s glittering citrine eyes, her hands clasped tightly to the mic stand.

“Of course,” she sniffles before shaking it off—her posture lengthening and her features schooling themselves into the smouldering mask of the torch singer.

“Ash honey, gimme Fever; in the neighborhood of C,” Ursula calls back to Ash, who immediately begins his accompaniment.

“Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care—when you put your arms around me, I get a fever that’s too hard to bear—you give me fever,” Ursula begins to croon—her voice warm and rich.

“Gentlemen, I think we’ve unintentionally opened a gold mine,” Lysander murmurs under his breath—raising his cocktail to Mavren, Ronan, and I with a debonair wink.

After a small set of Jazz standards, everyone gives Ash and Ursula a standing ovation.

“Bravo—encore!” Ronan shouts from his place beside me, clapping his hands furiously together.

Ursula looks down at us, a hunger barely leashed just beneath the surface of her joy.

“What is it, Princess—you’ve got that look about you,” I tease, walking to the apron of the stage and propping my elbows in the space between two foot lights—looking up at her.

“I want to bond,” Ursula says flatly.

Mavren blinks, taken aback.

“Bond? You mean—tonight?” He asks, noticeably flustered.

“I mean—right here—right now,” she purrs, her fingers already hard at work pulling at the zipper of her velvet dress—the shimmering soft garment falling to the floor—revealing a black lace bra with matching lace split gusset panties and garter belt, her sheer black thigh highs clipped in place as slick runs down the insides of her legs.

Despite the fact that I’m wearing what amounts to a tuxedo without the tie—I vault the edge of the stage easily—my need to be inside her, to bite her overpowering.

My packmates don’t need further instruction—the rest of them opting for more reasonable ways onto the stage—though they rush all the same.

Even though I’m the first one to Ursula—touching her, kissing her; it’s incumbent upon me as the designated pack lead—to guide my packmates to their bonds. To be pack lead, is to be patient, to look out for the needs of your pack—to put pack first.

I guide Ronan toward Ursula—his hands already scrambling to undo his belt, his hard cock and knot hardly inconspicuous straining against his dress slacks.

Ronan lays kisses from Ursula’s shoulder all the way to her ear—his hard cock against the cleft of her ass as she leans across the top of the closed baby grand piano—my hands still holding hers as I face them—Ronan steadying himself to enter her from behind.

Ursula lets out a low moan as Ronan sinks inside her up to the knot—his hands on her breasts, his face buried in her hair.

As Ursula’s legs begin to wobble—Ash and Mavren step in, each bracketing the copulating couple—Ursula grounding herself more firmly by taking hold of each of their hard cocks; Mavren’s knot fully round and ripe—Ash’s valiant erection bobbing in Ursula’s capable fist.

A surprised moan escapes me as Lysander slips in behind me—his hands reaching around to unbutton my pants—to free my own throbbing cock, his nimble hands already working my swollen knot.

Ronan’s strokes become deeper, more seeking—more desperate.

“Ronan, are you ready?” I growl, my eyes fixed on his.

Ursula moans as his knot presses against her—seeking entrance.

“Yes,” he grunts—offering up his right wrist to me.

“Are you sure?” I ask him—pausing as I see how close I will be to the long ink-saturated line of scar tissue that runs from the base of his palm to the middle of his forearm.

“God yes,” he grunts—thrusting into Ursula hard and deep as his knot will let him.

I take his wrist in my mouth, and bite down—my teeth making a broken ring that circles his pulse point.

Ronan let’s out a guttural sound between a moan and a growl before taking his own hand back from me—his voice quavering as he asks Ursula,

“Are you ready, sugar?” His hips stutter and Ursula moans a loud

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