Page 29 of Knot Just for Show

“Delicious,” I coo, softening under his touch—fingers drifting gently over the nape of my neck, creeping up into the dark mass of my curls.

“Good, good,” Mavren purrs, his hands leaving my neck to grip the back of my chair, lowering himself onto his knees just outside my view.

“Now it’s time for my dessert,” he rumbles, turning my chair to face him—the details of his features just beyond my reach as he disappears beneath the voluminous skirts of my silk georgette gown—his lips and tongue still somehow familiar, even though they feel thousands of miles from our kiss—yet only steps away from ecstasy.

His name is on my lips, a gasping call of need, but before the words can fly free of my mouth—the floor gives way and I begin to fall.

Not the free fall of terror, or the spiraling descent into despair or madness—but the gentle almost floating of dreamed flight; my body, light and soft as a feather.

I land amidst a tumble of pillows and thick quilted blankets; a warm fire flickering in a huge white stone fireplace—George Shearing playing on a nearby turntable.

Pleasure ripples through me—gently lapping at the edges of my consciousness like warm bathwater; a stack of Jazz records fanned out around me and my impromptu nest of pillows and blankets on the floor, as Ash laves hungrily at my slick pussy—my swollen clit caught in the gentle suction of his lips.

Though I can’t tell how long his hair is—or what color; I reach down and run my fingers through it—his head eagerly bobbing between my powerful thighs as he does his best to consume me—body and soul.

The blankets and pillows drop away, and once more I’m falling—weightless; like milk diffusing into coffee as I slip yet another layer deeper into the dream.

I land, a hard polished wood floor against my back—under the soft round of my bare ass as Teddy hovers above me—his face shadowed in near complete darkness; the silver of starlight giving me only the slightest suggestion of his sculpted, muscular frame as he relentlessly pounds me on the floor—his arms threaded through mine—his palms cupping the crown of my head so it doesn’t slam against the unyielding ground as he fucks me—his knot disappearing deep inside.

I cry out—my orgasm shaking me until I threaten to shatter apart into a thousand pieces—never to be collected and reassembled again.

Then all at once, I’m awake and alone in my bed on the Build-A-Pack-blind set—my night shorts plastered to me with slick; the small alarm clock softly playing weather station jazz on my temporary nightstand.

I don’t know if it was anticipation of the heat conversations I’m going to have with my dates today—or just my omega biologyfinally awakening more fully—but I have never experienced anything like that before.

Sex dreams about an at-the-time-boyfriend or a celebrity crush are one thing. I’ve had those before. A silly, fun little romp that you wake up from with a grin and a little boost to your libido. I don’t even know what any of these guys look like—much less what their designations are—their scents.

Still, it felt so intense—so real.

It looks like a cold shower is in the cards for me before my dates today!

Chapter Eleven

Ursula

Iwanted to do a little dance of joy when Kimmy handed me my schedule for the day. I am lined up for a series of second dates, starting with Ronan, Ash, and Mavren—followed by Teddy and Lysander. I’m so excited for the dates I almost don’t notice the name at the bottom of the list, Anton.

I blink dumbly and try to remember how I filled out my form yesterday when submitting my ratings and date requests to the production team. I hadn’t filled in anything for Anton. No request to have a date, no preemptive denial of future dates–largely in part because I hadn’t thought our date had gone particularly well or bad. Up until this very moment, I never would have considered that he would have had any remote interest in me.

Maybe they needed everyone to go on a certain number of dates for shooting schedules or B-roll purposes—and they’d simply added him to my list to play for time. Either way, I wasn’t going to detract focus away from preparing for the dates Iwaslooking forward to—or the slightly more spicy conversations I was setting myself up to have later in the day.

With no small amount of anticipation, I freshen up; abandoning my yoga pants and hoodie for a pair of maroon bike shorts and an oversized off the shoulder t-shirt. My hair refreshed from a wash and deep condition—curls out and in full force, though my dates wouldn’t benefit from my comfy-cozy-chic behind our separation walls.

My first date is with Ronan, who greeted me with a sunny:

“Hello Miz Ursula, how are you doing today?” like an old fashioned gentleman might.

“I’m doing quite well, and yourself?” I sing-song, stretching out across the couch, my heart already beginning to beat faster at the prospect of our conversations today and the possibility of exchanging scent cards with my potential matches as early astonight.

“I must admit, I absolutely hate the restrictions on my outdoor time here,” he confesses, ruefully.

“Yeah, it’s much more restrictive than I thought it would be in general, but I guess that kind of comes with the territory of the show,” I concede.

“Right, you gotta make sure that people avoid each other and all theoutside noise—the whole giving up your phone thing etc,” Ronan adds regretfully.

“Other than being cooped up inside and in the bitsy little courtyard, how has this whole experience been treating you so far?” I ask innocently, silently praying that he doesn’t start talking about how he feels about any of the other women he might be interested in here.

“It’s been pretty good. Really strange going from the high rotation of all those dates yesterday back to the total isolation of my little studio,” he laughs weakly. “Probably good for me to be able to get some alone time to recharge the batteries though, so I can’t complain too much,” Ronan admits.

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