Page 83 of Knot Just A Fan

My breath is labored. My fingers claws, digging into the feather-stuffed cushions. My back is arching and my breasts begging to be touched.Just once. Even if you hate it, just once.

“On what, your conscience? Briella, that’s ridiculous.” He reaches a hand to my forehead more tenderly than I anticipated. A crease forms between his brow. He looks me up and down, as if looking for an off switch, or a way out. Then he nods quickly.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything. To either of us. But I’ll make you feel good, Briella.”

His tone is emotionless, but strained. He rocks back on his heels, strips his jacket off, and from the inside pocket, he pulls a pill bottle that rattles. He looks at it. Then his brows narrow in an enraged, exasperated expression.

He looks at me. Then throws it like a baseball against the far wall. It shattered and small white pills fly in every direction.

“Don’t—if it’s making you angry—don’t,” I plead. I dip a hand down to my panties and reach inside, but he pulls my hand away, slides my panties down, and tosses them aside in one smooth motion. And then, he pulls off his shirt, undoes his jeans, and in seconds, a naked Ronan O’Sullivan is standing beside me, and oh my God, it is a gift I never knew I wanted.

His erection points at me on the sofa like a beautiful sculpture, like a Renaissance work of art. His abs are stunning. His thighs more muscular than his loose jeans would ever have you believe. I reach a hand out and try to sit up, and he presses me down gently, climbing on top of me and spreading open my lower lips with one hand.

I moan before he even starts to guide his length inside me, slipping into my channel and pressing against me, just staying there, filling me. His chest presses against my breasts and his mouth covers mine, tongue darting before he licks my jaw down to my ear, where he whispers, “I’ve wanted this for a long fucking time, Briella Phillips. To be inside you. And now you know.”

I gasp as he rocks his hips, oh-so-slowly forward. It’s agony.

I want him deeper, deeper than anyone’s ever been. His sculpted body over me, his gorgeous cock rising inside me.

“How hard do you like it?” he purrs.

“Hard. Very, very hard,” I gasp. I don’t usually. But I need it. Like a drug. Like air.

He slams into me with gusto. The rocking increases until the sofa beneath us is sliding back and forth on the hard floor. Again and again he thrusts into me, wrenching me open, making space for what I hope is to come.

But before this, he leans his head down one hand encircling my left breast. My right breast disappears in his mouth. His teeth gently bite down like he’s crossed an ocean for this one action. And then, with my puckered skin in his mouth, he murmurs around it, “Will you take my knot, my sweet Omega?”

His Omega.

Is this just sex talk? I swallow hard, the pain in my abdomen subdued for now. The only thing I feel is his enormous cock inside me, and his knot blooming at its base, slamming up against my crease with each pump.

All I can manage is a nod.

“Is that a yes, princess?”

Princess? Fuck. I nod again. I wrap my hands around his tight ass and pull him into me, squeezing his flesh and kneading it. “Yes,” I rasp. “I want your knot inside me. Fill me up, Ronan O’Sullivan.”

He smiles down at me for the first time. The first time he’s smiled at me since Echo returned from America. And his smile is beautiful. His teeth are so imperfectly perfect. His dirty blonde hair, grown long since he last lived in England, tied up in that knot, a few stray strands framing his beautiful jaw.

How have I never seen this stunning man? Really seen him?

“I see you now,” I whisper, but I don’t know if it’s even loud enough to be heard. I feel so weak, and yet so ready.

“Here it comes, princess. I won’t hurt you. Ever again.”

I swallow a lump at that phrase.

“Just relax.”

I nod and lean my head back into the sofa arm as he plants both hands firmly on either side of me. He leans down to nip mypeaked breast one more time with his wet lips, then with a grunt, he slides out of my seam and then rams back in. The knot doesn’t fit at first, so he reaches down with one hand, leaning his weight to the side, slipping two fingers inside me alongside his cock, pulling me open more as he works the knot in.

“There, almost there,” he coos. “You’re doing so beautifully. Take my knot, Briella. Take it inside.”

I stretch my legs wider to admit every last inch of him. With a scream, I throw my head back again, my eyes burning with dripping sweat, but nothing like the ache of my core gripping Ronan’s enormous knot. It locks in, my muscles inside clamping down, and I let out of shriek of exhaustion, delight, and, I think, utter contentment.

Ronan’s seed bursts into me, flooding me with a delicious warm. I shudder with my own coursing orgasm—but also at the realization that he’scrying.

“I want your knot in everywhere it can go, Ronan.” What else can I say? I want him to feel loved. As much as he’s clearly trying to fight it. As much as he says he wants to protect and serve me and carry me through this heat. I want to help him, too.

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