Page 83 of Break Me Knot

The desire I have for her is acute. Nothing like the desperate, guilt-ridden desire I've known before. This is pure, perfect, healing.

Her small hands curl into my hair, pulling me closer, and I go willingly. My tongue traces her bottom lip, asking permission she grants with a soft sigh. The first real taste of her makes my alpha howl with satisfaction. She tastes like surrender and strength, like forgiveness and future.

Adrian and Zane's scents wrap around us, completing rather than intruding. Their presence makes this more. Makes it right. Makes it pack. My hand cups her face, thumb stroking her cheek as I deepen the kiss, pouring everything into it. All the words I can't say, all the gratitude, all the wonder.

I want her in a way I've never wanted anyone, deep, consuming, and absolute. The truth of it shakes me: I didn't even want Lily like this. That was youth, hormones, inexperience. This... how I want Mira…this is eternal.

This is written in my DNA.

I want all of her. Every moment, every breath, every smile. Want to wake up to her scent, fall asleep to her heartbeat. Want to watch her read, take photos, discover joy. Want to protect her, cherish her, worship her. Want to heal her wounds as she heals mine. If that's obsession, I'll gladly embrace it. Even obsession seems too weak a word for this bone-deep need.

My hands roam her body, unable to get enough. Can't touch her enough, can't get close enough. She's exquisite perfection. Small and strong and perfect against me. Her skin burns under my palms, silk-soft and fever-hot.

The kiss deepens, turns molten. My tongue explores her mouth as my hands map her curves through too many clothes. Everything's a barrier, fabric, space, time itself. I want skin on skin, want to taste every inch of her, want to learn every sound she can make.

She arches into my touch, making these small desperate sounds that drive me crazy. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, pulling me closer, closer, but never close enough.

“Sweetness,” I growl against her mouth. “You're everything. Everything I never knew I needed.”

Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling almost to the point of pain, and I growl with approval. Want her to mark me, claim me, leave evidence of her desire on my skin. Want everyone to understand I belong to her as much as she belongs to me.

My teeth throb, venom flooding my mouth with the urge to bond. I want to sink my teeth into her throat, to mark her as mine—as ours—is overwhelming. But I'll wait. I will always wait for her permission. Will never take what isn't freely given, not after everything she's been through.

I’ll beg for her consent if I have to.

This will be her choice. Always.

I pull back just enough to look at her, and fuck,she's beautiful. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, her amber eyes dark with desire. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her throat to where her pulse beats rapidly. Her sugared lilac scent is rich with arousal and trust and something deeper.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispers. “Kiss me, Cole. Touch me.”

The last of my restraint shatters. There's nothing holding me back anymore. Not guilt, not fear, not the ghosts of the past. There's only this moment, this omega, this perfect completion.

“Mine,” I growl, and for the first time, I fully mean it.

My cock is granite-hard, knot already swelling against my zipper. The need to claim, to fill, to bond, is almost unbearable. I pull her against me like it's been years since I last tasted her, not moments. Like every second not kissing her is time wasted.

I kiss her like a dying man finding salvation, like she's air and I'm drowning. Want to taste every inch of her, map her body with my tongue, learn what makes her gasp and moan and beg. My hands roam possessively, desperately, needing to touch everywhere at once.

She responds with little whimpers that go straight to my groin, and fuck, her slick scent fills the air, sweet and heady and perfect. My cock jerks, pre-cum soaking through my shorts when her scent shifts to pure arousal and desire.

For me.

Because of me.

There's no hiding between scent-matched mates. This is her truest reaction, her purest response. The way her sugared lilac and vetiver bloom with want, with need, with acceptance... it's fucking intoxicating. This isn't just physical attraction or biological compatibility. This is soul-deep recognition.

She wants me. Trusts me. Chooses me.

And that's the hottest thing I've ever experienced.

“Sweetness,” I growl against her throat. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

But maybe she does, because her answering moan tells me she feels it, too.

She whimpers, tilting her hips to grind against my cock, and the friction nearly undoes me. The heat of her core, even through our clothes, makes my knot throb painfully.

“Want you, Cole.” Her sugared lilac is thick with desire, with trust, with surrender.

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