Page 66 of Shaken Knot Stirred

“More,” she pleaded.

I curled my thumb in and watched her face. Rotating my list slightly, my knuckles grazed against her inner lips. She bent her knee, widening herself for me, opening like a book. I paused when my fist met resistance, but the purring deepened with little mewing moans. I increased the pressure with small twisting motions until she thrashed under me.

She hiked her knee up higher, placing her foot on the bed. She rocked her hips ever so slightly, coaxing my fist forward. Her eyes fluttered shut and I felt her calm and take me all the way into her. Her walls clenched around me, pulsing, feeding me back the rhythm of her orgasm. I pumped my fist open and closed. She arched off the bed, struck by lightning.

Her fingers traced down her body to encircle my wrist as I pulsed deep inside her. I moaned and collapsed into her, shuddering as I came again, our moans syncing but getting lost around our tongues.

I opened my fist and slowly withdrew. She arched her back again, like I was pulling an orgasm right out of her core as I slipped from her.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled my body alongside hers. Now I could feel all her little shudders from the outside rather than the inside. She quieted, and both our heartbeats slowed together. I kissed her lips gently as an after shock sizzled through her.

“They weren’t lying about scent match sex,” Moxie said dreamily.

My smile stalled on my lips.

“Scent match?”

“Fuck,” Moxie cursed, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Scent match?”

That couldn’t possibly mean what I thought it meant? A chill took me, and I sat up, pulling a sheet over Moxie.

“Lana, listen…”

“Are you…” I covered my mouth in shock. “Are you my scent match?”

She didn’t speak. But I saw the answer in her face. No, I felt the answer. I felt it because we were scent matches. The purest joy that I had ever known flooded through me and was immediately ripped to shreds by terror.

“You have to go,” I whispered, horror making my voice shake.

“Lana, please,” she begged.

Beg.

Oh god. Beg.

I scrambled off the bed, tears stinging my eyes and blinding me. I crashed into my closet, pulling down my old coat and fumbling with my overnight suitcase. Sobbing, I struggled with the zipper and ripped it open. I tore the pocket getting that stack of cash out. I overturned a shoebox and dumped the other neatly wrapped packs of bills into the belly of the case. The stiletto knee-high boots were next. Necklaces and watches tumbled out of it in a rain of stolen goods.

“Oh god, it’s not enough,” I sobbed.

“Lana,” Moxie grabbed my hands to still them, but they were covered in her slick and I slipped away.

I reached for another suitcase and blindly ripped clothes off hangers, stopping to stuff them in.

“Lana,” she got me by the shoulders this time and shook me slightly.

“Moxie. You have to go.”

She reached for my hand again, and kissed the back of it. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It would not be okay. If Moxie was my scent match, she was Beg’s scent match. And Beg would ruin her.

“Beg,” his name alone dirtied the air around us.

She nodded. She knew what I was feeling. She could see it in my aura. She could feel it because we were scent matches.

“Does Nico know?”

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