Page 85 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

Because he’s the one who makes the control slip, the calculations unravel, the masks shatter.

And I don’t care who’s watching.

The rhythm changes—intensifies.He’s escalating by design, layering stimulation over saturation, engineering pleasure like a system meant to implode. My breath catches. My thighs tremble. Muscles clench involuntarily against the onslaught of sensation, narrowing the entire world into one singular, punishing point of focus.

The tension coils tight.

Relentless. Unsustainable.

Shit. I'm going to?—

I try to hold it.Contain it.Use my training, my layers of internalized behavioral reinforcement, to temper the wildfire catching beneath my skin. But it’s no use. He dismantles it all with fingers that never once hesitate, with strokes that map my anatomy like a schematic studied for years.

He knew what I needed before I remembered I was allowed to need.

The pleasure builds into pressure—into pain—tight and desperate and screaming to be released. It claws at me, a living thing demanding surrender.

And then?—

"Let go," he orders, voice low, commanding,absolute.No doubt. No room for refusal. The kind of order that cuts deeper than restraints or sedation or seduction.

My body obeys before my mind can resist.

The release hits with catastrophic force.

I shatter with a sound I don’t recognize—a gasp, a sob, a plea—and the pleasure doesn’t just ripple through me,it consumes.Every nerve ignites, every breath fractures. I lose all sense of where he ends and I begin.

I’m burning and flying and collapsing all at once—disassembled in real time by the only Alpha who ever bothered to see beyond the designation. Beyond the data.

And in that spiraling, suspended freefall, I feel it.

Connection.

Raw. Ruthless. Real.

And for one impossible moment—between heartbeats, between breaths—I remember what it felt like to bewanted, not processed.

To betouched, not tracked.

To behis.

The permission shatters final resistance despite non-existent tactical foundation or strategic objective—release flowing through activated systems with comprehensive intensity despite control methodology and operational conditioning designed to maintain perfect regulation regardless of stimulation parameters or environmental factors.

My body convulses within his secure hold—not distress or discomfort, but overwhelming pleasure cascading through interconnected systems with devastating efficiency despite tactical training and operational conditioning designed to prevent precisely such vulnerability or unregulated response patterns.

The involuntary muscle contractions create visible evidence of genuine physiological reaction rather than performance parameters or simulated engagement, despite surveillance documentation and institutional monitoring.

The vocalization accompanying physical response emerges without conscious regulation or tactical consideration—genuine sound unconstrained by volume control or content filtering, despite surveillance systems and institutional documentation.

The noise carries no specific verbalization or articulated content—just pure expression of overwhelming sensation beyond linguistic construction or conventional communication despite linguistic capability and verbal functionality remaining technically operational despite compromised regulatory parameters.

He maintains perfect support throughout the uncontrolled response—not simple physical assistance or general stabilization, but comprehensive protection ensuring safety despite vulnerability and compromised function during overwhelming experience.

As physiological intensity subsides through natural progression rather than abrupt disruption or pharmaceutical override, cognitive function reboots with gradual recalibration rather than full restoration.

Mental processes drift—adrift—navigating between fragmented thought and residual pleasure, momentarily suspended in the aftermath of climax that dismantled every protocol drilled into me since designation was weaponized.

The window is small.Vulnerable. Dangerous.A breach in defenses that tactical training taught me to avoid at all costs—where awareness dulls, reflexes lag, and the world contracts into one overwhelming certainty:

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