Page 111 of Knot Happening

His mouth starts a slow journey down my throat, pausing to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to my pulse point. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below my ear, he lingersthere, using his tongue and teeth in ways that make me gasp and arch beneath him.

"Your heart is racing," he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm and intimate. "I can feel how much you want this."

"I can feel how much you want it too," I reply breathlessly, my hands tangling in his hair as he continues his exploration.

He takes his time mapping my throat and shoulders, finding sensitive spots I didn't know existed. When his hands cup my breasts, when his thumbs brush over my nipples with feather-light touches, I moan with the intensity of sensation.

"So responsive," he breathes, watching my face as he continues his gentle torture. "Every touch makes you more beautiful."

His mouth finds my collarbone, and he spends long minutes lavishing attention on the sensitive skin there, alternating between soft kisses and gentle scrapes of his teeth. Every touch is deliberate, purposeful, like he's painting pleasure across my skin.

"You taste like sunshine," he whispers against my throat, and the romantic absurdity of it makes me smile even as my body responds with increasing urgency. "Sweet and warm and absolutely perfect."

His hands continue their exploration, skimming down my sides, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. When he reaches my thighs, he pauses, his fingers drawing intricate patterns on my skin that make me shiver with anticipation.

"Tell me what you want," he says, his voice rough with desire as he looks up at me. "Tell me how to worship you properly."

"Touch me," I breathe, my hands fisting in his hair. "Everywhere, Felix. I need to feel your hands on me."

He complies eagerly, his palms warm and sure as they map every inch of available skin. When he reaches my breast again,he cups it gently, his thumb circling my nipple until I'm arching into his touch with desperate need.

"Like this?" he asks, his voice husky with want.

"Yes," I gasp, my body trembling under his skilled touch. "Just like that."

When he finally takes my nipple into his mouth, when he uses his tongue and teeth to drive me to the edge of madness, I cry out with the intensity of sensation. But it's more than just physical—I can feel something stirring in my mind, the beginning threads of our bond starting to form.

"I can feel you," I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair. "Starting to connect to you."

"Good," he murmurs against my skin, switching his attention to my other breast. "I want you to feel everything I'm feeling. How much I love touching you, how much pleasure it gives me to watch you respond."

He lavishes the same careful attention on my other breast, using his mouth and hands to build my arousal to fever pitch. When I'm writhing beneath him, when my breath is coming in short gasps, he begins his journey lower.

His mouth trails hot, open kisses down my ribs, pausing to explore the sensitive skin just beneath my breasts. His hands continue their gentle exploration, stroking my sides, my hips, the soft skin of my inner thighs.

"So soft," he murmurs against my stomach, his breath warm against my heated skin. "So perfect. I could touch you forever and never get enough."

When he reaches my hipbones, he spends long minutes pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, occasionally using his teeth to scrape gently across my flesh. The sensation sends sparks of electricity straight to my core, and I can feel moisture gathering between my thighs.

His hands stroke up and down my thighs, never quite touching where I need him most, building my anticipation to unbearable levels. "Please," I whisper, my hands tangling in his hair. "Felix, please."

"Please what?" he asks, his voice teasing but gentle. "Tell me what you need, Belle."

"You," I breathe. "I need you to touch me. Taste me. I need more."

"Anything you want," he promises, his hands finally moving to part my thighs. "Everything you need."

Every touch sends sparks of sensation through my already heightened senses, and I can feel our forming bond carrying his emotions—his reverence, his desire, his deep satisfaction at being able to pleasure me this way.

"Felix, please," I gasp when he settles between my thighs, his breath warm against my most sensitive places. "I need..."

"I know what you need," he says, his voice rough with want. "Let me worship you properly, Belle. Let me show you how beautiful you are."

When his mouth finds me, when he begins to pleasure me with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, I think I might die from the intensity of it. This isn't just physical pleasure. It's emotional connection, spiritual bonding, the feeling of being completely cherished and adored.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs against my heated skin, his hands holding my hips steady as I arch beneath him. "Every sound you make, every movement... it's like music.”

He varies his technique, sometimes gentle and teasing, sometimes more insistent, always attentive to my responses. When he finds the rhythm that makes me cry out, he maintains it with the same focused attention he brings to his architectural work.

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