Page 7 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

He cursed low, voice like gravel and sin, and then he was yanking my dress over my head, his hands rough and reverent all at once. He didn’t just look at me—he devoured me with his eyes, every inch like it was a gift he hadn’t expected but sure as hell wasn’t giving back.

Then he did something insane.

He grabbed me by the hips, flipped me onto my stomach, and pulled me back against him like he couldn’t wait another second. I gasped, the position bold, raw, filthy—and fuck if it didn’t make heat explode between my legs.

“Oh my gods,” I breathed, fists curling into the sheets.

“You feel that?” he growled, grinding against me, his cock thick and hot along my folds. “So wet for me already. You’re perfect, Ada. So fucking perfect.”

His praise hit me like a strike to the spine—pleasure curling hot and low. I was slick, throbbing, aching to be filled.

Every word he said just pushed me further under, like I was drowning in the heat of him.

“You take it so well,” he murmured as he pushed into me, slow and deliberate. “Like you were made for me.”

I cried out, half a moan, half a curse. He filled me completely, stretched me open and hit deep, and the sounds he made—low, possessive, lost—made it even harder to breathe.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, rocking into me with a rhythm that had my toes curling. “So tight. So wet. I could stay inside you all fucking night.”

Every thrust, every filthy compliment made my body melt and tense all at once. I shouldn’t have liked this so much—shouldn’t have wanted him to say more, to keep telling me how good I felt, how good I was—but gods, I did.

“Sebastian,” I gasped, legs shaking. “Don’t stop.”

He grinned against my shoulder, breath hot against my skin. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

And then he gave me exactly what I begged for.

His rhythm turned punishing, each thrust deeper, rougher, perfectly paced between pleasure and the kind of pressure that made my eyes roll back. His grip on my hips tightened, like he was barely holding himself together.

“That’s it,” he growled into my ear, voice wrecked. “So fucking good for me. God, youlovethis, don’t you?”

I couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe.

“You love being used like this,” he said, his voice dark silk. “All wet, trembling, desperate to be fucked. You love knowing Ican’t get enough of you.”

My body clenched hard around him, sharp and immediate, the words hitting somewhere deep and dirty inside me.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say this perfect pussy’s mine tonight.”

“Yours,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Fuck, Sebastian—yours.”

That was it. The snap.

Pleasure surged through me like lightning, raw and blinding, and I shattered around him, body pulsing in sharp, relentless waves. My cry was half his name, half something feral.

He cursed, low and violent, and slammed into me once, twice, before burying himself deep with a groan that felt like it came from his soul. His body tensed against mine, every muscle taut, before he spilled into me with a ragged breath and a sharp, “Fuck, Ada.”

We stayed like that for a moment—bodies still locked, his chest pressed against my back, both of us breathing hard like the air had just been knocked from our lungs.

Eventually, he slid out of me gently and rolled us onto the sheets, pulling me against his chest. His skin was hot, his heart thudding against my cheek.

He didn’t speak. Just ran his fingers slowly down my spine, over and over, like he wasn’t ready to let go either.

And gods help me, I didn’t want him to.

For a woman who built her rules around detachment, I should’ve hated how good it felt to be tangled up with him like this. Skin to skin. Quiet and warm and satisfied.

But as I lay there, curled into his body, the high still sparking in my blood, a quiet thought crept in.

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