Page 148 of Knot So Fast
Let them talk. Let them speculate. Let them wonder what happens when an Omega decides to claim not just her Alphas, but her Beta too.
They're about to find out that some hungers can't be satisfied by just one person, that some thirsts require multiple sources to quench, that some nights are meant to be legendary.
The whipped cream sits on the counter like a promise.
The strawberries glisten like jewels.
And the three of us stand there, balanced on the edge of something that's going to change everything, ready to fall and not caring where we land as long as we fall together.
This is what pack dynamics really look like—not the sanitized version we show the media, but the real, raw, complicated truth of multiple people trying to fit together in ways that shouldn't work but do.
"Well?" I ask, setting down my half-eaten strawberry and licking my lips slowly, deliberately. "Are we going to stand here all night, or are we going to make some memories?"
The answer, when it comes, isn't in words but in movement—both of them stepping forward at once, meeting me in the middle, and suddenly the apartment feels too small to contain what we're about to unleash.
But that's tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, we feast.
SWEET THREESOME
~LUKE~
The funny thing about desire is that it doesn’t hit you all at once. Sometimes it’s a slow, deliberate build, a hunger that creeps in through a crack in your defenses and fills you up by degrees. Other times, it’s a freight train—lights on, horn blaring, barreling down the tracks to flatten you flat as a dime.
Tonight? I don’t even hear the train coming until it’s already torn straight through me, leaving a sweet wreck behind.
Auren drops to her knees in front of me, nothing but moonlight and mischief. The last time I saw her like this, it was in some fever dream I was too embarrassed to admit even to myself. The memory now is so sharp and present that it makes my skin prickle. She’s still flushed from champagne and dancing, her hair a mess of tangled silk, and her chest and neck covered in kisses and bites I helped contribute to. Each one feels like a small flag planted in enemy territory—a victory, a warning, a promise.
The bottle of chocolate syrup she filched from the fridge is in her left hand. With her right, she’s already tracing the vein along the underside of my cock, not even a preamble, juststraight to the main event. It’s cold, the syrup, but her hands are warm enough that the contrast makes me shudder. I want to say something witty, but my brain has already powered down in favor of direct sensory input.
“Jesus, Auren,” I manage, and it comes out strangled.
She flashes a smile that’s pure Omega mischief, then leans in, tongue flicking out to catch a drip just as it starts to travel south. The tip of her tongue is hot and agile and completely unfair.
Kieran’s sitting on the kitchen island behind us, wine glass in hand, looking like a black cat who just realized the canary’s cage is open. He watches with an intensity that should be illegal, gaze locked on where Auren’s mouth is working its slow, unhurried way along my length. My knees actually wobble, and if there’s a less dignified way to stand there with your cock out, I haven’t discovered it yet.
She wraps her lips around the tip, sucking with enough pressure to make me grunt. I lean back against the counter, hands gripping the edge so hard the marble might leave a dent in my palms.
“That’s not fair,” I say, because I have to say something, but it’s already too late for fair.
“Life isn’t fair, sugar,” she purrs, then goes right back to work.
Auren’s not shy. She’s not gentle, either—at least, not in the way most people would expect. She’s got a way of taking what she wants and making you grateful for the privilege. Her lips slide down my shaft, tongue swirling to catch every last drop of chocolate, and when she pulls back, there’s a smear of it on her mouth that she licks away with obscene thoroughness.
I make a sound that’s not quite a laugh and not quite a sob. “You’re a menace.”
She winks. “You love it.”
And then, out of nowhere, Kieran’s suddenly there, right in front of me. He sets down the wine glass, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s about to say grace at a dinner party, and tilts my chin up until we’re nose to nose. His eyes are blown dark, nearly black, but there’s a glint in them—something hungry and reckless and beautiful.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low, and it almost undoes me.
“Yeah,” I say, and it’s not even a question. “Yeah, fuck, yeah.”
He kisses me with a kind of violence I never expected. All teeth and tongue, the taste of wine and old longing, years of imagining this exact moment crashing in at once. He crowds me up against the counter, hands braced on either side of my jaw, holding me there like I might float away otherwise.
Auren keeps sucking, slow and deep, and it’s almost too much. She’s got this rhythm—she always has, on the track, in life, everywhere—that makes everyone around her want to keep pace. But with Kieran in my mouth, in my blood, on my tongue, I feel like I’m about to short-circuit.
