Page 60 of Knot So Fast
“You missed the taste of me squirting in your mouth?” I croak.
He laughs, the vibration traveling through my bones.
“That too, Omega.” He kisses me again, this time softer, more like a promise than a dare.
He lets go of my wrists, finally, and I reach up to tangle my hands in his hair.
For a moment we just stay like that, tangled up and panting and not bothering to move, the aftermath thick and humid around us.
Eventually, he looks down at me, eyes half-lidded, voice slow and sated.
“You look like I just murdered you.”
“You might have,” I say, grinning up at him. “But I’ll come back to haunt you. Guaranteed.”
He shakes his head, but his smile is pure sunshine.
“You’re insane.”
“Takes one to know one.”
We kiss again, and it’s easier this time—no sharp edges, no games, just the messy, lovely aftermath of two people who can’t stay away from each other, no matter what the world tries to do to keep them apart.
And for a few long minutes, that’s all that matters.
After.
There’s always an after, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.
The heat lingers in the air, clinging to the surface of the marble, mixing with the smell of fresh basil, scorched bread, and sweat. My limbs are useless, just heavy weights tumbled around his body as he keeps his cheek pressed to the side of my neck, his breath coming in slow, unsteady bursts.
I want to stay like this—boneless and satisfied, the world held at bay by the warmth of his chest and the slow, steady beat of his heart.
But I can feel something else brewing, too.
Not lust this time, but something sharper, something sadder. The way his fingers tremble where they brush my ribs. The way he keeps inhaling at my skin like he’s searching for something that isn’t there. The way, even in the afterglow, there’s still a question mark written in the space between us.
He starts to say something, then stops. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself:the urge to fill a silence, to fix what’s been broken, to say what needs to be said and hope it doesn’t detonate everything.
I beat him to it, voice small.
“It’s not as strong as it used to be, huh.”
He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head, hair tickling my cheek. “I know it should be,” he says, almost to himself. “It’s like… I can’t get enough.”
I want to laugh, but the sound comes out more like a whimper.
“There’s a reason.”
He lifts his head, searching my face.
“Auren, what did you do?”
It stings, the accusation. Not because it’s mean, but because it’s true. I did do something. I let my parents, my doctors, the entire fucked-up world convince me that it was safer not to exist as myself.
That it was better to live on half-power, to keep everything tamped down, neat and clean and manageable.
I look away, staring at the cluster of pendant lights above the island, the way they halo everything in honey.
