Page 85 of Hot Knot Summer
I close my eyes, not wanting to see the truth in his gaze.
“Sometimes being around compatible Alphas can trigger a heat,” he explains gently. “Especially when...” He trails off, seemingly reconsidering his words.
“When what?” I press.
He hesitates, then says, “When there’s a potential mate nearby.”
The wordmatesends another rush of heat through me, my body responding instinctively to the concept.
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, with less conviction than I’d like. “I’ve known you guys for less than a week.”
“The body knows what it wants,” River says simply. “And right now, yours seems to want me pretty badly.”
I can’t argue with that, not when I’m practically writhing against him, desperate for more contact. “This is insane,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.
“Completely,” he agrees cheerfully. “But here you are, in my bed, grinding that perfect little ass against me like you’re trying to start a fire.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “Since when are you a philosopher?”
“I have hidden depths,” he retorts, nipping my earlobe. “Speaking of which... what other secrets are you keeping from me?”
The question is playful. His hand has resumed its maddening path along my side, up and down, each pass bringing him closer to where I’m aching for his touch.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease, even as I arch into his touch.
“I would, actually,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Tell me what turns you on. Just so a man knows how to bring you ultimate pleasure.”
The request sends a thrill through me, both the words themselves and the power they give me. But I’m not ready to surrender all my secrets just yet.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” I challenge,reaching back to slide my fingers into his hair. “I’m right here.”
“Mmm, playing hard to get even when you’re practically melting for me?” His hand slides to my bare thigh. “I like a challenge.”
His touch moves higher, skimming the edge of my sleep shorts, deliberately avoiding where I need him most. The teasing is exquisite torture, my body coiling tighter with each brush of his fingers.
“River,” I whimper, unable to keep the need from my voice.
“Yes, sugar cube?” He sounds far too composed, too in control, while I’m falling apart.
“Touch me,” I plead, past pride now. “Please.”
His lips brush the edge of my ear. “Here?” His hand slides up to just below my breast. “Or maybe here?” Down to the outside of my thigh.
I groan in frustration, grabbing his wrist and trying to guide his hand where I need it between my thighs. He resists easily, chuckling at my impatience.
“Not so fast,” he murmurs. “First, I want to know what my Omega likes. What fantasies keep you up at night? What makes you bite that pretty lower lip when you think no one’s watching?”
The questions make me squirm, both from embarrassment and arousal. “Why are you teasing me?”
“Because you’re magnificent when you’re desperate,” he admits, the honesty in his words surprising me. “And because when I finally give you what you need, it’ll be that much better forthe waiting.”
His logic is infuriating and arousing in equal measure. “Fine,” I huff. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” he says simply. “But let’s start with how you like to be touched. Soft and slow? Hard and fast? Do you like to be in control, or do you prefer to surrender?”
The questioning makes me blush, but the heat in my veins pushes me past shyness. “It depends on my mood,” I hedge.
“And what mood are you in right now?” His hand has resumed its maddening journey up and down my side, each pass bringing him closer to my breast.
