Page 115 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
She cries out, shuddering just as my knot swells, stretching her even more, and she groans louder, eyes wide as the full pressure locks me inside her.
The sensation is almost too much, her gripping me like her body is trying to keep me forever. I’m as deep as I can go, and the knot locks tight. Her scream ofpleasure turns into a long, broken moan as she comes, the seventh orgasm ripping through her in waves.
I lean over her, spilling into her in hard, relentless pulses. My cock throbs inside her, pumping her full. I hold her through every shudder, every aftershock, keeping her pinned against me like she might somehow slip away if I let go.
“Mine,” I growl against her damp skin, my lips brushing the frantic beat of her pulse. “My Omega. My mate.”
Her whole body tightens at the words, a sob tearing from her throat as she arches into me, desperate for even closer contact despite the knot holding us flush together. “Yours,” she gasps, the word breaking on a moan. “Always yours.”
I reach up, fingers working at the knot in the rope until it loosens. Her wrists come free, and I take them gently, bringing each one to my mouth. I kiss along the tender skin where the bindings held her, lingering there like I can erase every mark.
She just watches me like she’s completely smitten, and I fucking love her staring at me that way.
She makes a soft sound when I roll onto my side, taking her with me and maneuvering her so her leg isn’t trapped beneath me. She hooks the other leg over my hip, pulling me in closer. We’re still locked, my knot buried deep, keeping me inside her, and the position presses her breasts flush against my chest, skin to skin, both ofus breathing hard.
My knot is… unlike anything else. It’s more than just the physical stretch. It’s the way it binds her to me, the way her body clenches and pulses around it, milking every drop I give her. I can feel the faint tug every time her hips shift, the deep, slow throb of her muscles around me. It’s primal. Claiming. Like the universe carved us to fit only this way.
Her forehead rests against mine, her lips parting as she drags in shaky breaths. I study every flicker of sensation on her face, the pleasure still washing through her in waves, the warmth spreading between us from where we’re touching. My hand curves around her jaw, my thumb brushing over her lower lip before I kiss her, unhurried.
“You feel it, don’t you?” I murmur against her mouth, smirking. “The way you can’t get away from me even if you tried.”
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils wide. “Yes. Oh, yes. I like it like this.”
I smile, but it’s sharp, possessive. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
Her breathing starts to slow, lashes fluttering as exhaustion tugs at her. I smooth a damp strand of hair from her cheek, keeping my arm locked tightly around her waist.
“Rest,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
Her lips curve in a drowsy, wicked little smile. “I still can’t believe you made me come seven times. I feel like an Olympic champion.”
A low laugh rumbles in my chest. “Gold medal performance, sweetheart. You’re getting a trophy. Hell, I’ll build you a damn podium.”
She lets out a soft snort before her head finds its place on my outstretched arm, her body molding perfectly to mine despite the heat still simmering between us.
I hold her there, feeling her breathing deepen. And as she drifts, I realize I’ve never known this kind of peace, never known the kind of bone-deep happiness that comes from having an Omega in my arms, trusting me enough to fall asleep right here, still connected.
And I know, without a single doubt, I’m never letting her go.
21
SOPHIA
Iwake up in a large bed alone, and for a moment, I can’t remember where I am. Then it all crashes back—the river, the drowning, Ridge pulling me out, his confession, and then… oh God. Everything that happened after.
My body feels like it’s been thoroughly claimed. The ache between my thighs is deep and satisfying, a reminder that Ridge made me come seven times. Seven. Like he was proving some kind of point about rodeo stamina. My inner muscles clench at the memory, and I can still feel the phantom stretch of him inside me.
But underneath the satisfaction, a different kind of heat stirs, low in my belly. Not arousal, though that’s there too, but something more primal. More urgent than it should be for pre-heat.
“No,” I whisper to the empty room, pressing my hand to my stomach. “This can’t be happening.”
My heat isn’t due for weeks. I calculated it carefully before coming here, made sure I’d have time to figure things out before dealing with that particular complication. But my body doesn’t seem to care about my calendar.
I stretch, trying to ignore the growing warmth, and roll onto Ridge’s pillow. His scent of cedar wood, cinnamon bark, and fresh mountain air wraps around me like a blanket. For a moment, it soothes the building fire in my veins, makes everything feel safe and right.
But I need to get up. Need to figure out what to do.
I shift to swing my legs out of bed, expecting to feel the sticky reminder of our activities. I glance down at the sheets, preparing to see evidence of what we did, but there’s only a small spot where we were joined. Confused, I reach between my thighs and don’t find myself in a mess.
