Page 87 of Knot Your Karma
My mouth finds the sensitive skin at the base of her spine, and the taste of her makes my cock twitch. She arches beneath me, her scent warming to those notes that mean desperate omega need, and I realize I’m grinning against her skin.
“Reed,” she gasps when my tongue traces patterns that make her hips rock back toward me. “Please?—”
“Please what?” I ask, mouth working lower. “Tell me exactly what you want. I’ve got all morning and very detailed plans.”
“Want you to take your time,” she breathes, voice shaking with need. “Want to feel how different you are.”
“Oh, I’m going to show you,” I promise, hands spreading her wider so I can taste her properly.
When my mouth finds her center from behind, the access is incredible. I can work her with my tongue while my hands provide gentle guidance, can build her arousal layer by careful layer while watching every reaction.
“God, Reed,” she cries out, hips moving against my mouth. “That’s—oh, that feels?—”
“Like someone who’s been taking notes?” I ask between focused licks that make her sob my name. “Because I have been. About rhythm, pressure, exactly what makes you make those sexy little sounds.”
I work her slowly, carefully. When she comes hard against my mouth, I don’t stop. I keep nipping and licking until she’s bucking wildly against my mouth and her whole body trembles.
“One more,” I encourage.
“Reed,” she gasps, already building toward another peak under my relentless attention. “Can’t—too much?—”
“You can absolutely take it,” I assure her, adding fingers that curl exactly right while my tongue works her clit. “I know exactly how much you can handle, and it’s more than you think.”
The second orgasm hits her harder, back arching as she cries out my name. But I’m nowhere near finished—I work her through it, then immediately start building toward a third while she shakes and pleads beneath me. Incoherent words babbling from her mouth.
“God, you taste incredible,” I breathe against her, and when she makes that broken sound that means she’s getting close, I double down on exactly what’s making her fall apart.
By the time I let her come down from the third orgasm, she’s trembling and desperate, vanilla so sharp it makes theair thick with arousal, and I’m practically vibrating with the need to be inside her.
“Please,” she finally gasps, looking back at me with wild eyes. “Need you inside me, need to feel you?—”
“Perfect,” I breathe, positioning myself behind her, hands trembling slightly as I line up with her entrance.
When I push inside her, the sensation is overwhelming—she’s slick and swollen from multiple orgasms, hypersensitive in ways that make her cry out at the first thrust, and I have to pause to keep from embarrassing myself immediately.
“Fuck,” I groan, hands gripping her hips as I sink deep. “You feel so tight, so warm, so perfect.”
“Yes,” she gasps, pushing back against me. “Feels so intense, like every nerve is perfectly tuned?—”
“Christ,” I breathe, pulling out slowly before sinking back in, and the sensation makes me see stars. “This is going to be over way too fast if you keep doing that thing with your?—”
I find my rhythm—steady, deliberate, nothing like the urgent claiming I watched last night. This is mine, this approach I’ve been thinking about for weeks, and when I hit that angle that makes her cry out, I know I’ve found exactly what I was looking for.
“Right there,” she gasps, and I adjust slightly, one hand moving to her clit while the other guides her hips. “Reed, that’s—oh god?—”
“Been planning this for weeks,” I admit roughly, maintaining that perfect rhythm that’s making her shake beneath me. “How I’d touch you, what would drive you crazy, how I could make you completely fall apart.”
She makes a sound that’s half-scream, half-sob when I hit that perfect combination, and I can feel her entire body tensing beneath me like a wire about to snap.
“That’s it,” I encourage, feeling her building toward something that’s going to completely wreck us both.
“Ready for my bite?” I ask, leaning forward so my mouth is at her neck, still moving inside her with gentle strokes.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Want your bite, want to be yours.”
I position my mouth at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Beta bites don’t create bonds—this is purely for us, a mark that says she chose me, that I chose her, that whatever we’re building together matters.
“This one’s just for us,” I murmur against her skin. “No bonding agents, no biological imperative. Just because I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
