Page 109 of Down Knot Out
The knot stretches me and locks inside. My body clamps down, trapping him, and the orgasm explodes, bigger and hotter and deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I sob into the covers, tears streaming down my face, not from pain, but from the sheer, uncontainable relief of it. Of finally being full.
Blake holds still, his knot pulsing inside me, cock pumping in rhythmic bursts. He wraps hisarms around my waist, burying his face in my neck. “That’s my good girl. Take it all.”
I do, letting the pleasure break me apart and scatter my pieces.
We stay like that, locked together. My body shudders with aftershocks, and every small movement of his hips sends another wave rolling through me.
When his knot subsides, he pulls out, slow and careful, and helps me lower onto my side. He extracts the toy, and I whimper at the loss.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs, curling his body around mine. “You did perfectly. You’re going to be so good for us when you go into Heat, sweetheart.”
His hand smooths over my back, and he kisses my hair, the scent of him blending with mine and the sharp, salty tang of sex.
We lie tangled for a while, my face buried in the pillow, his arms around me.
His beard brushes the back of my neck as he kisses my nape. “Tell me again.”
I reach back to thread my fingers into his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” His teeth scrape my sensitive flesh, pulling a gasp from me. “Can’t wait to leave my mark on you. Make you mine.”
“Me, too.” Another shiver of pleasure rollsthrough me. “Can’t happen soon enough, if that’s what it’s going to be like.”
“It will be even better,” he promises.
I sigh in contentment, my body still humming.
“You’re going to write the best filth on the planet,” he says after a while. “You’re going to ruin people for normal romance. And you’re going to self-publish it, so no one can take it from you.”
I don’t answer, but a smile tugs at my mouth. My brain is already writing the first chapter.
He senses it and hugs me closer. “There she is. My Omega.”
His words settle into my marrow, and as I drift toward sleep, the first lines of the new story write themselves behind my eyelids.
Chapter Thirty
Nathaniel
Chloe perches on the edge of my desk in the downstairs office, her pen tapping the seam of her jeans in a rhythm counter to the clock on the wall.
My laptop screen casts a cold glow across the desk’s surface, illuminating the neat stacks of paperwork that include her scanned birth certificate, registry forms, DNA profile, and the Sinclairs’ proposition. I had collated it all in preparation, the way my father taught me. Evidence first, followed by analysis and action.
I cover Chloe’s knee with my hand, stilling her tapping, as I dial the number for the inheritance lawyer. It had taken almost a week to get everything in order, since Chloe didn’t have all ofher documentation, and there was no way Vivian Sinclair was going to hand the documents over. But now, we’re as ready as we can be.
Hitting the call button, I put it on speaker so Chloe can listen in.
It rings twice before it clicks over into a crisp, professional greeting. “Milo Reese speaking.”
“Hey, Milo, it’s Nathaniel Burton, with Chloe Richardson present,” I say, my thumb tracing circles on her thigh. “We’re ready for our consult.”
A faint shuffling of papers comes from Milo’s end, and the murmur of a secretary in the background. “You received my pre-brief?”
“Read and annotated,” I confirm, though Chloe’s margin notes in pink gel pen are far more aggressive than my own. “We have your three draft options. Chloe wants to hear them aloud.”
Chloe’s hand lifts to the shamrock pendant at her throat, fiddling with it nervously, but her jaw is set with determination. She’s not backing down now, especially not after the Sinclairs messed with her livelihood.
