Page 106 of Knot in Bloom
I let her push me backward until my hips hit the edge of the potting bench. She presses against me, her hands roaming my chest, and when her teeth find my claiming mark, I groan and grip her hips tight enough to leave fingerprints.
“Need you,” she gasps against my neck, her hands already working at my belt. “Right here, right now?—”
In one smooth movement, I lift her up and set her on the clean section of the potting bench. She wraps her legs around my waist immediately, and the height is perfect, letting me press against her core while she rocks against me without shame.
“You sure about this?” My hands work at the hem of my t-shirt she’s wearing. “Right here where we just played plant doctor?”
“Especially here.” She helps me strip the shirt away, and the sight of her bare skin in the golden light steals my breath. “This is ours. The disasters and the fixes and everything in between.”
The possessiveness in her voice completely undoes me. I claim her mouth while my hands rediscover every curve that belongs to me now. Her skin is warm and soft, flushed from the greenhouse heat and arousal. She responds with an eagerness that still amazes me—no hesitation, just complete trust.
“Sadie, you’re incredible,” I breathe against her skin, working my way down her body. “Love how you react to me.”
Her hands tangle in my hair as I lavish attention on her breasts. “Love how you touch me. Love how safe you make me feel.”
When I reach between her thighs, she’s already slick and ready through her thin sleep shorts. I work her open with gentle fingers while my mouth finds her breast again, until she arches beneath me with soft cries that echo off the glass walls.
“More,” she gasps when I add a second finger, her hips rocking against my hand. “Need you inside me?—”
“Patience, Sadie.” Though my own patience is hanging by a thread. “Gonna make this so good for you.”
I strip away her shorts and free myself from my jeans. When I line up at her entrance, she whimpers and tries to pull me deeper.
“Ready for me?”
“Yes, please, Caleb—need you so much?—”
I push into her slowly, watching her face as she adjusts. Even after three weeks of pack life, she makes me see stars. The feeling of being inside her, surrounded by her heat and scent, makes my head spin.
“Oh.” Her head falls back against the greenhouse window. “So full, feels so right?—”
“That’s it.” I begin to move in slow, deep strokes. “Take everything you need from me.”
The potting bench creaks under our movements, adding percussion to her soft moans and my rough groans. Early sunlight streams through the glass around us, warming our skin as we move together. The scent of earth and new growth mingles with our arousal, creating an atmosphere that feels primal and perfect.
“Love feeling you stretch me,” she pants, meeting my thrusts. “Love how you fill me up?—”
Her words push me closer to the edge. I reach between us to find her most sensitive spot, circling until she’s sobbing my name. Her inner muscles start to flutter around me.
“Come for me,” I command, increasing the pressure. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
When she comes, her cry echoes off the greenhouse glass. Her whole body arches beneath me as waves of pleasure wash over her. The sound of her pleasure, combined with the way she clenches around me, sends me over the edge. I bury my face in her throat and let go completely.
We stay connected afterward, breathing hard in the warm, plant-scented air. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back while I press soft kisses to her claiming mark. The peaceful quiet is broken only by our gradually slowing breaths and the distant sound of birds outside.
“Well,” she says eventually, a smile in her voice. “I don’t think the plants will ever look at us the same way.”
I lift my head to meet her eyes, grinning. “Good thing plants can’t gossip.”
She laughs, the sound warm and satisfied. “You’re terrible.”
“And you’re brilliant.” I help her down from the bench, both of us moving carefully on unsteady legs.
As we clean up and get back to the real work, I watch her move among the plants with renewed confidence. Pack-claimed and thoroughly satisfied, she practically glows with contentment. The worried tension that was radiating from her when I arrived has completely disappeared.
“You know,” she says twenty minutes later, carefully transplanting one of the rescued seedlings, “I used to hate asking for help.”
“Past tense?”
