Page 57 of Knotted By my Pack
Her eyes flick between the three of us. Her lips part. “I think I need you,” she cries out, raw and desperate.
“Which one of us?” Elias growls, already agitated.
“I don’t care,” she snaps, voice thick with need, hands shaking as she curls inward. Her jaw is tight. She’s on fire from the inside out.
We’re all tense, coiled. None of us should be this close. But none of us is moving away, either.
Noah kneels in front of her. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
She’s breathing fast, thighs pressed tight, arms wrapped around her middle like she’s trying to contain herself.
Her scent spikes, dizzying. Salty with sweat. Sweet with arousal. The bakery hums with it, warm and heady.
“I know orgasms help with the heat,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Don’t say that word,” she whimpers, biting down on her lip.
Noah strokes her back slowly, his hand wide and grounding. She leans into it, gasping like just that touch is almost too much.
Elias crouches beside her, palms up. “Tell us what you need.”
“I don’t know,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I just—it hurts.”
Her body jerks, and she nearly falls, catching herself on Noah’s arm. I reach for her at the same time.
My hand lands on her knee, then slides up to her hip. She’s trembling. Not scared. Overheated. Starving. I can feel it in the way she presses into every touch.
Noah kisses the side of her head. “We’ve got you.”
She turns her head, locking eyes with me, and that’s when her hand drifts to mine. Fingers curled around my wrist. Then lower.
“Touch me,” she pleads. Barely audible, but the most demanding thing I’ve ever heard.
My blood roars.
Elias swears under his breath. “She’s burning up.”
I slide my hand down, gently pushing into the waistband of her leggings. Her hips roll eagerly, like she’s guiding me.
I tug them past her hips, dragging them down her thighs. She kicks them away with a whimper.
And then I see it.
The small black panties clinging to her, soaked through the fabric, dark with slick. Wetness coats her thighs. She shudders as the cool air hits her.
“Fuck,” Noah hisses beside me. “She’s soaked.”
Elias doesn’t move, just watches with wide eyes, his jaw locked tight.
I run a finger along the fabric, just enough pressure to make her cry out. Her head falls back, lips parted, hands fisting the hem of Noah’s shirt.
“More,” she gasps.
I press against her clit again, circling gently through the damp cotton. Her whole body jerks, a strangled moan tearing from her throat.
“She needs more than fingers,” Elias mutters.
“She needs relief,” Noah says, voice hoarse. “But not like this. It’ll hurt her if we’re not careful.”
