Page 137 of Knotted By my Pack
Noah keeps my wrists pinned, eyes burning. “Look at you,” he says softly. “So wrecked. And still begging for it.”
“I’m not?—”
“Yes, you are,” Elias groans. “Your body’s screaming for it.”
He fucks me through Julian’s knot, relentless, not stopping until I’m clenching around him again, voice gone hoarse from moaning. I climax again, writhing between them, my body convulsing with need.
He knots too. Buries himself deep and groans through his own release, thick heat spilling into me again. I’m filled twice over, and I still want more.
Noah pulls my wrists to his mouth and kisses the insides. “You need one more?”
I nod, too far gone to speak.
He slides into me the moment Elias slips out. My body’s beyond stretched. Beyond reason. I shouldn’t be able to take it. But I do. I always do.
He doesn’t go easy. He thrusts like a man possessed, sweat slick on his skin, his hands rough as he pins my hips.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
My body locks up as another orgasm builds. Noah growls low, knot already swelling. He sinks deep, thrusts once, twice, then locks in and stays there.
He spills inside me, heat flooding again.
I’m ruined. Gasping. Covered in them. Belly swollen. Slick dripping.
Noah strokes my cheek. “That’s our girl,” he says softly. “All filled up. Knotted by your whole pack.”
I barely nod, vision hazy. The room spins. Their scent is everywhere. My skin burns.
Julian presses his mouth to my shoulder. “You’re safe. Sleep, Omega.”
I try.
But even as I drift, I know they’ll wake me soon. Because this heat isn’t over.
And they haven’t had nearly enough yet.
37
NOAH
Idon’t think my body can survive another orgasm without at least one meal inside me.
I’m chopping vegetables, shirtless, sweat beading between my shoulder blades, trying to focus. Alec Vance’s name still tastes like rust in my mouth.
We should be planning, thinking ahead, doing anything but?—
She walks in.
Barefoot. Hair mussed. Eyes locked on me like she doesn’t give a damn that Julian’s fixing the door lock or that Elias is pacing by the window.
She’s hunting. No trace of shame. Just a glazed, desperate hunger I’ve never seen from her, not even in the worst moments of the last wave.
She pads straight to me, nose flaring as she inhales.
“Cora.” I try to steady my tone, but it comes out rough.
“Can’t,” she whispers. Her fingers drag down my stomach, nails catching on the band of my sweats. “I need.”
