Page 97 of Knotted By my Pack
With a rough tug, I pull the thin cotton of her blouse over her head. Her skin glows under the morning light, dusted with tiny freckles.
My fingers trail over her collarbone, down the swell of her breasts, teasing the peak beneath the lace of her bra.
She shudders, soft and hungry, pressing into my touch as I cup one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple that hardens beneath my palm.
Her breath hitches, ragged and shallow, and I grow reckless, thumbs circling, pinching, dragging her higher, demanding more.
Her hands find my shirt, ripping it open, pulling the fabric off my shoulders with a fierceness that matches my own. Skin meets skin.
The raw heat of my chest pressed against hers makes my cock twitch painfully. I’m aching for her—throbbing with a hunger that’s part flesh, part something darker.
I sweep my hands down her back, fingers slipping under the waistband of her skirt. I hook my thumbs beneath the fabric and drag it down, slow, teasing.
Her legs part instinctively as the cool air hits her bare skin, the smooth, flawless flesh of her inner thighs exposed. The smell of her arousal—musky, sweet—hits me like a drug. I’m drowning in it.
Her panties are soaked, clinging to her skin, and I tug them down, slipping my fingers between the damp lace and her flesh. She gasps, hips jerking against my hand as I trace the slick heat, stroking the wet folds of her swollen cunt.
The soft, wet pulse beneath my touch makes my cock throb harder, aching to bury itself deep inside her.
“Julian,” she moans, voice trembling like a prayer. “Please...”
I don’t say a word. I lean down, biting at the soft skin of her neck, leaving marks—dark, bruising kisses that claim her.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails scraping, desperate to hold on as I press my body flush against hers, feeling the hard length of my cock straining against the fabric of my pants.
She pulls me backward, the worn couch waiting like a promise of escape. We stumble through the door, desperate, reckless.
I press her against the cushions, hands roaming over every inch of her body, memorizing her curves and soft flesh.
I cup one of her breasts, thumb rubbing slow circles over the taut nipple, eliciting a soft cry from her lips. Her hands tug at my belt, fingers fumbling as she frees me from the tight confinement of my pants.
My cock springs free, thick and hard, aching for her.
I settle between her legs, heat radiating from my body as my cock presses against the slick folds of her cunt. She parts for me, wet and ready, and I don’t waste a second.
With a sharp breath, I push inside her—deep, slow, every inch filling the hollow ache inside me.
She cries out, arching beneath me, body trembling. I hold her tight, hands braced on her hips, anchoring us together as I begin to move—slow at first, then faster, harder.
The friction sets every nerve on fire, the slick heat of her cunt gripping me like a vise.
It’s like we’re feeding off each other, rising higher and higher, spiraling toward a fever pitch that threatens to shatter us both.
Her nails rake down my back as I knot her, hips pressing so hard against hers that we become one.
The knot in me grows tight, swollen, and with a low growl, I bury myself deeper, locking us together with a fierce, possessive claim.
She cries out again, voice raw and broken, trembling as the waves of pleasure crash through her. I’m right there with her, riding the storm until, finally, the tension snaps—the knot releasing with a force that leaves us both gasping.
We collapse together, bodies slick with sweat, breaths ragged, hearts hammering in sync. She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in the chaos.
I trace lazy circles on her bare back, feeling the slow pulse of power beneath her skin, a wild energy that promises danger and desire in equal measure.
This isn’t just sex. It’s a binding, a claim, a promise that no matter what darkness comes, no matter what threats circle like vultures, we belong to each other.
Outside, the town hums, oblivious to the fire burning inside the small bakery. For a moment, in the quiet after the storm, I let myself believe that maybe the chaos can be held at bay as long as she’s here with me.
28
