Page 98 of Knotted By my Pack
CORA
We sit side by side on the worn couch, the faint scent of sweat and something darker lingering between us.
My skin still tingles from the way he buried himself inside me, the knot still a sharp, wild memory. Julian’s chest rises and falls beside me, breaths uneven but calmer now.
His fingers graze mine, rough and warm, before he breaks the silence.
“I don’t know how the knot released so fast,” he admits quietly. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration, or maybe confusion, but mostly it’s raw honesty.
I glance at him, biting down on my lip. “Have you ever knotted someone before?” I ask. The question feels heavy, like crossing an invisible line.
He shifts, and his voice drops low. “I make an effort not to.”
“Did you want to?”
“More than anything, Cora.”
The admission hangs between us, stirring something strange inside me. My gaze lingers on him—his tense jaw, the way his dark eyes flicker with a storm barely held in check.
There’s a roughness beneath his calm, something wild that matches the restlessness inside me.
“Why did you come here?” I ask, voice steady though my mind is racing. “After last time?”
Without hesitation, he takes my palm in his large hand and presses a kiss to it. I don’t pull away. Instead, I watch him, curious and cautious.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Yeah, you do,” I agree.
“I know we never see eye to eye,” he says, eyes locking with mine. “But that night... it wasn’t just about breaking the heat.”
“It wasn’t that to me either… or Elias and Noah,” I whisper, voice softer now.
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t,” he says simply. Then his lips are on mine again—slower this time. His hand slides up, tracing the curve of my neck with slow, possessive pressure. He left a faint mark when he bit me.
I meet his gaze, breathing uneven, then ask, “Now that you’ve claimed me, what does this mean?”
He pauses, his fingers tightening just a bit before he admits, “I’m not sure.”
The uncertainty sharpens the moment. He leans in and kisses the spot just below my ear. The heat spreads from his mouth, igniting a wetness between my legs.
His hand slips between my thighs, fingers moving slowly. The slickness there presses to him as he strokes, building the tension that’s been simmering since before we even touched.
His teeth sink harder into the skin of my neck. The bite burns hot, fierce, a brand marking me.
I arch toward him, hungry for more even as my mind struggles to keep pace with the fire roaring through my body.
His hands and mouth map me out—claiming, marking every inch—making it clear this isn’t just passion, it’s something sacred and dangerous.
He pulls back just long enough to whisper against my skin, “This is mine.”
Then he bends me over the sofa, pressing me down on the soft cushions. My legs spread instinctively as he parts me again, harder this time—bigger, heavier, and holding steady in a way that leaves me trembling on the edge of control.
The fullness crashes through me—deep and endless. I try to focus on the sensation, the way he stretches me, fills me perfectly.
My body is sore, bruised in the best way, but I want more, need more, even though my cunt is bruised and tender from Noah’s knot yesterday.
That thought flickers through my mind—a sharp contrast between two men claiming me in such close succession, both leaving marks everyone will see and understand.
