Page 154 of Knot Baked Out For This
Before I can catch my breath, he lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the edge of the wooden rail fence—the one overlooking the breathtaking drop to the valley below.
The risk makes my heart race faster, the wind tugging at my dress as he positions himself between my thighs.
"Ready for more?" he asks, eyes locked on mine, intense and loving.
I nod, whispering, "Yes," and he doesn't hesitate to tease my entrance, having pulled out his cock that’s thick, hard, and veiny.
He doesn’t make me wait.
That’s the first thing — there’s no smug teasing, no arrogant Alpha games about getting me right to the brink and then pulling away to taunt me for being so easy, so slick, so obviously desperate. Just a big, blunt honesty to the way Luca stares at me, his breathing heavy, pupils blown wide, and his whole body trembling with restraint.
His hands are rough on my thighs, urgent and possessive, still trembling from the force of my last orgasm. I can see the way his own need is almost painful—his cock out and hard, flushed purple at the tip, veins thickly ridged down the shaft, and every inch of it slick with precum that beads at the tip and trails down, collecting in the crease of his hand.
I feel my mouth actually water at the sight, even as my cunt pulses, still fluttering from the aftershocks.
I want to say something clever about the situation—about being bent bare-assed over a mountainside, about the birds and the bees and the crows as an audience, about monster dildos and how, for once, I finally get to live my most ridiculous paperback fantasy—but my brain is short-circuited by the sight of him.
I watch in admiration and breathlessness, watching the precum gather on the tip and ooze down his shaft impatiently. I can’t remember the last time I’ve fucked an Alpha, using plastic toys and clit teasers to hold me over. To finally have a cock in memomentarily, a big one that reminds me of monster dildos and how I’ve dreamed of being fucked mercilessly by an actual thick cock and not the unimpressive 5 inches and under squad that Korrin seemed to gather like they’re infinite stones, makes me feel like I won the lottery.
He brings the head of his cock to my entrance, trailing it back and forth through my folds, gathering up the mess he made of me. It’s almost too much—the bare, raw friction of skin on skin, the way his tip catches at my opening and then slides back, teasing but not cruel, building a steady burn instead of a frantic spark.
I look down, unable to help myself, and watch as he lines himself up with me.
The contrast is obscene;my slick, shiny and pale, his cock thick and dark, the whole thing so lewd I nearly lose it right there.He looks up, catching my eye, and grins—not a cold smirk, but a real, honest grin that shows off his canines, sharp and eager and beautiful.
“You good, Hazel?” he asks, voice softer now, his hand stroking my thigh in reassurance.
A man who actually cares about consent, giving me the chance to run if I suddenly changed my mind…
“Yes,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said.
He doesn’t wait.
He thrusts inside me in one slow, relentless motion, every inch stretching me wider than I knew possible. The burn is instant, intense, but it melts in an instant into a pleasure so sharp I bite down on my own bottom lip to keep from screaming his name.
The first thrust is deep, so deep I swear I can feel it in my stomach, and he groans at the sensation, head dropping to rest on my shoulder.
He starts to fuck me in earnest, hard and steady, each thrust rocking my whole body.
The sensation is overwhelming—him filling me completely, the rail creaking slightly under our weight, the sunrise now fully bloomed behind him like a halo. His hands grip my hips, steady and sure, as he fucks me with deliberate strokes, each one building that coil of pleasure again.
Our scents intertwine—my smoked caramel blending with his spiced gingerbread—creating something intoxicating, heady in the mountain air.
He fucks me, slow at first—so excruciatingly steady it’s like he’s trying to burn every second of this sunrise into my bones—but then he gets the rhythm, hips snapping into me faster, harder, until the only things that exist are the creak of the rail and the thick, obscene slap of skin on skin. The sounds are mortifyingly loud, echoing into the valley below, but I don’t care, not when every thrust sends sparks through me, not when I can feel him, all of him, battering at my insides like he’s determined to never leave.
The mountain air is cold, but I’m burning, flushed everywhere, body arching into every motion like I’m trying to melt him into my DNA.
I’ve never felt so alive. I’ve never felt so full, or so wanted, or so utterly out of my damn mind. I cling to his shoulders, nails biting into muscle, and every time he groans or mutters my name in that feral tone, I feel another coil in my belly get wound tighter.
The world is spinning.
The sunrise is a kaleidoscope of orange and gold and blood, wind screaming past my ears, and all I can smell is salt and sweat and the tangled gorgeous chaos of our pheromones, my caramel and smoke braided with his gingerbread and black coffee.
He’s fucking me like I’m the only thing that matters, like the world could drop out from under us and he’d still be here, still inside me, still chasing this heat.
I want to banter, to throw some snarky line about how much better this is than all the cozy romance novels I used to hide in the flour bins, but every time I try to open my mouth, all that comes out is sobs and curses and these needy, desperate pleas.
My legs are shaking, numb from the cold and the overstimulation, and he’s holding me up, hands splayed on my ass and hips, lifting me up and down on his cock like I’m weightless, like I’m something precious.
