Page 3 of Knot Baked Out For This
I scream his name, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin. He holds on, lets me ride it out, murmuring fuck yes, so good, so good, like he’s worshipping my ruin.
My head falls forward. I hear my heartbeat in my ears. Sweat, sugar, and Alpha. All I can taste.
But he’s not done.
He’s shaking, too—barely holding on.My cunt milks him, shameless, and he lets go. His cock pulses deep inside me, heat blooming everywhere, slick and sticky and raw. He bites my neck, gentle but warning, and I nearly come again.
We collapse.
Well—my legs collapse.
I’m still on top, strong girl act totally shot, now just a gasping, gummy mess of sex and sugar and need.
The kitchen’s gone silent except for our breathing. Even Muffin’s given up. Probably plotting revenge in the flour bin.
Rowan strokes my back, slow, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. His hands are sticky with chocolate.
“Hazel,” he whispers, voice a broken matchstick. “You okay?”
I nod, but it’s more of a whimper. I can’t talk. My voice is lost somewhere in my chest, tangled up with sugar and satisfaction.
He grins up at me.
Triumphant. Possessive.
Like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted and he just claimed it.
I shiver, and the fever spikes again.
Lust, lightning, another round building before the first’s even faded.
His scent flares—darker, sharper, claiming every inch of air. My own responds, blooming wide, demanding more.
So I take it.
I ride him again, slower this time, savoring the drag, the stretch, the way his cock fills me just right. Flour floats in the sunlight, dust motes catching in my hair. His hands resume their bruising grip, kneading my hips, guiding, coaxing.
He nips my jaw, then my lip.
“There’s my girl. That’s right. Take all you need.”
I do.
Each thrust is a promise. Every grind, a plea for more. My omega howls inside, wild with joy, finally satisfied, never wanting it to end.
He watches me, molten eyes never leaving my face. I know what he sees—a wrecked, flushed, flour-dusted disaster with whipped cream in her hair and chocolate on her tits. I should care. I don’t.
I come again. Harder, messier, legs trembling so bad I nearly fall sideways off the table.
He catches me. Steadies me. Whispers my name like a secret.
The world narrows to this—heat, hunger, Alpha and omega, sugar and sweat and everything we’re not supposed to want but take anyway.
When the tremors fade, I collapse onto his chest, cheek pressed to the spot smeared with chocolate and sex. My breath shudders out, half moan, half laugh.
He wraps his arms around me. Holds me close. His hands map my bare skin, memorizing every inch—just in case.
We don’t talk.
