Page 153 of Knot Baked Out For This
The world narrows to this;Luca's lips devouring mine, his scent enveloping me like a cozy blanket spiced with dark promise, the mountain breeze whispering through the pines as if applauding our recklessness.
He breaks the kiss only to guide me toward the nearest tree, a sturdy oak with bark rough enough to promise friction. His mouth is back on mine feverishly, hands working at my stockings with urgent tugs.
Fabric rips under his impatience, and he mutters, "I'll buy you new ones, but I'm far too impatient to give a damn right now." He tosses the shredded pieces aside, sighing in relief at the scent of my slick filling the air—pumpkin cream deepening to smoked caramel and honeyed cinnamon, betraying my arousal.
He drops to his knees before me, his eyes dark with hunger as he watches me shake, the slight chill wind raising goosebumps on my exposed skin.
I blush furiously, asking, "What are you doing?"
"You have to pray over every meal, remember?" he says, his voice husky, teasing.
"Ugh, why do you sound like Rowan no—" But I don't finish because he dives right in, his tongue licking me up with generous strokes, fucking into my pussy like he's starved.
Pleasure explodes through me, my hands flying to his hair for balance as I arch against the tree.
The bark digs into my back through the thin fabric of my dress, a delicious contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. His scent surges—gingerbread turning molten, spiced with clove and dark coffee—as he devours me, sucking and lapping at my slick like it's the sweetest treat.
The first sound that leaves my mouth is so filthy and loud it startles a pair of crows from the nearest pine, but I can't help it—I'm drowning, whole-body shuddering as Luca's tongue works me with relentless hunger.
There's nothing gentle about the way he devours me, coaxing my knees apart and pressing in, the bracing chill of early morning air shocking every nerve ending to attention even as heat pools and throbs molten between my legs.
He doesn't look up, but I can feel the weight of his attention, the barely-restrained Alpha pride in the set of his jaw, the way his hands splay possessively on my thighs and dig in, holding me open and steady against the rough bark.
I can't decide what's more overwhelming:the obscene wet sounds echoing in the dawn, the way each flicker and press of his tongue makes my vision go white at the edges, or the absolute shamelessness of being fucked like this in the open air, with the whole world waking up around us.
A trembling, hysterical laugh bubbles up inside me at the realization—I'm the main character in one of those spicy novels, but it's real and Luca is so much more than the cardboard-cutout Alphas who only exist to look pretty and claim things.
The sunrise blazes behind my eyelids, gold and crimson and pink, and his scent—gingerbread, rain, and coffee dark as sin—coats my tongue so thickly I can almost taste it between my teeth.
My fingers scrabble at the tree, nails catching on bark, then tangle in his messy dark hair, holding on for dear life as he laps at my slick, groaning like I'm the last pastry on earth and he's been starved for years.
He moans back, the vibration setting off aftershocks up my spine.
"Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined," he rasps, pausing to bite the inside of my thigh, then dragging his tongue back through my folds to my clit with single-minded focus.
I gasp, the sound so sharp it feels like it might leave a mark.
I make some desperate, pleading noise—words have abandoned me in favor of raw sensation, everything narrowed down to the way he circles me, the way his gaze keeps flicking up to watch my face every few seconds, like he needs to see what he's doing to me.
I try to say his name, but all that emerges is a ragged whimper.
The world telescopes to a pinpoint of sensation; the sunrise, his hands holding me, the breeze lifting my curls, the thick smell of earth and salt and skin.
I want to melt into the ground. I want to sob. I want to scream so loud the whole damn town hears.
He slides a finger into me, then two, and the stretch burns so sweet I forget how to stand upright.
My knees buckle, and he growls.
"That's it, Hazel, take it. Take all of it,"and I do, I do, I couldn't stop if I tried.
There's no warning — my orgasm crashes through me with the force of a forest fire, wild and reckless, bright white incineration that leaves me gasping and clinging, thighs clamped around his ears, probably suffocating him, but he just keeps going, tongue and fingers coaxing every last drop from me until I'm sobbing his name in broken syllables.
Slick gushes down my legs, soaking him, and I feel ruined, shattered, put together again in a way no one else has ever managed. The wind howls around us like a cheer, crows circling overhead in wild agreement.
He doesn't let me fall, rising swiftly to catch me, his mouth glistening with evidence of my pleasure.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, kissing me deeply so I taste myself on his tongue.
