Page 166 of Knot Baked Out For This
“No stopping,” she growls right back, and fuck. If that didn’t make my nerves flip in pure excitement at her impatience. I really have no say, which makes me realize I could potentially be a bottom when it comes to he,r cause why am I so turned on by her taking control of me, the Captain of my division, aiming to be chief of the entire district, being handled by my Omega.
Only my Omega could get the privilege to do this.
She lifts her hips enough, my tip taunting her folds as she lets her generous amount of slick coat my length for added measure. Then, far too slowly, inch by inch, she’s descending on my cock, making me groan in relief when she literally takes me so fucking well, I may shoot my shot before we even get to the moving part. I grunt and bite my lower lip, staying completely still, needing to tame myself while I allow her to adjust.
Her tightness is a vice, velvet heat clamping down around me like she's claiming every inch for herself, and fuck, it's all I can do not to buck up into her right then.
The gym mat beneath us is still warm from our training session, the faint scent of rubber and sweat mixing with her intoxicating vanilla-cinnamon slick that's flooding the air, turning the whole room into some kind of forbidden nest. I can feel her pulse fluttering against my skin, her eyes locked on mine, wide and hungry, those soft orange-and-black curls framing her flushed face like a halo of fire.
God, she's beautiful—curves that could stop traffic, that athletic grace she hides in those cozy sweaters double her size, straddling me like she owns the damn firehouse.
"Rowan," she breathes, her voice a husky whisper that sends a shiver down my spine.
She rocks her hips experimentally, grinding down just enough to make stars explode behind my eyes. My hands tighten on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft, sweat-slicked flesh there, feeling the muscles flex under my touch. She'sbeen working so hard today—three hours of self-defense drills, pinning me to the mat with that surprise twist that left me blinking up at her in shock. Proud doesn't even cover it; she's like a phoenix rising, all that vulnerability she hides under her teasing smiles turning into something fierce and unbreakable.
I groan low in my throat, forcing myself to stay still, to let her set the pace.
"You're killing me, Hazel. So damn perfect." My voice comes out rougher than I intend, laced with that Alpha growl I can't quite suppress. Her scent spikes—vanilla cinnamon deepening to something richer, like caramelized sugar over an open flame—mixing with my own cedar and smoke, creating this heady cloud that makes it hard to think straight.
The gym's fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the padded walls and the scattered training dummies, but none of that matters. It's just us, the world narrowed to her body enveloping mine, her breath hitching as she adjusts to my size.
She leans forward, bracing her hands on my chest, her nails scraping lightly over my skin. The movement shifts her weight, and I feel her clench around me, drawing another grunt from deep in my gut.
"You feel... so good," she murmurs, her eyes fluttering half-closed, that playful pout turning into something more sinful.
Slowly, she starts to move, lifting up and sinking back down in a rhythm that's tentative at first, like she's testing the waters.
Each slide has me biting back curses, my knot already swelling at the base, that instinctive urge to lock us together pounding in my veins. But I hold it back—barely—because this is about her, about giving her the power she's reclaiming after everything Korrin's pack put her through.
I know bits and pieces from what she's shared, the way they dimmed her light, made her doubt her worth. Seeing her likethis, taking what she wants, it's like watching her heal in real time.
"Faster?" I manage to ask, my hands sliding up to her hips, guiding without controlling. She nods, biting her lip in that way that drives me insane, and picks up the pace. The mats creak under us, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that echo in the empty space.
Sweat beads on her forehead, glistening on her curvy figure, and I can't help but admire how she looks—strong, confident, utterly gorgeous. Her breasts bounce with each movement, straining against the tight sports bra, and I reach up to cup one, thumbing over the nipple through the fabric.
She moans, arching into my touch, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
I feel like I’m in heaven, watching her bounce and ride me, the pleasure building between us, and I know it won’t be long before we both come undone. Her eyes flutter closed, mumbling nonsense as she’s chasing her high while bringing me closer to mine, and I know neither of us is going to last at this rate towards blissfulness.
She rides me harder, the rhythm shifting from playful to desperate, her movements growing less measured, more frantic. Each time she sinks down, her cries sharpen, her hands clutching at my chest for leverage. Every slide of her heat over my cock is a new kind of heaven, her slick so wet and abundant it coats my length, pooling where our bodies meet. I'm close—fuck, I'm so close—but I want her to get there first, to feel her shatter apart on me, for once to know she's in complete control.
She leans forward, bracing her arms on either side of my head, orange curls tumbling down to frame her face. Sweat beads along her jaw, lashes sticky with it, but she's never looked more alive, more powerful. Her eyes lock onto mine, pupilsblown, irises burning with that impossible autumn gold. I can't look away, even as my vision blurs with need.
"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" My voice is low, rasped raw, barely more than a growl. The words land, and she whimpers, hips stuttering as the wave builds. Her scent spikes, vanilla and sugar and something sharper, more primal?—
"Rowan—" she gasps, nails digging crescents into my skin. "Don't stop?—"
"Not a chance," I grit, thrusting up to meet her, matching her bounce for bounce. Our bodies slap together, the sound echoing off the gym walls, mixing with her high cries and my ragged breathing. My knot swells, fattening at the base, aching to lock us together, but I fight the urge. Not yet. Not until she says.
She's close—I can feel it in the way her walls flutter, in the sound of her voice going breathless. Her thighs spasm on either side of me, and her head falls back, mouth open in a silent scream. "Yes, yes, oh?—"
With a strangled moan, she comes, pulsing around my cock in tight, rhythmic waves. My hands dig into her hips, holding her steady as she rides out the tremor, deep and relentless.
“Fuck— Hazel.” The words are just a growl, strangled and wild, not even a real warning as I lose it. My knot, already swelling at the base, flares and presses insistently, not locking but thick enough to make us both gasp. I come hard, spilling into her in desperate, shuddering pulses, the pressure so sharp it’s almost pain. She collapses over me, arms bracketing my head, curls fanned out around us, every inch of her sweat-slicked and trembling. We stay tangled, caught in the aftershocks, my cock twitching inside her as she milks every last drop from me, greedy and perfect.
I growl, feeling the urge to let my knot lock in, and it takes everything to force her hips up enough to glide out. The agonyof retreating like this drives me mad, but Hazel comes to the rescue.
Her palm cups my knot, fingers massaging and coaxing so that the swell is less of a spike and more of a drawn-out, delicious ache.
