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Andmine.
I grin like I’ve won a rigged game and lift her gently off the table, arms under her thighs and back. She squeaks, half-giggle, half-warning.
“Careful,” she breathes. “I’m still -”
“Knotted.” I smirk. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m aware. I’m the one currently acting as your very personal cork.”
She chokes on a laugh as I carry her out of the kitchen like a victorious war bride and lower us both onto the nearest couch. The cushion protests loudly, but it’s too late for that thing.
It’s already witnessed many unspeakable acts.
She ends up straddling me, flushed and trembling, sweat-damp hair clinging to her face, Lucian’s shirt clinging to absolutely nothing useful. It’s riding up so high I could press charges.
A fucking masterpiece of destruction.
She leans her forehead against my shoulder, sighs like I’m the first good idea she’s had all week. And I lock my arms around her because… yeah. That’s mine now.
We breathe together for a while. Quiet. Steady. Her scent - heat and alpha and exhaustion and satisfaction - seeps into my skin, anchoring me.
I kiss the top of her head. “That,” I murmur reverently, “was so hot I think I briefly disassociated.”
She wheezes. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m serious. I’m gonna have to put you down as my emergency contact. You’ve earned it.”
She giggles.GIGGLES.While full of knot.
I’m never recovering.
“I swear to God,” she mumbles against my skin, “you are going to be the death of me.”
“And I want it in my will that I go outexactlylike this,” I say solemnly, “buried with your thighs around my head and your name on my lips.”
Her body’s warm and heavy against mine, tight around my softening knot, still twitching from aftershocks.
I shift my hips - just barely - and feel her tense.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” she hisses.
I do the exact opposite of looking innocent.
“What? I was just adjusting. I’d hate for you to get a cramp.”
“You are not allowed to be this smug.”
“And yet here I am.” I drag my hand down her spine. “Full of charm. Full of omega. Full of… oh wow, yep, still knotted.”
Eventually, the knot begins to ease. She shifts carefully, wincing, thighs shaking as slick trails down to her knees. She stands like a drunk baby deer, tugging Lucian’s stupid, traitorous shirt down over her ass like modesty hasn’t already left the chat.
“I need a shower. Possibly an exorcism,” she mutters.
I recline back on the couch, hands behind my head, cocky as hell and covered in proof that she screamed my name.
She’s halfway toward the door when I call, “Hey.”
She pauses. Turns. Suspicious. Gorgeous. Still a little wrecked.
I sit up. “I’d do it.”
