“Simon,” she gasps as I suck at her neck.
“Careful,” I mutter against her skin. “You’ll have marks.”
“Then mark me.” Her voice is ragged. “Bite me.”
I freeze. My teeth hover just above her pulse. The instinct to bite is a primal, hardwired response. But I promised myself—we promised—that we wouldn’t do it until she chose, until she was clear-headed.
Her nails dig deeper. “Please.”
“Christ, Wren.”
I give in, sucking harder, leaving dark bruises without breaking skin. It feels too fucking good—her body writhing under mine, her scent spiking with arousal, water streaming around us like it can’t wash away the heat.
When I lift her, her legs lock around me, slick heat pressing against me. I line up, every nerve screaming.
“You need to understand—” I grit out. “If I lose it, I might knot you.”
Her eyes flash, desperate and unyielding. “I want it.”
My chest seizes. She doesn’t know what she’s asking. Or maybe she does, and that’s what terrifies me.
But I can’t stop. I slam into her, the sound of her cry swallowed by my mouth as I kiss her. The world narrows to this—her body clenching around me, her moans echoing in the tiled room, water pounding over our skin.
It builds too fast, too hard. I thrust deeper, harder, until the inevitable snap hits—my knot swelling, locking me inside her.
We both cry out, stunned by the force of it.
Her arms wrap around my shoulders, holding on as if she’ll drown without me. Our breathing is ragged, tangled.
We stay like that, water cooling, both of us trembling. My mind screams at me for losing control, for giving her something so irreversible.
But her face—flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy with bliss—tells me she wanted this as much as I did.
Eventually, when I can move without shaking, I carry her out. My legs feel like lead, but I manage the short distance to her bed.
Pancake, perched on the pillow, bolts with an indignant chirp.
I lay her down gently, easing in beside her, still locked. Every shift makes her whimper, and I kiss her mouth to soothe her, slow and tender.
We watch each other in the dim light, our breaths syncing.
Her voice is hushed when she says, “I don’t understand how I spent all my life without being knotted.”
The confession punches air from my lungs.
“Tell me,” I murmur, brushing hair from her face. “Tell me what it feels like.”
She bites her lip, cheeks pink. “Like… like my body finally stopped fighting itself. Like I could melt into you and never move.”
I groan, kissing her again. “God, I love hearing you talk like that.”
Her green eyes glimmer. “Is it okay if… right now, we just do this? Just fuck?”
My thumb drags across her nipple, stiff and flushed, and she shivers.
“More than okay, baby,” I whisper. “More than okay.”
And as her hips shift, urging me closer, the last of my restraint disintegrates. I give her everything, and she takes it, eyes locked on mine, until nothing exists beyond this bed, this bond, this impossible want.
