Page 76 of Full Moon Frenzy

“Do you need my knot?”

His voice was a rumble in her ear, his cock pressing into her in one long, endless thrust, until her body was flush to his. He already knew the answer, for there was no doubt he could feel the way her breath was hitching, her heart thudding.

“The smell of you is making me crazy,” he groaned. “But I need to know you want it, Adi. Do you want to take my knot?”

His hips snapped, hard and deep, and the high-pitched sound that came out of her on each thrust reverberated around the high ceiling. She’d spent too many full moons seeking to cool her blood with random hook-ups that never quite satisfied, once with a surgeon who liked it rough, and she’d settled for his brand of pleasure for several months in an effort to appease her baser nature, but this . . . this was what she’d been missing. All those years of unsatisfying hook-ups because her body already knew the shape of him, knew that she was made for him, and maybe him alone. His knot kissed her entrance on every hard thrust, making her see stars.

“Please. Please, Trapp. Give it to me. I want it.”

The groan in her hair made her shiver. His speed increased, the hands he had splayed over hers tightening. His nose pushed against her hair, inhaling, pushing against her until he had access to her neck, teeth dragging over her skin. “I love hearing you beg for me.”

She was certain the nosy satyr across the street was able to hear the strangled sound that ripped from her throat when his knot popped into place within her, her body going rigid, the orgasm so deep it almost hurt. His teeth came down on her neck, groaning as he came, his hips jerking, and Adriana was certain she’d passed out, going limp beneath him.

When her eyes opened, her blood was cool, and she was flattened against the sofa beneath him.

“What were we thinking? There are three bedrooms in this place. Why the fuck are we on the couch?”

His laughter was a rumbling vibration against her, and she tried to control her own, for each tug of his knot within her made her wince. Somehow, Trapp slid them to the floor, curling her on her side, a little spoon tucked against him, tied to him.

Her head was heavy. She felt languid and loose, her eyes closing . . .

The windows shook in their casements as a rumble of thunder shook the house. Trapp groaned into her hair. “I am so sick of this fucking rain. Fine, you win. We can stay home in your yard. But tomorrow morning I’m putting up a fucking tarp.”

She sighed in contentment, her head pillowed on his arm, his fingers in her hair. It would have been childish to gloat, but there was nothing she wanted more than to stay here, where she knew she was safe. With him, where she knew she was safe. “That sounds perfect to me.”

Trapp

The lounge in Bridgeton glittered. Everything about the place shone and gleamed in gold — the low club-style chairs, the pedestal tables topped with smoked black glass, the low railings that separated the seating areas. It was wildly over the top and excessively expensive, judging from the clientele who laughed from tables as if the tab on their endless bottles of champagne were of no concern.

Trapp squeezed her hand reassuringly.

He’d begun to see the world through her eyes, those last few months. He knew he was privileged. Knew he was born privileged and had lived a privileged life every day he’d been alive, but knowing that and seeing it from a different vantage point were two very different things. Living in Cambric Creek sometimes kept him from having to consider that other worldview, but being in a relationship with someone who’d never had any of the above was eye-opening.

He tightened his grip on her, already knowing she was going to be intimidated. Glancing down, he saw that her eyes were wide, but she squeezed his hand in return in silent acknowledgment.

For as much of a fan of over-the-top access his brother was, this place was even a titch beyond even his tastes. Trapp had no doubt the only reason it had been chosen was the proximity to Grayson and Vanessa’s apartment in the city. The Templeton was one of the fanciest high-rises on the skyline, and the surrounding neighborhood reflected that income bracket.

Too rich for our blood. I’m happy at the Man-o-War.

They sat close to the bar, at one of the low tables, surrounded by a golden railing. Vanessa was perched on the side of Grayson’s chair, her purse lying abandoned on her own, whispering in his ear, her face brightening immediately when she saw them, waving.

If Adriana didn’t like Gray and Vanessa, she hid it well. She leaned in for a half hug and an air kiss from the future Mrs. Hemming before taking her seat beside Trapp and quickly finding his hand.

“This place is ridiculous.”

Grayson laughed, agreeing as he drained his glass. “It’s a King Midas bukkake fever dream. I give them six months.”

“This place changes owners at least every ten months,” Vanessa put in. “We like to make sure we come to every new business and get one of their glasses. I’ve got a whole little collection. It’s like a restaurant industry graveyard.”

“We have something very important to discuss with the two of you,” Gray started, and Vanessa slid back into place on the side of his chair, his arms snaking around her waist.

She nodded emphatically. “Very important.”

Trapp's brow furrowed. “Wedding related? And we had to discuss it in this Las Vegas showroom?”

“Speaking of Vegas, do you ever follow the World Series of Poker? You need to start. I’m convinced we’re going to find Dad randomly in the listings.”

At that image, Trapp barked out a laugh. “Just sitting in the corner with his aviators on, utterly destroying these twenty-five-year-old podcast suckers. Yeah, you’re probably right. He’s so bored now that Jackson is in office. And with Liam gone? You’d better be careful. He’s going to start planning your campaign any minute now.”