Page 27 of Knotted by the Mountain Man Dragon

“Put my scent back on you,” he says. “Everywhere.”

He pulls my sweater over my head, tosses it aside, and drops to his knees.

Right there in the hallway. This enormous man sinks to his knees on the hardwood floor and presses his mouth to my stomach. I gasp and my hands find his hair and he kisses across my belly, my hip bone, his fingers popping the button on my jeans.

“Cage, we’re in the hallway.”

“My hallway.” He tugs my jeans down. My panties follow. “My house.” His mouth finds the inside of my thigh. “My mate.”

The possessiveness should bother me. I’m a modern, independent woman with a career and opinions and a fully formed sense of self.

My omega does not give a single damn about any of that right now.

He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder and puts his mouth on me and I grab the stair railing with one hand and his hair with the other and hold on.

He takes his time. He’s not teasing like last night. He’s thorough. Determined. Reclaiming. Like another man glancing in my direction was a territorial violation that can only be corrected by making me come so hard I forget my own name.

I forget my own name.

He stands up and kisses me. I taste myself on his tongue and moan into his mouth and he lifts me, both hands under my thighs, and carries me to the couch. He sits down and pulls me onto his lap facing him, my knees on either side of his hips, and reaches between us to unbutton his jeans.

I help. My hands are shaking, tugging the denim down just enough, and when he’s free I wrap my hand around him and we both groan.

He’s so hard he’s pulsing in my grip. Hot. Heavy. Thick enough that my fingers don’t fully close around him, and every time I see him, every time I feel the weight and size of him, the same breathless thrill runs through me. Too big. Too much. And my body wants every inch of it so badly I’m dizzy.

“Ride me.” His hands tighten on my waist. His voice is raw. “I want to watch you.”

I rise up on my knees. Position him at my entrance. And sink down slowly.

The stretch steals my breath. That first thick inch pressing in, my body resisting for a split second before it remembers, before my omega biology overrides everything and I open for him. But it doesn’t stop being overwhelming. The deeper I take him, the more I feel it, that aching fullness that blurs the line between too much and exactly right. He fills me so completely that I can feel him in my stomach, in my chest, in my throat.

“Oh God…”

“Cage.”

“I know, I know, Cage…” I sink lower. Take another inch. My thighs are trembling. My hands press flat against his chest, his heart slamming under my palms, and his jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscles jump. He’s letting me set the pace but it’s costing him everything.

I bottom out and we both stop breathing.

“Fuck.” His fingers dig into my hips. His head falls back against the couch. “You take me so well. Every time.”

“It hurts,” I whisper.

His eyes snap to mine. Concern flickers through the gold.

“Good hurt,” I clarify. My hips shift and we both moan. “The kind where you’re so deep I can’t tell where I end and you start.”

The concern vanishes. Something darker replaces it. Hungrier.

“Move,” he says.

I move.

Slowly at first, lifting my hips and sinking back down, finding the angle that makes my vision blur. He watches me. Every rise and fall, every expression on my face, every time my lips part or my eyes close. He watches me take his cock with an expression of almost religious focus.

“Faster,” he says.

I go faster. Rolling my hips, grinding down on him, and the sounds filling the room are wet and raw. His hands grip my waist, guiding me, pulling me down harder onto every stroke.