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I jolt awake what feels like just seconds after my eyes have closed because he’s vibrating inside me again.
My vagina is protesting. Sore. Totally new to all of this, but Riley’s knot doesn’t seem to care.
Abruptly, I’m flipped to my back and he’s groaning into my ear, his hot breath dancing across my skin.
I grab the back of his head and hang on tight as another body-spasming orgasm rips through me, making every nerve ending in my body jolt. Orgasms with Riley Savage inside me make me feel like magic makes me feel. But times a hundred.
I’m limp, aching, and utterly exhausted at least thirty minutes later when it still hasn’t let up. I’m a ragdoll, a slave to sensation as I can do nothing but ride it out.
He passes out after it finally stops, on top of me. Dead weight. I’m too sleepy to try to convince him to flip us back over. I fall asleep, too.
***
Twice more before the sun rises, it happens again, the fullness and vibrations pulling me out of sleep.
The first time, I actively participate, digging my nails into his back, which I think he likes, because he lets out a deep, vibrating growl and kisses me like he actually wants me. It goes on for ages and his eyes glow bright green. I dare to stare straight into them while I come undone. After it finally stops, he lifts me up as he gets to his feet and as I’m about to ask where we we’re going, he hits the light switch, then lays back down.
Then sometime later it happens again, though this time I barely move, just cried out until hoarse, limply lying there while I felt the muscles in his shoulders and biceps ripple, watching him fist the sheets in the moonlight as his masculine groan undoes me. The second time it’s mercifully only a few minutes long.
***
I wake up on top of him, the sun shining through the open gingham drapes. Nothing is vibrating. But he’s still inside me. His knot hasn’t let go.
We’re at the wrong end of the bed, so he must have moved us away due to the mess we made. I’m relieved there was a mattress cover with vinyl backing on this mattress when I put the sheets and covers on last night. Clearly, these shifters have experience with this kind of… mess.
His arms are around me. And my heart spasms because I know it’s not because he wants to hold me. One of his hands are tangled in the length of my hair. The other is on my behind.
I wince, my muscles aching. I feel like I’ve been through a long battle. My vagina, particularly. My mouth is a desert. I see the water bottle I brought in last night on the bedside table, so I stretch sideways to reach for it and it’s too far.
I feel him go tense underneath me and then both of his hands are gone, not touching me. My heart shatters a little bit.
“Water,” I rasp. “Can you move just a little to the right?”
He moves us over and I snatch it, uncap it, and take a long, needed swig.
After I swallow, our eyes meet.
And I don’t know how to read his expression. It’s hard. A direct stare. And I feel so exposed.
“Want some?” I croak out.
“Bend your legs?” he requests gruffly, and I tuck in.
He sits up, me straddling him as he takes the bottle from me, finishing it off.
We’re face-to-face, chest to chest, out of necessity. My hair is everywhere. I try to tame it, self-consciously.
“Kind of a predicament,” I say softly.
He scoffs and crushes the emptied water bottle, seeming like he’s doing everything he can to avoid my eyes. He tosses it to the table beside the bed.
“Is there a trick to get it to … uh … let go?”
“No clue,” he mutters. “Never knotted before this.”
My heart divebombs. I gave him something of mine and got something of his. Even if he didn’t want to give it to me.
“Need my phone,” he tacks on.
He scoots a little until his legs are dangling, then he wraps both arms under my butt as he rises. I loop my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist, holding on. I wince as he stands, feeling my very sore private parts stretching some more.
The revving abruptly starts up again.
“Uh oh,” I squeak, head rolling back because it’s awake and at what feels like full volume. And I have no choice but to react. These sensations are otherworldly.
He sits back down, sensations taking over by the look on his face, too. I bury my face into his throat and wrap my arms around his back. I hang on, trying to just… ride it out.
It feels so fucking good. Good between my legs despite the soreness and it feels good to hold onto his strong, solid body. His skin is hot, his muscles bulging. As soon as one orgasm is over, another is hot on its heels. And his hot hands are on me, gripping me as he lets out a sound that’s at least part animal. Liquid seeps out of me and it’s hot and sticky and the air smells like a country store. Cinnamon and flowers and apples.
