Page 7 of Knot By Design
She does, her orgasm crashing over her, walls pulsing, pulling my release from me. I come with a roar, spilling deep inside her, the knot sealing every drop.
We ride it out together, bodies shaking, sweat-slicked and spent.
When it fades, I collapse beside her, still tied, holding her close. Her head on my chest, nails tracing lazy patterns on my skin. “I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too.” And as the fire dies down, we drift, together and sated.
The room is dim except for the fire embers. Norah’s asleep, hair tangled over the pillow, her bracelet glinting faintly in the glow. Her scent still hangs in the air, sweet and drowsy.
I move and try to fight the disappointment that my knot released some time during our nap. I’m still contemplating waking her up for another round when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I reach for it, squinting against the light. Who the hell is texting me at 2 a.m.?
It’s a message from my father.
Good news. I spoke to an old colleague. Interview set up for you in Portland—Monday morning. Denzel and Ridge Architecture. This is a big opportunity, kid. Don’t blow it.
For a long breath, I just stare at the screen.Portland. The word looks foreign, heavy. It’s so far from my mom.
So far from Norah…
Portland means everything I’ve worked for. A real shot at the life I’ve been chasing. Designing, building, finally being someone worth something.
I set the phone down and glance back at her. Her lips are parted in sleep, lashes fluttering against her skin. She looks peaceful, like she belongs to the soft hum of the fire.
When we met, she was barefoot in her aunt’s shop, dirt on her cheeks, humming to herself while arranging tulips. I’d walked in needing flowers for my mother’s birthday and walked out with a heart I didn’t know how to guard.
Since then, every dream I’ve had has somehow wrapped around her. Even the big ones. Maybe especially those.
I slide closer, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She stirs, murmuring something, then settles again.
The snow outside thickens, swirling past the window. I watch it fall, that endless white, and wonder how much of life is made up of trade-offs like this—ambition or belonging, skyscrapers or greenhouses, the future or what’s right here in front of me.
My hand finds her bracelet. The metal’s cool under my thumb.
I whisper it to her, though she can’t hear. “Forever someday, Norah. I meant it.”
Her body shifts, curling toward me in sleep. I pull the blanket higher around us, tucking her close.
The phone buzzes again, another message from Dad.Call me in the morning. We’ll go over details.
I don’t answer. Not yet.
I trace the ink on my arm, the curve of the lilies that belong to her. Can I have both?
I don’t want to leave her, not now, when it feels like I already built something worth keeping.
Something that lasts.
Something that’s mine.
CHAPTER TWO
Ryker
FIVE YEARS LATER
The Smokehouse smellslike oak and fried onions, the kind of scent that clings to your jacket long after you leave.
