Page 150 of Knot By Design
I am so aware of myself. Of my skin. Of the way the blanket feels too heavy and not heavy enough.
Of the way my body hums, restless and demanding, like it’s searching for something it can’t name but absolutely requires.
I swallow with effort and lower the sandwich to my lap.
“I’m trying,” I mumble, not even sure who I am talking to.
Dorian’s hand moves at my back, slow and reassuring, his palm warm through the fabric. It’s not a grab. It’s not a claim. It’s just contact.
Just enough to make my breath hitch anyway.
“You’re doing fine,” he says quietly.
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to crawl out of my skin and into his.
My head feels heavy. My thoughts feel slippery.
I know I should say something coherent. I know I should explain what’s happening inside me, give them something useful to work with.
Instead, all that comes out is the truth stripped down to its barest form.
“I can’t think,” I admit.
Jude’s voice comes from my other side, low and careful. “That’s okay. You don’t have to solve anything right now.”
His presence presses in on me, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the air. It makes my breath stutter.
My body leans before I tell it to, instinct chasing instinct. I clamp down on it, mortified and relieved all at once.
“I know I’m being… a lot,” I say, words tumbling over each other. “I don’t want to push. I don’t want to?—”
“You’re not pushing,” Ryker says firmly from across the room. “Your body is doing what it does. That’s not something you need to apologize for.”
That should make me feel better.
Instead, it makes the ache sharper.
I shift in Dorian’s lap, trying to find a position that doesn’t make everything flare at once. It’s useless.
Every movement sends another wave rolling through me, heat chasing heat, need stacking on need until it feels like I’m vibrating under my own skin.
“Are you okay, baby?” he asks.
Fuck! Even his voice is sexy.
I shake my head. I look up and find Jude adjusting his cock through his sweatpants. That sends another flare of heat through me.
“I’m hot,” I tell him.
The words hang in the air, but they unlock something inside me. My hands tremble as I push the blanket down my legs, the fabric whispering against my skin like a tease I can’t stand.
Dorian’s thighs tense beneath me, his body a solid anchor that’s both comfort and torment. I press closer, my breasts brushing his chest, nipples hardening instantly.
A whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it, needy and unfiltered.
“Please,” I murmur, not even sure what I’m begging for. My hips rock forward on instinct, grinding against the hard length I feel growing under me.
Dorian’s breath catches, his hands sliding up my sides, thumbs grazing the undersides of my breasts. Everything inside of me clenches, empty and desperate.
