Page 93 of Knot the Plan
She can't answer. Another wave rolls through her and she arches up off the nest with a desperate sound, grinding against me, gone to instinct, and I stop making her wait.
I strip the rest of her clothes off. She's flushed head to toe, nipples tight, thighs soaked and glistening with slick, and the scent of her this close hits me like a fist. I put my mouth on her fast because she doesn't have slow in her right now. I settle between her legs and lick a long stripe through her slick folds, and she cries out and shudders and fists both hands in my hair.
She's drenched. Soaked, dripping, her body making more with every drag of my tongue. I seal my lips over her clit and suck and slide two fingers into her, and she's so slick they go in like nothing, her cunt clenching around them, and I fuck her with them deep and steady, curling to hit the spot that bows her off the nest.
“There—there—” She's riding my hand, chasing it, shameless. “Finn—can't?—”
“So slick for me.” I suck her clit hard, feel her clench around my fingers. “Soaking my hand. Come on. Let me feel it.”
She shatters with my name in her mouth, slick gushing over my hand, her whole body convulsing, and I work her through itand don't stop until she's sobbing and clutching at me, past done waiting.
“Please,” she pants, dragging at my shoulders. “Please, please, need you in me, Finn?—”
“Getting there.” Dry, even now, even wrecked as I am. I come up over her, and then the play drops out of both of us at once. I catch her jaw, make her eyes find mine. “Look at me. You still sure.”
“Yours—” It punches out of her, ragged. “Claim me. Please.”
That's all I need. I line up, drag the head of my cock through her slick, and push into her in one long stroke, and we both stop breathing. She's tight and hot and so wet I slide in to the hilt, and she grips me like a vise, pulling me deeper.
I grit my teeth and hold still, buried in her, jaw locked, every muscle a drawn cable, because two months of wanting is right there at the edge and I am not blowing this in four seconds.
“Move—” She's writhing under me, frantic. “Finn—please?—”
“I've got you.” I drop my head and bury my face in her neck, right where her scent runs sweetest, and breathe her in, brown sugar and oat and mine now under it. “Look at you. Taking all of me. You're—” And there it goes, the words, the way they always go when it's her. I give up on them. “Fuck, Josie.”
Something lets go in me then, some last bolt I've kept thrown for two months, and a growl rolls up out of my chest I couldn't stop if I tried. I don't try. So I stop being careful.
I pull almost all the way out and drive back in, hard, and she screams and I swallow it, and then I fuck her in earnest, deep and relentless, her under me and taking every inch. The nest fills with the sound of us — skin on skin, the slick drag of my cock into her, her voice climbing, the shirts sliding, her nails scoring down my back sure to leave marks I'll wear like a citation.
She meets me thrust for thrust, gone, mindless, her cunt clenching around me with every stroke, and at the base of meI feel it start, my knot thickening, catching now at her rim, tugging.
“Yes—” She's barely words. “Knot—bite—please—yours?—”
That word.
Yours.
One last brutal thrust and the swell forces past her rim and locks, stretching her wide around me, and it pops into place with a sound that punches a scream out of us both.
She clamps down on my knot and comes again on the spot, her cunt milking me, and the feel of her fluttering around the lock drags me over with her. I come harder than I ever have, spilling into her in hot pulses, filling her, my knot throbbing with every wave while her body pulls every drop deeper.
And my teeth ache. God, they ache, that old alpha instinct roaring up, everything primal in me lunging for one thing, and this time I don't shut a door on it.
“Mine.” It comes out of me low and rough, half growl, the only claim I've got, four letters, everything.
“Yours.” She tips her head, bares her neck, gives it to me on pure instinct. “Please?—”
I set my teeth where her neck meets her shoulder, and I bite. Skin gives.
And the bond drops into place like a key finding a lock it was cut for.
I lick over the mark, slow, sealing it, and a purr starts up in my chest before I've decided to make it — deep and steady and involuntary, the most un-Finn sound in the world — rumbling out of me to soothe her. I feel it work.
She goes boneless against me, sighing, her whole body unspooling around the knot still locking us together. I press my nose to her throat and breathe her in, scenting her, marking her, learning the way she smells like us now.
“There she is,” Hudson murmurs, and then he's there at her side with a glass of water, easing it to her lips while I hold her, and she drinks in slow swallows without opening her eyes. Logan's got a cool cloth, pressing it to the back of her neck, brushing her hair off her damp forehead. Neither of them jostles us where we're tied. They just tend her, quiet and sure, while my purr rumbles on and the bond settles bright and new between us.
I've heardmen try to describe it. None of them get it right, because there aren't words the right size.
