Page 117 of Knot in the Wedding Cards

My face went scarlet in seconds.

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossible and right here.” He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once, slow. “Ready for the main course, Amber?”

I licked my lips, the word slipping out in a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His voice dropped, hungry. “Because I’m desperate to feel every inch of your hot pussy walls.”

The air between us crackled with fresh anticipation. His scent surged stronger, magnolia and pepper wrapping me tighter while bourbon warmth promised things I had forgotten I could want this badly.

We weren’t finished...not by a long shot.

The moonlight filtering through the lace curtains painted silver highlights along the curves of my body, catching on the sheen of sweat and slick.

He wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and dragged the thick head slowly through my folds, teasing without entering.

Up and down, deliberate, coating himself in my wetness.

“Watching your glistening pussy like this,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint, “your sexy body laid out under the moonlight… it’s so fucking hot, Amber. Those men really are missing out. But I certainly won’t be.”

I opened my mouth to reply—something sharp about his confidence or the unfairness of how good he looked doing this—but the words dissolved into a gasp as he notched the head at my entrance and began to push inside.

Inch by inch, he slid home.

The stretch burned sweet and overwhelming. I hadn’t felt a cock with this kind of girth in years.

Each of my former pack had their own signature—Beckett’s steady thickness, Cade’s playful curve, August’s impressive length that always left me wonderfully sore.

Sawyer surpassed them.

The realization hit me hard; it was dangerous territory if the others ever learned it. My walls fluttered around him, adjusting, welcoming.

We both moaned as he bottomed out, hips flush against mine. The sound tangled together in the quiet room, raw and honest.

“Full,” I managed, panting.

My hands found his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle there.

He held still, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing each other in.

His scent enveloped us completely now—magnolia blooming rich and sweet, black pepper sharp with arousal, bourbon warmth turning deeper, almost smoky. Mine answered in waves of sun-warm apricot and garden roses, the bruised edges from earlier long gone, replaced by something brighter, needier.

“Perfect fit,” he murmured, kissing the tip of my nose.

Then he captured my mouth fully, kissing me senseless, tongue stroking deep while his cock throbbed inside me. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Ready for the rollercoaster ride, Blooming Apricot?”

I laughed; the sound surprised and delighted even to my own ears.

“Clearly strapped in. Don’t hold back on my account.”

He chuckled, low and warm, the vibration traveling through our joined bodies.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”