Page 85 of Knot the Plan
“You're smiling,” he manages, hoarse, one eye cracking open. “Why are you smiling.”
“Because you're a menace to be this hot and this quiet about it. It's practically fraud.” I tighten my grip and twist, just slightly, on the upstroke, and whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan that rolls up from somewhere near the floor. “There he is.”
“Josie.” My name, cracked straight down the middle. “You don't—I'm not going to last—if you keep?—”
“Good. That's the entire point. Try to keep up.”
I lower my mouth to him.
He makes a sound that isn't a word. His hips jerk and he catches himself, holds himself still, all that iron control fighting the losing fight of its life, and I take him deeper just to watch it break.
I set a rhythm, hand and mouth together, slick and slow and filthy, and he's so hard against my tongue, so far past careful, that every pass drags another helpless sound out of him.
His hand spasms in my hair. I hollow my cheeks and take him as deep as I can and he chokes on my name, hips straining up against the hand I've got flat on his stomach holding him down. The sounds coming out of him now are low and helpless and nothing like the quiet man the whole town thinks they know.
I pull off just far enough to talk, my hand still working him slick and steady.
“All that quiet,” I say, against the head of him, and watch it go through him like a current. “All that careful. And you makethesesounds.” I take him back into my mouth, deep, then off again. “I'm keeping every one.”
“Josie.” It's cracked straight through. “I'm close—you have to—if you don't stop I'm?—”
“I know.” I take him deep one more time, and hum around him, and feel him start to shake, that last thread of his control going.
And then I feel it.
At the base of him, under my hand, the swell starts. Thickening, growing, filling my palm as I stroke down, and my own body clenches hard on nothing in answer, slick flooding between my own thighs untouched, my omega instincts singing high and greedy at the feel of it.
His knot.
Every cell I have wants it somewhere it is not going to get to be today. I settle for my hand.
“Josie.” It's a warning and a plea at once, his voice shredded. “You don't have to, I can?—”
I wrap my hand around his knot and squeeze, and take him deep at the same time, and that's it, that's the end of Logan Walker's control.
He comes apart.
Not quiet. Not careful. He arches up off the floor and spills, hot and thick over my tongue and my hand, with a broken, wrecked sound that has my name buried somewhere in the middle of it, his knot pulsing full and hard in my grip.
I work him through all of it, swallowing, squeezing, stroking the knot with every pulse until he's wringing out the last of it. Until he's shaking and spent and boneless and reaching for me with hands that can't quite coordinate.
And then, low and rolling and involuntary, the sound starts.
A purr. Deep in his chest, the sound an alpha only makes when everything in him has gone right at once, rumbling up through the floor and my hands and my bones, and I have wrecked this man so thoroughly that he ispurringon the floor of the house he's building for a someday he won't name, and I did that, and my heart cracks clean down the middle.
I crawl up his body and he gathers me in before I get there, both arms wrapping me tight against his chest, the purr rolling through both of us, and we lie tangled in the gold-gone-amber light not saying anything for a long time.
From here, on the floor, I can see straight down the raw, unfinished hallway, past rooms that are still just studs and subfloor, to the one other room he's finished. The nest room. The one he built with his own hands in a house that isn't for anything yet,so nobody'd have to ask,and never once told me who it was for.
It sits at the end of the hall in the last of the light, waiting on everything soft. I make myself look back at the ceiling before it can do something to me I can't take back.
His heart is still going. I put my palm over it.
“That was supposed to be for you,” he says, eventually. Rough. Faintly scandalized at himself.
“It was for me.” I prop my chin on his sternum so I can see his face. “You have no idea, Logan. Watching you lose it is the single most satisfying thing I have done in years. Possibly ever. I'm getting a plaque made.”
The laugh moves through his whole chest, under my cheek, and then it fades, and he brushes my hair back from my face with a gentleness that undoes me worse than any of the rest of it.
