Page 96 of Knot Her Beta

His leg relaxes as I work the joint, thumbs circling the kneecap, fingers finding the muscle above and below, reading the tension and easing it away. His skin is warm, and from where my thumb rests on the inside of his knee, his pulse quickens.

I raise my head to find him watching me with a vulnerability I’ve never seen before as he reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Is this your way of proposing?”

I swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat. “If you want to take it that way. And if your answer is yes.”

“No one has ever…” He blinks away fresh tears. “Fuck, Em, how am I supposed to resist you?”

“You’re not.” I set his leg down with care and rise on my knees, my hands bracing on his spread thighs. “Don’t resist me at all.”

We move forward at the same time, our lips colliding, and his breath catches. His hand comes up to my wrist, fingers circling the bone, moving my hands higher up his thighs as his muscles tense.

His mouth opens under mine, and coffee lingers on his tongue, faint and warm. When I break the kiss, he stares up at me with a dazed expression, eyes half-closed, lips parted, and a flush spreading across his cheekbones.

Heart racing, I guide him back onto the couch cushions with a hand on his chest, my mouth moving to the hinge of his jaw, the pulse point beneath his ear, the curve of his throat where his skin is warm and stubbled. He lets out a sigh, and his free hand finds the back of my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape.

I take my time. My lips trace his collarbone through the burgundy sweater, and soon, his breathing becomes uneven. I grip the hem of his sweater, pull it up, and he lifts his arms, breaking the contact between us. The fabric slides over his head, and I toss it somewhere behind me as my lips find his once more.

My hands map the planes of his chest, narrow but well-defined, the muscle lean beneath warm skin. My thumbs find his nipples, plucking them into hard peaks, and he arches into my touch with a moan. I follow the contour of his ribs down to his stomach, and my fingers find his belt.

I undo it, my mouth still busy at his sternum, and the leather slides free. His zipper follows, and I drag his pants down his hips enough for my lips to follow the golden happy trail below his navel. As my mouth drags lower, Grady gasps, his hips lifting with desire. I plant my palms high on his thighs to still him.

“Em.” It comes out rough, wrecked already, and the sound of my name undoes me.

When I check on him, his head is tipped back on the couch, his throat bared, his chest rising fast, and desperation flashes across his face. My own breath catches. I strip his jeans the rest of the way down, mindful of his knee, lift his leg free, and lay him bare before me. His lovely body sprawls across the cushions, his cock hard against his stomach.

I stand and strip out of my clothes with far less care than I showed for him. He tracks every movement, dark and hungry, and when I step out of my underwear and stand naked, his hand reaches for me.

I return to straddle his thighs, careful to keep my weight entirely off his right knee, and take him in hand. His warm length fills my palm, and I stroke him, relishing the way he pulses beneath my fingers. He sits up, drawing my breast into his mouth, and he sucks me into his wet heat with a groan.

His tongue alternates between quick flicks and flat strokes as he worships my breast before switching to the other, giving it the same attention.

I arch into his touch, rubbing his shaft between my swollen folds, my thumb circling his head to smear a pearl of pre-cum over the sensitive crown. His hands find my hips, urging me forward.

I rise higher on my knees, position him at my entrance, and sink onto him in one slow roll of my hips.

We both go still.

His breath leaves him in a ragged exhale, and his fingers tighten in warning. I wait for him to adjust, relishing the stretch and the heat of him inside me, and for a long moment neither of us moves.

His forehead drops to my collarbone, his breath hot puffs on my skin. I roll my hips, testing the angle, and a broken, almost whimpering sound breaks free from Grady.

I set a deep, unhurried rhythm at first, my hands braced on his shoulders, my body doing all the work. I control the angle, the depth, watching him as I sink down, noting the way his eyes squeeze shut when I shift forward. I adjust until I find what turns his breathing ragged, and he grips me harder.

When I lean forward, changing the angle, he drops back onto the couch, and his grip tightens to the point of pain. I quicken my pace, my thighs working, each stroke deeper than the last, and when he groans my name, I lower my mouth to his throat and bite down softly.

His whole body tightens beneath me. He thrusts upward, his hands clenching, and he shudders through his release with my name still on his lips, his cock pulsing inside me in rhythmic waves, and my orgasm crests.

I pull off him before my lock swells, using my fingers to bring myself that last step over the edge, my inner walls clenching and swelling around emptiness. Falling forward, I shudder through it, my forehead resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapping around my back to hold me there.

We stay tangled together and breathless for a long time as his heartbeat slows, and mine answers.

In the aftermath, we lie together on the narrow couch, Grady’s head tipped back on the armrest, my body half-draped across his chest. His heartbeat has settled into a slow, steady rhythm beneath my ear, and his hand rests on the small of my back, fingers tracing idle patterns over my skin.

And when he shifts with discomfort, I sit up and draw his right knee into my lap. The joint is a little swollen, and I work my thumbs into the ligaments with slow, careful pressure, checking for new stiffness the same way I checked before.

The muscle yields under my hands, and he sighs in relief as his body sinks deeper into the cushions.

Grady curls one arm behind his head, relaxed with satiation. “Yes.”