I can only whimper in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely filled. He holds still for a long moment, allowing me to acclimate, his hands stroking my back, my hips, my thighs.
“Move,” I finally gasp, pushing back against him. “Please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Drawing back until only the head of his cock remains inside me, he thrusts forward with acontrolled power that drives the breath from my lungs. He sets a steady rhythm, each stroke hitting places inside me that make my vision blur.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “So perfect around me.”
His words wash over me, adding to the building pleasure. One of his hands slides beneath me, finding my clit with unerring accuracy, and I cry out as he circles it in time with his thrusts.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let me hear you.”
I abandon any pretense of quietness, moaning freely as he drives me toward another climax. The dual stimulation of his cock inside me and his fingers on my clit is overwhelming, pushing me higher and higher until I’m teetering on the edge.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”
His words are the final push I need. I shatter, my inner walls clenching around him as pleasure crashes through me in waves. He groans, his rhythm faltering as my body milks his cock.
“Holly,” he gasps, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “I’m close. My knot?—“
“Yes,” I pant, pushing back against him. “I want it.”
His control snaps at my words. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his knot swelling inside me, locking us together. Without the throes of heat to loosen my joints and relax my muscles, it’s only just on the right side of too much. But I want it badly enough that the dull ache of the stretch is nothing in the face of the pleasure I feel.
The pressure against my sensitive walls triggers another orgasm, smaller but no less intense, and I cry out his name as he begins to pulse inside me, filling me with his release.
We collapse together onto the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress in a way that feels secure rather than crushing.He’s careful to keep most of his bulk supported on his forearms, his chest heaving against my back as we both struggle to catch our breath.
After a moment, he shifts us onto our sides, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist, his knot still firmly lodged inside me. The position is intimate, vulnerable, and strangely comforting.
“Okay?” he murmurs against my neck, his lips brushing my skin.
I nod, too spent for words. His knot will keep us connected for at least twenty minutes, maybe longer given the intensity of his orgasm. The thought doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should.
As our breathing slows and our heartbeats return to normal, I drift toward sleep, cocooned in his warmth and the lingering pleasure of our connection. Just before consciousness slips away entirely, I feel his lips press against my shoulder in a surprisingly tender kiss.
“Mine,” he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. “Ours.”
The words follow me into dreams, a promise and a challenge I hope I’ll be ready to face when morning comes.
TWENTY-FOUR
NOAH
I parkmy car at the base of the hiking trail, the same spot where Jamie and I started our fatal expedition two years ago. The morning air is crisp against my face as I step out, my hiking boots crunching on gravel. My backpack feels heavier than it should—just water, a first aid kit, and a protein bar—but guilt has a weight all its own.
This is the third consecutive day I’ve made this pilgrimage. Each morning, I tell myself it will be the last, that today I’ll find clarity, make a decision, and move forward. Each afternoon, I return to my car just as conflicted as when I arrived.
The trail starts gently enough, winding through pine trees that filter the sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor. Birds call overhead, a pleasant soundtrack that does nothing to quiet the chaos in my mind. I walk automatically, my body remembering the path even as my thoughts spiral.
Holly.
Her name alone sends a pulse through the bond—a connection I never wanted but can’t seem to ignore. Even at this distance, I can feel the faint echo of her emotions: confusion, hurt, a yearning that matches my own despite my best efforts tosuppress it. The bond is like a rubber band stretching between us, pulling tighter the farther apart we stay.
Shutting the bond enough that she can’t feel me anymore feels like swallowing glass, but I need that separation right now to think clearly.
I push myself to go faster up the incline, even as my lungs scream in protest, as if I could outpace these unwelcome feelings. The trail narrows, becoming steeper as it approaches the ridge where everything changed. My breathing grows labored, but I welcome the burn in my lungs. Physical discomfort is easier to manage than emotional turmoil.
When I’m away from Holly, I can almost convince myself that this is simply a medical problem to solve. I can approach it clinically, list the options in increasing order of viability for maintaining Holly’s career and reputation:
