“Do you know what else I smell, Lielit?” he asked, tightening his grip around my hand.
I closed my eyes, and his scent flooded my senses—sharp, clean, unmistakably him—wrapping around me like cologne I couldn’t escape.
He inhaled slowly. Once. Then again.
I wasn’t helping my cause.
“I can smell how wet that pussy is for me right now. It has both of us drooling,” he said, his voice low and deep.
It’s the need to mark our territory, Bouda murmured.
My eyes snapped open as understanding slammed into place.
“I can smell your need. I can feel your pulse race,” he continued, pressing two fingers against my wrist, grounding me there. Claiming the beat beneath my skin.“And I know only my knot can satisfy that greedy little hole.”
When I didn’t respond, he pressed a button.
“Get us home as fast as you can,” he snapped, releasing it a second later.
He shifted closer. One hand settled over my belly, the other closing around my fingers—grounding, possessive. Most mornings, I woke to that same weight on my stomach. The memory only made it worse.
Heat pooled low in my body. I could feel the slick spreading over the gusset of my thong.
His head dipped, lips brushing my bare shoulder before tracing slowly along my collarbone.
“Are you going to soak me with that tight little cunt, Lielit?” he murmured, his mouth skimming my jaw.“Like you did when I fucked our babies inside you.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. The words were crude—but during the heat, we’d both lost control. Pretending otherwise was pointless.
“Touch me. Feel how hard you make me. How swollen my knot is for you,” he said, warm breath feathering my ear.
His tongue curled around my earlobe.
I pulled my hand free and slid it down the hard muscle of his thigh until he hissed. Beneath the soft fabric of his trousers, I felt his straining cock—and the bulging knot beneath it.
“You’re so fucked when we get home,” he snarled, barely restrained.
And for tonight, I refused to think about anything but the growing need between us.
???
As soon as the car came to a halt, Blaidd flung the door open and hauled me out with both hands, as if afraid I’d change my mind. We were upstairs in seconds.
His bow tie fluttered to the floor as he tore his jacket off.
“Turn around,” he ordered quietly, already closing the distance.
I slipped off my heels and faced the bed we’d shared all week. He tugged at the lace ties, loosening them with swift, efficient movements. His fingers brushed my lower back as he worked. The bodice shifted, then slid down, leaving me in nothing but lace thongs. He removed my scarf last.
“Lie on the bed,” he murmured, his voice low.“Hands together. Waiting to be tied.”
He nudged me forward.
I climbed onto the mattress and noticed the scarf draped around his neck—long enough to bind my wrists and then some.
He removed his cufflinks and slipped them into his pocket. His shirt followed, discarded to the floor, before he climbed onto the bed and straddled me.
“You’re not very good at following instructions,” he chided mildly as he brought my hands together, pushing my bracelet up.
