“Yours.”
“Again.”
“Yours, Theo. I’m yours. I’ve always been—oh fuck?—”
He’s fucking me harder now. Deeper. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the greenhouse. I can feel his knot swelling with every thrust, catching on my rim, stretching me wider each time.
“Feel that?” He slams into me, his knot tugging at my entrance. “Feel my knot getting bigger? Stretching this tight little pussy?”
“Yes—god—yes?—”
“Gonna lock you to me.” Another brutal thrust. “Gonna knot you so deep. Fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum. You want that?”
“Please—”
“Want everyone to smell me on you? Know that you’re claimed? That this pussy belongs to me?”
“Yes—Theo—please—I need?—”
“Touch yourself.” His thrusts are getting rougher, his knot catching harder. “Make yourself come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me when I knot you.”
My hand flies between us. My fingers find my clit and I’m already so sensitive, so close. Three strokes. Two.
“Come,” he growls. “Now.”
I fall apart.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train. I’m clenching around him, screaming, my whole body locking up. And then his knotswells completely, locking us together, and the stretch of it triggers another wave of pleasure that has me sobbing his name.
He comes with a roar.
I feel it—the hot pulse of him spilling inside me, filling me up. His knot throbs, tying us together, and my body ripples around him, milking every drop. It goes on and on, endless waves of heat and fullness.
When it finally ebbs, we’re both trembling. Clinging to each other. Still locked together, his knot pulsing gently inside me.
“Holy shit,” I manage.
He laughs weakly against my neck. “Yeah. That about covers it.”
We stay like that for a long moment. Just breathing. His heart pounding against my chest.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.” He lifts his head and kisses me softly. “You’re staying.”
“I’m staying.”
“And you love me.”
“And I love you.”
“Good.” He’s grinning now, wide and goofy and so perfectly Theo. “Because I’m not sure I can let you go after that.”
I shift experimentally, feeling him pulse inside me. His knot won’t go down for a while—twenty minutes, maybe more. We’re stuck here, on his potting bench, in his greenhouse.
“We made a mess,” I say, looking around at the scattered pots and spilled soil.
“Worth it.” He carefully maneuvers us so he’s sitting on a stool with me in his lap, still connected. His arms wrap around me, warm and secure. “I’d destroy the whole greenhouse for this.”
