Page 14 of Knot The Nanny We Planned

She gets her cup and turns around, and the movement brings her face-to-face with the situation in my sweatpants. Her eyes drop, instinct, biology, whatever, and then snap back up so fast I almost laugh. Her blush is immediate and spectacular, spreading from her cheeks down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt.

"Knox…"

"Don't." I hold up a hand. "Don't apologize. Don't look away. Don't pretend you didn't just stare at my cock for three full seconds."

"I wasn't…" She swallows. "I wasn't staring."

"You were absolutely staring." I push off the counter and take a step toward her. "And I'm absolutely hard. And we're both absolutely thinking about last night."

Her grip on the coffee cup tightens. Her knuckles go white. "I don't know what you're…"

"The dream, Willow." I take another step. Close now. Close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. "You think I didn't feel it? You think JD and Deklan didn't feel it? We were in it. I was in it. Between your legs. And you came so hard you woke up screaming."

Her breath catches and a fresh wave of slick hits the air, honey and vanilla thickening, darkening, going wet and wanton, and my Alpha instincts surge so hard I have to clench my fists to keep from grabbing her.

"You felt that?" she whispers.

"Every. Fucking. Second." I'm close enough to touch her now, but I don't. Not yet. "I felt your hands in my hair. I felt your thighs shaking around my face. I felt you clench around my fingers when you came." I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, and lower my voice to a growl. "I still have the taste of you on my tongue, little omega. And it's making me insane."

She trembles. I can see it, a fine, full-body shudder that starts in her shoulders and rolls down to her toes. Her scent is flooding the kitchen now, so thick and sweet it's almost visible, and her chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow breaths.

"Knox, we can't…"

"Can't what?"

I pull back just enough to look at her face. Her eyes are wide and dark, the pupils blown so wide the color is barely visible. Her lips are parted, her breath coming in small, desperate puffs.

"Can't want each other? Too late. Can't stop thinking about it? Too late. Can't acknowledge that you're standing in my kitchen without underwear, soaked through, smelling like every fantasy I've ever had?"

Her eyes widen. "How did you…"

"I can smell you, Willow." I reach out and trace the line of her jaw with my fingertip. Feather-light. Barely a touch. But she leans into it like a flower toward the sun. "I can smell how wet you are. I can smell that you're not wearing anything under that shirt. I can smell that you've been aching since the moment you walked into this penthouse."

My finger traces down her throat, along her collarbone, to the edge of the oversized shirt. "And I can smell that you're getting wetter right now, standing this close to me, even though you're trying so hard to pretend you're not."

A small, broken sound escapes her lips.

"JD said not to touch you," I murmur. My finger traces back up her throat, tipping her chin up. "He said not until you ask. And I'm going to honor that, because JD is a stubborn bastard who's usually right, and because you deserve better than an Alpha who can't control himself."

Her eyes search mine. "Then what are you doing?"

"Loving you within an inch of your sanity," I say, and I mean it. I watch her pupils dilate, watch her lips part further, watch the flush spread down her chest. "I'm going to stand here, and I'm going to tell you exactly what I want to do to you, and you're going to listen. And if you want me to stop, if you genuinely, honestly want me to walk away, you say the word, and I'm gone."

She doesn't say the word. Instead, her chest heaves and her thighs press together. But she doesn't say stop.

"I want to put my hands on you," I say, my voice dropping to a register that's barely above a growl. "I want to slide my hand between your legs and feel how wet you are. I want to push my fingers inside you, two of them, maybe three, and feel you clench around me while I stroke that spot that makes you see God."

Her breath hitches.

"I want to drop to my knees and put my mouth on you again. Not in a dream this time. For real. I want to feel your hands in my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, while I tongue-fuck you until your legs give out." I step closer, and now my chest is nearly touching hers. The heat radiating between us is suffocating. "And then I want to carry you to that counter, spread your thighs, and bury my face between them until you come on my tongue so many times you forget your own name."

"Knox..." Her voice is barely a whisper. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused. Her hips have started to rock, tiny, involuntary movements, her body chasing friction that isn't there.

"But I'm not going to do any of that," I say. "Not yet. Not until you ask."

I watch her face cycle through a dozen emotions: want, frustration, need, fear, and something deeper. Something raw.

"What if I don't know how to ask?" she says, and her voice cracks on the last word.