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It’s his knot, forming as he gets close to orgasm.

Augustus drives into me again, grunting and biting hard into my breast.

But it doesn’t hurt, more than the slight pinch that heightens the pleasure. I’m realizing that nothing with Augustus—nothing like this, with our bodies together—could ever hurt.

His hands on my mind, pinning them to the mattress, and his mouth on my breast, he brings me to orgasm again. When I tighten in around him, he groans and I feel the knot release, notching firmly and letting out warm and thick inside me.

Sighing, he releases my breast and skates his lips up and over my chest, scattering kisses there, up under my chin, behind my ear, then to my forehead and eyelashes. As he does, his knot continues to release inside me.

“How long does it normally last?” I whisper, swallowing, already feeling the pressure of the heat again, demanding another release though this one is barely complete.

“About thirty minutes, I think.” His voice is dreamy, floating above us, his eyes half closed as he takes my hips in his hands and rolls us over so—him still nestled deep inside me—I’m draped over the top of him.

It feels good, cool air over my back. We’re both sweating, the entire bed a mess, and his seed is already leaking out and slicking between our bodies.

Augustus doesn’t seem to care.

He just wraps his arms around me, presses a kiss to the top of my head, and drifts off with our bodies fully and completely connected.

***

If I could have experienced every one of my heats like this, then I might not have such a bad outlook on the entire process.

For the next few days, Augustus cares for me, ensuring I have whatever I want, whenever I want it. I take a bath with lavender oil, and when I ask for ice to add to the water, he doesn’t hesitate to have a guard fetch it for me. The water is cooling to my feverish skin, but the heat comes back when I look up and find Augustus watching me from the doorway, his eyes dark, his arms crossed.

It turns out, my favorite way for him to fuck me is bent over the bed, one knee up on the mattress, his hands splayed out over my hips and back and ass. Augustus seems to like it, too, leaning down to scatter hot, wet kisses over my back as he drives into me.

I like that I can arch against him, love how deep he gets into me. I even like the way that, when he knots, he stays deep inside me, rocking his hips gently, as though it’s still pleasurable to him.

When his cum leaks down my leg, and his knot is done, he just picks me up and carries me to the shower, but we get carried away in there, too. Augustus can’t stop touching my body, trailing his hands over my skin, pinching my nipples, sliding his fingers between my legs.

Hot and wet, I ride his hand in the shower, my breasts against his chest, his breath against my neck. When we’re done, still dripping wet, he roughly drags me back into the bedroom, sits down on an armchair, and pulls me down into his lap, commanding me to ride him.

As I do, he bites over the same spot on my breast, more gently. His teeth marks are like tiny bruises, but he didn’t break the skin.

In the quiet between lovemaking, Augustus holds me and asks me questions.

“What was it like?” he asks, trailing the tip of his finger down the slope of my spine.

I can barely keep my eyes open. “What was what like?”

“Growing up on the outskirts.”

Turning my head so he can’t see the emotion on my face, I swallow and say, “It was fine.” Silence follows, and I hear myself adding more. “My father…I already told you about him. He wasn’t the cruelest, but he wasn’t kind, either.”

“And your mother?”

“Died in childbirth. With me. That’s just another reason my father loathed me, I think. Even before it was clear that I would be an omega.”

Later, when I’m draped over him again, his knot pumping steadily inside me, he asks, “And what about growing up on the outskirts?”

I eye him. “What about it?”

When he laughs, his chest makes me bounce. I’ve never felt like a small woman—I’m heavy, with a belly and thick thighs—but Augustus makes me feel like I weigh nothing. His hands are constantly grabbing at me, pulling me back to lay atop him.

“Are you always so resistant to answering questions?”

“As if you’re not?”