Page 10 of Knot The Nanny We Planned

He heard me. I know he did. And I should be mortified, I am mortified, but underneath the embarrassment is something darker. Something that thrills at the thought of him listening. Something that wishes the wall wasn't there at all.

I withdraw my hand, wipe it on the sheet - God, I've ruined these sheets - and roll onto my side, pulling the covers up to my chin like a child. My body is still humming, still aching, still producing slick, but exhaustion is pulling at me now, heavy and insistent.

My eyelids droop.

The scent of cedar wraps around me, Deklan's scent, steady and grounding, and despite everything, despite the heat and the shame and the impossible situation I've walked into, I feel my muscles slowly unknitting.

The last thing I hear before sleep takes me is the soft creak of a floorboard in the hallway. Someone pausing outside my door. Someone breathing. Then nothing.

The dream starts the way all dreams do, formless, shifting, without logic or reason. One moment I'm in my childhood bedroom in Millbrook, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The next, I'm somewhere else. Somewhere warm and dark, with walls that aren't quite solid and air that moves like water.

And I'm not alone.

JD stands behind me. I can't see him, but I feel him, the massive heat of his body pressed against my back, his hands gripping my hips, his breath hot against the curve of my neck. He's naked. I know because I can feel the hard, sculpted planes of his chest against my shoulder blades, the ridges of his abdomen against my lower back, and lower, thick, hard, and insistent, his cock pressing against the curve of my ass.

He's big. Impossibly big. The thick length of him slides between my thighs, not entering, just resting there, hot and heavy, and I can feel the swell of his knot at the base, a dense, throbbing lump that rubs against my entrance with every micro-movement.

"Willow." His voice is a rumble against my ear, so deep it vibrates through my bones. "You feel what you do to me?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"This is yours." He rolls his hips, and his cock slides through my slick. When did I get this wet? I'm drenched, dripping, my thighs slick with it, and the friction against my clit makes my knees buckle. "Every inch. Every drop. All yours."

I try to turn around. I want to see him, want to see the face that goes with the voice, the body that goes with the heat. But his hands tighten on my hips, holding me in place.

"Not yet," he murmurs. "You don't get to look yet. You get to feel."

His hand slides from my hip to my stomach, fingers splaying wide, pressing me back against him. Then lower. His fingertips trace the line of my underwear, am I wearing underwear in this dream? I was. But now the fabric dissolves, melting away like smoke, and his hand is there, right there, cupping my sex.

I gasp.

"So wet," he says, and his voice is dark silk and gravel. "So ready. Your body knows, Willow. It knows who it belongs to."

His middle finger slides between my folds, gathering slick, and brings it up to my clit. He circles it once, twice, and my hips jerk forward, chasing the pressure. But he holds me steady, controlled, an immovable wall of alpha muscle, and sets his own pace. Slow. Torturous. Maddening circles that build the heat higher and higher without letting it crest.

"JD, "

"Shh." His lips brush the shell of my ear. "Patience. You're not the only one who gets to play."

And then another pair of hands.

From the darkness in front of me, Knox materializes. Golden hair, green eyes, that wicked grin that promises trouble. He's shirtless, his chest smooth and sculpted, and he looks at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

"Hello, little omega," he purrs. "Having fun without me?"

He drops to his knees.

I should be embarrassed. I should push him away. But this is a dream, and dream-logic says there's no shame here, only want. And I want, I want, with a ferocity that scares me.

Knox presses his face against my stomach, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across my skin. Down, down, down, over the curve of my hip, along the crease of my thigh, until his breath is a hot wash against my aching center.

"She smells incredible," Knox says, looking up at me with those devil-green eyes. "Like honey and sin. I could eat her alive."

"Then do it," JD says behind me, his finger still working my clit in those maddening circles.

Knox grins and then his mouth is on me.

His tongue is hot and slick and skilled, and the first broad stroke from entrance to clit makes me scream. The sound echoes in the dark, formless space, swallowed by nothing. JD holds me upright, his arm banded across my chest, his hand cupping my breast, fingers rolling my nipple, while Knox devours me. His tongue circles my clit, then dips lower, pushing inside me, tasting the slick that's pouring out of me.