Page 48 of Knot The Nanny We Planned

"Then I'm going to lay you back in this nest, and I'm going to put my mouth on you. Not like the dream, better. Real. I'm going to taste every inch of you until you're shaking."

Her hips shift. Involuntary. Chasing friction that isn't there yet.

"And then I'm going to use my fingers. My hands. I'm going to open you up, prepare you, because JD is," I glance at the alpha, who is visibly throbbing against his waistband, "significantly endowed, and I need you ready for him."

Willow whimpers and the sound goes straight to my cock.

"And then," I murmur, my lips brushing her ear, "I'm going to watch while they take you. Deklan's mouth on yours, my hands on your body, and JD inside you. And when you come, when you're full of him, full of us, completely overwhelmed, I'm going to be right here. Catching you. Holding you together while you fall apart."

"Knox." Her voice is barely a thread. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please stop talking and touch me."

I smile. Slow. Hungry. "Since you asked so nicely."

I unbutton her jeans. The zipper comes down tooth by tooth, and I watch her face as I work, the anticipation building, her lips parting and her breath quickening. I hook my fingers through the waistband of her jeans and her underwear, then pull them down.

She lifts her hips to help me, and the movement pushes her breasts toward my face. I don't take them in my mouth, not yet. I'm torturing myself as much as her.

The jeans slide down her thighs. Her knees. Her calves. I pull them off along with her socks, and then she's bare. Completely bare. Kneeling in the nest in nothing but her skin.

I sit back on my heels and look at her.

She's... God, she's everything. The curve of her hips. The soft plane of her stomach. The smooth skin between her thighs, glistening with slick. Her inner thighs are wet, coated with it, the evidence of her arousal so blatant and so beautiful that my mouth waters.

"You're dripping," I say. The dirty talk isn't a strategy anymore. It's observation. It's wonder. "You're so wet, Willow. I can see it. I can smell it. And I haven't even touched you yet."

She makes a sound, embarrassed, aroused, desperate. Her thighs press together, and I reach out and gently part them.

"Don't," I say. "Don't close. Let me see."

She hesitates. Then, with a shuddering breath, she lets her knees fall open.

The scent that rises is overwhelming. Honey and vanilla and slick, the thick, sweet, omega-specific lubricant that her body is producing in floods. Her outer lips are swollen, flushed pink, and between them, her inner folds glisten. Her clit is swollen, peeking out from its hood, and her entrance is clenching. Rhythmic. Involuntary. Her body begging for something to fill it.

"Lay back," I say. My voice is a growl now. Not the Alpha growl that JD produces, deeper, rougher, born from a different kind of instinct. The instinct to devour. "Lay back in the nest and let me taste you."

She does. Slowly, she lowers herself onto the pile of shirts and blankets, her head coming to rest on a pillow that smells like JD. Her dark hair spreads across the fabric like ink. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Her hands clutch the edges of the nest.

I settle between her thighs. Her legs fall open wider, an invitation, a surrender, and the heat radiating from her core is palpable against my face.

I press my mouth to her inner thigh. Left side first. A kiss, soft, closed-mouth, barely a touch and she shivers. I move to the right side. Another kiss. Higher this time and she gasps.

"You smell incredible," I murmur against her skin. "Sweet and wet and ready. I've been dreaming about this taste for three days."

"Knox, please," she begs, breathless.

"Please what? Tell me. Use your words."

"Your mouth. On me. Now."

"Since you asked so nicely." I press my mouth to her center.

The sound she makes is not human. It's omega, primal and raw, a keening cry that comes from somewhere deep in her chest. Her hips buck against my face, and her hands fly to my hair, gripping hard enough to sting.

She tastes exactly like the dream. Honey and salt and something darker underneath, something musky and sweet and purely her. My tongue sweeps through her folds, gathering slick, and I groan against her because the taste is intoxicating. Addicting. I could die between her thighs and consider it a life well lived.