I Rejected My Alpha Stepbrother, So the Moon Made Him Kneel novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: The Knot
Mikel fucks him face down on the bunk and ties him with the knot, and at dawn Fionn sets four terms before headlights come up the road.
Mikel pushed in slowly, and Fionn felt every inch of it.
He was thick, thicker than the fingers, and the stretch pulled a cry out of Fionn's chest that he buried in the pillow.
"Breathe," Mikel said.
"Don't tell me to breathe."
"Then don't clench, you stubborn bastard. You'll hurt yourself."
A hand pressed flat between Fionn's shoulder blades, and the other held his hip.
Mikel stopped with the head just inside him.
He was shaking.
Fionn could feel it through the bunk and through his hip.
He could feel it where they joined, a hard fine tremor in every muscle of the Alpha behind him.
He was holding himself back.
The knowledge went through Fionn and left him dizzy.
Mikel Urrutia, who took whatever he wanted from this house, was holding still because Fionn had not yet moved.
Fionn rocked back.
He took the next inch on his own, with a shaking groan.
He took the next, until Mikel's hips met his ass and the whole length of him was buried.
They both stopped, panting.
"Fuck," Mikel said, from somewhere above his shoulder blades. "Fuck, Casey."
"Move," Fionn said.
"Give me a second."
"I said move, Urrutia, or I swear to God."
Mikel moved.
He pulled out halfway and drove back in, and the bunk frame hit the wall of the wagon.
Fionn's mouth fell open.
It was not like his fingers, or his tongue.
It was a heavy, grinding, perfect pressure.
It hit the place inside him that sent white light up his spine, and each stroke found it again.
"There," Fionn said. "There. Don't you dare change it."
"Wasn't going to."
Mikel's rhythm built, long and deep and hard, one hand fisted in Fionn's hair now and one gripping his hip hard enough to bruise.
The wagon rocked on its wheels.
The quilt slid to the floor.
Slick ran down the backs of Fionn's thighs, and every thrust made a wet, obscene sound.
He hated it, and he would have died if it stopped.
"Listen to you," Mikel growled. "Listen to this."
"Shut up," Fionn said.
"You're so fucking tight. You were made for me."
"I was not."
"Say it, then. Say you weren't." The hand in his hair pulled his head back, and his throat arched. "Say it and I'll stop."
Fionn opened his mouth.
Mikel hit the spot again.
What came out was a shattered, open-throated moan, with no word in it at all.
Mikel laughed in his ear, ragged, and bit the side of his neck.
It was not the claiming bite.
It was only a mark, and still Fionn came on it, untouched, with a shout that shook the stovepipe, striping the bunk beneath him.
Mikel followed a moment later with a groan.
Something at the base of his cock began to swell.
Fionn felt it, a thickening ring of pressure, widening, locking them together at the place where they were joined.
"Urrutia."
It slipped out.
"Don't pull," Mikel said, hoarse. "Don't, it'll tear you. It's the knot. It's only the knot. Be still."
Fionn lay still.
He could do nothing else.
They were tied, hip to hip and hole to cock, and every pulse of Mikel's release inside him made him shudder again.
The Alpha's weight came down over him, careful, braced on his forearms so as not to crush him.
His chest was hot against Fionn's back.
His breath came in rough gusts in Fionn's hair.
For a long time neither of them said anything.
Outside, a coyote called from the ridge, and the stove ticked as it cooled.
Then a big hand moved gently through Fionn's hair, smoothing it back from his sweaty forehead.
It was a small thing.
It did more damage than anything Mikel had done all night.
"Don't," Fionn said, thickly.
"Don't what?"
"Be kind. I can't take it."
The hand stopped.
It did not leave.
"Go to sleep, stray," Mikel said quietly. "The knot's going to hold us most of an hour."
Fionn slept.
He woke twice more before dawn, in the grip of the heat, and each time Mikel was there.
The second time was slow and sideways on the bunk, with Mikel's arm under his head.
The third time Mikel took him on his back, with Fionn's legs over his shoulders, and watched his face the whole way.
Gray light came through the small window over the stove.
Fionn lay on his back on the bunk with his legs useless and his hair wet with sweat.
The first wave of the heat had ebbed.
He could think again.
He sat up slowly.
Mikel was on the floor, back against the wall, shirtless, with Fionn's tooth marks black and blue on his shoulder.
He had been watching Fionn sleep, and he did not pretend he hadn't.
"Terms," Fionn said.
His voice was a rasp.
Mikel's eyebrow went up, the one with the scar. "Terms."
"If this is going to happen while I burn, then there are rules. One." Fionn held up a finger. "Not on the mouth."
"Fine."
"Two. Never in front of the pack. Out there you're still the bastard and I'm still the stray."
He made himself finish it. "And you don't look at me like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you are right now." Fionn swallowed. "Three. You don't say mine. Not to me, not to anybody."
Mikel said nothing.
"Four. When I say stop, you stop. Every time."
"That one I'd have given you for free." Mikel's mouth twisted. "Is that all?"
"That's all."
"Then I have a fifth." He stood, and the roof curve forced him to stoop. "You don't leave."
"Watch me."
"I will. Every day."
Fionn stared at him, furious, and did not know what he felt.
Then the sound of an engine came to them across the sage, a truck with a rough diesel, climbing the wagon road.
Mikel went to the window.
"That's my father's truck," he said.
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