Book On Knots Novels & Stories

Traced the intricate knot pattern with a gaze that felt like a physical touch. "Interesting piece," he said. His voice was neutral. Conversational. Like we were discussing the weather. But his fingers hadn't moved. "Thank you." "I've seen that pattern before." He looked up. Met my eyes. Held them. "Celtic knot. It represents... binding. The intertwining of souls. The chains we choose to wear." I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except stare into those dark eyes and feel his fingers burning against my pulse point. He could feel it—my racing heart, my hammering pulse. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

Acacia would probably be more nervous than me when she explained what knotting is. I shrugged my shoulder, “Alright, knotting, so, I need to let them do the knotting. So, what the f*ck is knotting?” Zahra took a sighed and took her smartphone out. She has one of the best internet in this area it seems, because what she showed me almost makes me faint. “Holy f*ck! I need to do that?!” I shouted at them, while my face went pale, “Just look at the woman, she seems in a lot of… Well, pleasure, but look how long that she need to endure the… knotting!”

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Okay... before some of you come for my neck. 😂 I need to disappear for about 5 days. I know, I know... that's a long time, especially now that we're getting close to the ending, but hear me out first. We have about 38 chapters left, and my goal is still to finish Knotting on Ice before the end of this month. To make that happen without randomly disappearing again, I want to use these few days to properly outline and draft the remaining chapters.

Smack in the middle of the page is an article titled 'The Knot: Myth or Reality? I blink at the screen, my brain tripping over the words. 'The Knot - Rumoured to be a unique feature of male werewolves in both folklore and popular fiction, the knot is said to form at the base of…' Nope. I force my eyes away and scroll the mouse until I hit the bottom of the page. This is stupid. That is just a weird site for people who dream about shirtless wolf-men claiming them under a full moon. It's got nothing to do with Thorne. Nothing to do with me.

I am caught between a rock and a hard place, I don't know what to do. "Baby I am not saying don't use the book, all I am saying is that maybe you shouldn't just rush into this, we don't even know the kind of knowledge it has, it was protected for a reason, we might just be messing with Pandora's box here." Jonathan said to me. That book was hidden from the world for thousands of years, what's more is that it was protected with all the magical knots and elements so that no witch might be able to use it, by some fluke I happen to be the only witch who could unlock it's powers.

He straightens. "Doesn't matter right now. What matters is I've read about this in my father’s bestiary. The far-shelf books, the ones he calls a waste of paper because they're not local. Small. Lives in water. Webbed hands. Drags people by the ankle. Obsessed with... hold on." He stops and turns to me with an expression I've never seen him wear on a hunt. He looks delighted. Noah Hunter. Delighted when I’m not fucking him. Mark the calendar.

His other hand moved away, just long enough to shrug off his coat and wrap it around my waist. "Where was the guy with you earlier?" he suddenly asked, eyes fixed on the knot he was making. I blinked. "Guy? Who?" He paused for a beat. Something shifted in his expression. "The one... never mind," he muttered, brushing it off. I was about to utter a question again when he suddenly lifted me in a bridal style. Instinctively, I clung to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. It felt like déjà vu. "Next time, don’t drink too much if you can’t handle your liquor, hm?" Rome chided as we exited the place, but I was too distracted—buried in the scent of his neck—to really hear a word he was saying.

He was creating a harness that would distribute weight evenly if someone was suspended, but that also created incredible pressure points and sensation when the person was standing. "The key to good bondage," he explained as he worked, "is that every knot serves multiple purposes. It's both beautiful and functional. It creates both restriction and sensation." He added rope around my hips in a way that created a crotch rope again, but this time integrated with the larger harness so that the pressure increased when I moved. "If you move forward, the rope increases pressure on your clit," he explained. "If you move backward, it creates tension in a different way. The rope becomes a way to guide

"That's—that's not normal. That's not—people don't do this for five hours. Knots don't last this long. This is—" It's fine," I said quickly, trying to soothe the anxiety I could hear building. "It's normal. For us, at least." "How is this normal?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "I've never heard of anyone knotting for five hours. Most knots deflate after twenty minutes at most. This is—there's something wrong—" "There's nothing wrong," I insisted, my hand still making soothing circles on his stomach.