Chapter 7 Knox
KNOX
Iwant Skylar.
Way more than I should.
Way more than I’ve ever craved anything before.
As I sit on the old ladder outside her window, I can’t feel anything but this ache.
Hiding in the shadows, just behind the curtain where she can’t see me, without actually touching her, is killing me.
My pulse drums, each beat sounding like her name. My fingers clench and unclench in the open night air, itching to dig into her flesh. To rip her shirt open and see the green charm lying against her tit.
When she shifts on the bed, I shift in place too. It’s as if my body can’t stop echoing hers.
Christ, what I wouldn’t do to touch her.
Can’t. I have to wait, which is fine. The others know she’s off-limits.
I claimed her. She’s mine.
For years, Papa and the others have been pressuring me to do more than kill the ones who escape.
They call torturing them a duty. I call it couldn’t-be-bothered.
That’s why he was thrilled to let me keep Skylar when I asked.
I will. Until then, I’ll stalk her.
I grip the rung beneath me so hard the wood threatens to splinter.
My muscles tense to move, to break the plan, to fuck her right this second.
Just a little longer.
But this need…it’s an infection. My cock’s been throbbing for hours.
I. Want. Her.
How could I not? She’s perfect.
From where I’m sitting, I can see that her skin is smooth. Much smoother than it looked in her online photo, or when I saw her out there in the dark.
The lamp’s glow illuminates her features, showing me every flawless line.
She’s healthy.
One of a kind.
She fascinates me. I wonder what runs through her mind as she reads, as her green eyes flick across the book.
Those slender fingers turn the pages every few minutes, like she isn’t truly focused on reading…I want them on me.
Want to hold her.
To bite and mark her flesh. Her soul. I’ll taste her too.
The urge to rip my mask off, climb inside, and own her vibrates throughout my body. My lungs burn with it. My teeth grind.
I’m a hunter, devouring every detail. Each messy strand of blonde hair, no longer twisted into a bun, drapes over her breasts. The crease between her brows, I can’t wait to lick it smooth.
Her foot taps nervously against the quilt, and it drives me wild. Those knees, my hands would force them apart before I split her open, burying myself in her heat.
This woman isn’t just beautiful. She’s something else—nothing like these whiny assholes my family kills. Nothing at all.
At the first sign of danger, the living-hides gasp, cry. They bargain.
They try to run.
Skylar took the charm a stranger threw at her and stuffed it into her shirt.
She’s in a town she doesn’t know. Their car has mysteriously broken down.
Yet here she is, a little nervous but otherwise calm.
I’m anything but. Filthy thoughts slice through me, sharper than any knife I own.
My dick jumps just by thinking about her pussy. It’s a word I’ve heard from Jett. I know what it means, even if I’ve never had it.
I smelled her earlier, and I’m going to chase that scent again and again.
Right before I slam into her.
I’ll pound her so hard I’ll leave bruises. I’ll come listening to her cries of pleasure. Of pain.
A pain like mine.
Wanting her hurts. Being unable to touch her is misery.
Looking at her, picturing her tears and her sex squeezing mine sends a pang of electricity up my spine.
Even when she’s out of reach, she makes me feel so good.
My blood, every drop of it, has rushed down my body. Centered in my groin.
There’s been no one before Skylar. There’ll be no one after.
The intense desire to possess her takes over. I undo my jeans button and fly, freeing my cock. The tip is already damp with precum, my body primed to ram into her. I shove my mask up just enough to spit in my palm, then fist myself.
Braced against the window frame, I stay steady. One hand grips the wood like it’s her, the other works me slow, relentless. Root to tip. I squeeze myself, making it hurt because of how desperate I am for the friction.
But stroking gives me nothing. Just scraps. A pale imitation of what I need.
What I need is her beneath me. My hips would grind while her nails tear down my back, breaking skin.
Her pussy, hot and wet, will be much better than those on Jett’s websites, the ones he forgot to close. The ones I never cared for.
Being inside her will be even better than my hand pumping me.
Biting my lip, I silence the groans and huffs that threaten to escape. I stare at her, hard, pretending we’re already together.
I’d flip her over, yank her hips up, spread her wide. She’d gasp when I’d wind my fist in her hair and shove her cheek to the pillow.
When I fuck her raw and brutal until both of us come undone.
Fuck. The way her tongue flicks over her lip while she reads makes more precum leak from my aching cock.
When she drags in a breath, her tits strain against her shirt. My hips flex tight with need.
I’m going to have Skylar in real life someday, and I won’t be silent then. Neither will she.
I’ll take pleasure in her. I’ll steal it from her if she won’t let me.
I might be inexperienced, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll learn her body myself, learn what breaks her, what makes her come apart, what makes her beg.
And she will beg. I’ll drag her down into the same madness chewing through me.
Crazy. Unhinged. Feral. That’s what she’s turned me into.
She’ll spend days on her knees, nights too. Legs spread with me there, driving into her.
More spit. More friction. My cock has never been harder. My need has never been this consuming.
She’s my one and only. The woman I’ll put babies in. I picture her stomach, round and heavy after I feed her my seed.
She’ll never be able to leave me after that. Not like I’d let her.
That flicker in her eyes, the curiosity, the fear, they’re mine too.
As if hearing my possessive thoughts, she cuts a glance at the window. Her eyebrows lower. Nose twitching.
I don’t stop, don’t slow. I’m too far gone to care if she catches me.
Wanting her is the sweetest torture.
It’s as if all my nerve endings center around my balls. My cock. The pulsing, dripping head of me.
Fuck.
Skylar stays where she is. Her gaze is probing. She can sense me there even if her eyes can’t quite find me.
Her attention wreaks havoc inside me. Nothing’s ever been this good. This right. I’m beyond myself, stroking faster, harder.
I only slow to rub my thumb over my slit, smearing my arousal over the head. Her tongue would do that for me, in time.
My mouth would do so much worse to her.
Eventually, she goes back to her book, placing one hand over her breast as she reads.
Over my charm.
That delicate action sends a violent shock through my body.
My fingers dig into the window frame, cracking the wood. My hand grips my dick tighter, squeezing and rubbing.
I’ll go insane if I don’t come soon.
I think of all the ways I’ll shape her into being mine. Like I do with my hides. I’ll stretch her. Oil her. Soften her until she gleams like only I can make her.
A pliable, perfect thing for me to use.
Yes. Yes. This.
That last image is what I need to make myself come. My release tears through me so hard my vision blacks out. Cum spatters my hand, streaks my stomach, stains me with proof of what she does to me.
My chest heaves as I wipe my hand with the crumpled tissue in my jeans.
I should feel sated. Clearheaded. At least able to string two thoughts together.
I can’t.
She’s still here, so close, shifting on her bed, then rocking her knees from side to side, her body moving like it’s tempting me.
I tell myself I won’t get hard again.
But I do. Instantly.
My fucking God. She’ll be the death of me.
The last nail in my coffin.
My proverbial coffin, since I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.
I’m not going any-fucking-where.