Chapter 6 Knox
KNOX
What the fuck was I thinking? Bad idea. Full stop.
So why didn’t I stop?
The suite is quiet in that heavy way after the night has taken what it wanted.
Salem is out cold on the couch, boots off, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Houston made it to the armchair and half folded himself into a position no chiropractor would endorse, head tilted, hair loose.
The TV glows blue with no sound. The Strip stutters at the windows. Ice melts in a bucket we never used.
Lou sits at the edge of the rug with her back against the couch, knees up, dress smooth, eyes open. Calm. A little dazed, but not lost. She looks like someone who finally found a chair in a crowded room and decided to keep it.
Bad idea, I tell myself again.
She looks up at me, like she heard it. “You okay?”
I nod. “Shower?”
A blink. “Yeah?”
“Clean up. Talk.”
“Okay.”
I hold out a hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet. Warm palm. Steady grip. No tremble. That helps with the guilt.
We move down the hall. I check the door to the suite out of reflex. Locked. Chain set. Salem snores once like a motorcycle turning over and then goes quiet again. Houston doesn’t move.
In the bathroom, I set towels on the counter, turn the water on, hand under the spray, and adjust until it’s right.
No hotel scald today. These big resorts like to provide the best of everything, but between the high-pressure showerheads and the extreme heat, I have to be careful not to power wash my skin off with them.
She leans on the jamb. “You always this careful?”
“Yes.”
A small smile. “Okay.”
I close the door. The fan hums. The mirror fogs fast. I should say something smart, something like, We keep this to ourselves. I’m the one who has to be the adult when the others won’t. I clear my throat. “You’re not going to tell Troy, right?”
She laughs once, sharp and clean. “I’d be happy to never talk to him again.”
The knots in my shoulders loosen. “Good.”
Her mouth flattens. “Things were bad for a long time. Today just…finished it.”
“That’s between you and him.” I keep my voice even. “I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything.”
“There’s nothing to get in the middle of,” she says. “He lied. A lot. I kept pretending it was a misunderstanding.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to.”
So I shut up and let her.
She slides her locket off and sets it by the sink.
She watches her hands as she talks. “He started pulling away months ago. Every time the songs didn’t show up, he went colder.
I tried to be quiet so he could hear himself think.
I erased myself so there wouldn’t be any noise to blame.
It didn’t help. It just made more room for him to be mad. ”
Sounds like him. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “I kept saying I was fine. Nobody was asking me to, I just did it. It turns out that’s a terrible strategy.” She smiles sardonically.
And I smile with her. “It is.”
The water hisses, steady. I should offer a plan. That’s my job.
All I have is a simple one. “We’ll keep him out of your way.”
Her eyes soften. “Thanks.”
I motion toward the shower. “You first.”
She steps past me and then stops. “You coming with me?”
I swallow. “If you want.”
“I do.”
She reaches for the zipper at the back of the dress and finds it. The sound is small and final. She slides the fabric off her shoulders and down, and doesn’t turn her back like she’s hiding. Not shy.
I’ve always liked that in a woman.
I strip down slower because motion is the only thing that keeps my head from shouting. We step into the shower. Heat wraps us. Water drums shoulders, neck, scalp. We stand under it and breathe for a long thirty seconds. My heart finds a pace that isn’t a march.
She tips her head back and lets the spray hit her face. She comes back up with water sliding off her lashes. “This is the first time in months I’ve felt at ease.”
“Stay.”
She looks at me like she wants to. “You offering me the night or the illusion?”
“The night.”
“I’ll take it.” Her eyes dip to my mouth.
Guilt flickers. Our ages come to mind—she can’t be more than twenty-eight at the most. I’m forty-four. That’s a big difference. Then there’s Troy, for what it’s worth. I’m not trying to make things worse for him. There are so many reasons to shut this down. They hit, fade, hit again, fade again.
She watches the whole thing move across my face. “We can stop if you want.”
But I’ve lost the argument in my head. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Then don’t.”
“Bad idea.”
“So is living. We still do it.”
Water steady. Tile warm where the steam has done its job. I reach for shampoo and pour a line into my palm. “Turn.”
She does. I work the shampoo through her hair, slow, careful not to tangle, fingers strong enough to say I’m here without grabbing. Copper streaks darken, then glint under the light when the water hits them. She exhales like the sound is new to her. “You’re good at this.”
“Thanks.”
I rinse her hair and step closer to keep the soap out of her eyes.
She doesn’t flinch. I reach for body wash, pump, rub my hands together until the slick feels right, then smooth it over her shoulders, down her arms, slow over forearms, careful at elbows, palms wrapping wrists where old stress likes to sit.
She leans into it like she thinks she can depend on me.
“Okay?” I say.
“Mm.” Not an affirmation, but her moaning tone is.
I keep it methodical. No rush. Collarbone.
Down the sternum, a respectful pass that asks and waits.
Her breath deepens. “Yes,” she says, and my hands keep going.
Ribs. Waist. Hips. Thighs. The girl is hot, there’s no doubt about that.
And after she took my cock in her ass like a pro, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.
But right now, I want to make her feel good. I kneel because angles matter, and I won’t make her do the work. Water beats my shoulders. The tile is cool under my knees. The scent of clean soap and hot air fills the space.
She rests a hand on my head, fingers light. “Look at me.”
I look up. Her eyes are steady and dark. Water streaks her face and doesn’t blur her expression.
“Come here.”
I stand. She steps in and fits against me, wet skin to wet skin, hands sliding over my back. She kisses me. Just pressure and heat and intent. I answer with the same.
“Keep talking,” she says against my mouth.
“What do you want to hear?”
“Whatever you haven’t said because you’re busy parenting grown men.”
“Harsh.” But I laugh anyway.
“Am I wrong?”
“No,” I admit. “I’m the oldest. It’s kind of my job.”
“Your job is rock star. Not nanny.”
I shrug. “This is how it’s always been. I do what needs to be done. If that means corralling my brothers into better choices, so be it.”
“And I’m guessing you’re a planner too, right? The one who picks where you’re going, what you’ll be doing, all of that?”
Damn. She’s got a read on me. “Yeah. Normally, I don’t like surprises. Tonight was a surprise.”
She goes a little stiff. “Good or bad?”
“Yes.”
She laughs into my mouth as she kisses me again.
My chest loosens. “I thought you wanted to go out. You know Vegas—doesn’t matter what time of the night, there’s something to do. How come you wanted to stay here?”
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “Tonight, as it turns out, I want this shower instead.” She puts her palm on my sternum, then slides it down. I let a breath out slow when she reaches my cock.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Say stop whenever you want—”
“I will.” She smiles up at me. “I know how consent works, Knox. And it goes both ways.”
I nod once and reach past her for the water, adjusting it a notch warmer.
She shivers with it and then settles. I pull her back under the spray, shoulder to shoulder, side to side, bodies lined up.
Hands find places to fit. Mouths do the rest. The steam blurs edges and makes the room feel closer and safer.
Somehow, we become one.
I’ve got her pressed against the tile, my forearms bracketing her head.
Her brown eyes are almost as dark as mine, and I can’t look away.
Especially when my cock makes them roll back.
Her face is flushed, rivulets racing down her cheeks from the showerhead.
I suck her bottom lip into my mouth when she groans.
“Like that.”
I release her lip, nuzzle against her neck, and mutter the only thing on my mind. “Fuck, baby, I can’t get enough of you tonight.”
“Then keep going,” she purrs as her pussy tightens on me.
Time thins. Breath shortens. The sound she makes when she’s close is quiet and sure.
She clenches my shoulders and lets out a low yes that turns into a laugh at the end.
It’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.
I follow over that edge with her, not because I force it, but because I have no other choice.
We stand under the water while our pulses come back down. My guilt hasn’t vanished. Real guilt doesn’t evaporate. It’s worn smooth around the edges. Manageable. I can pick it up later and carry it without dropping everything else.
“You okay?”
She blows out a breath. “Better than.”
I kiss her earlobe. “Good.”
We turn off the water. The sudden quiet rings in my ears. I grab a towel and wrap it around her shoulders, rub her arms briskly, then take a second towel for her hair. Another for me.
She watches me in the mirror while I blot my face.
Steam gives us blurred versions of ourselves that look softer than we are.
She looks younger like this, which is saying something.
But there’s a maturity in her eyes that speaks to decades of hard times.
I don’t know her whole story, but I bet it’s one hell of a ride.
Robes on, we step back into the hall. The suite is the same room we left. TV still blue. City still flashing. Salem now on his side, dead to the world. Houston awake enough to look up and track us with a small, satisfied line for a smile before sleep pulls him under again.
“You really thought this was a bad idea?” she asks me.
“Yes.”
“So why can’t you stop?”
I look at her and don’t try to hide it. “Because you’re easy to be around.”
She blinks at that, like it’s not what she expected. “That’s it?”
“Not a lot of people are.”
She tucks a strand behind her ear. “I’m not after anything.”
“I know.”
“I know what this life looks like. I’m not interested.”
“I know that too.” I can tell. She’s nothing like the groupies we usually hook up with. There’s no ambition, other than figuring out her next steps. No asking for money or favors. No bag of drugs that made an appearance.
Just a woman in a bad spot, thanks to our idiot brother.
My mind tries to jam every worry back onto the stage. I let most of them fall through the trapdoor. The big ones can wait until morning. The bigger one is already quieter than it was an hour ago.
I fall asleep thinking about the click of the lock, the yes in her voice, the way the steam softened everything that needed softening. Guilt’s still there, but it’s not steering. It can ride in the back.
Sometimes the bad idea is just a good one that came at the wrong time.
I’ll pay for the complications later. For now, I sleep.