Chapter 6
Sierra
The cabin is quiet, but nothing inside me is.
Knox lies inches away. Big. Solid. Warm. The mattress dips with his weight, and I can feel the tension humming off him like a live wire.
I said the words. Then lose it. I want to find out.
But now I’m lying here, breath shallow, heart galloping, wondering if I meant them as bravely as they sounded.
He hasn’t touched me. Not yet.
That restraint should settle me. It doesn’t.
It makes me ache.
I shouldn’t want this. I just met him. I’m all alone in this world. I’m technically in hiding. Nothing in my life makes sense, except the way Knox makes me feel.
Safe.
Seen.
Wanted.
Not like I’m a problem to be solved, but a person worth protecting. Worth wanting, even when I’m unraveling.
His breath is steady beside me, but I know he’s not asleep.
I roll onto my side, heart hammering, and turn toward him in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
“I need to tell you something,” I whisper.
A beat. Then his voice, low and rough. “Yeah?”
I swallow. “I’ve never… I mean—I haven’t—”
I close my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I’m a virgin.”
There. It’s out. No excuses. No shame. Just truth.
His breath stutters.
I can feel it more than hear it. The shift in the air between us. The way everything stills.
I rush to fill the silence. “I don’t want this to be some impulsive mistake, Knox. I know how insane this is. I barely know you. But when I’m near you, I don’t feel scared. I feel like I can breathe. And I want this. I want you.”
He still doesn’t touch me. But when he speaks, his voice sounds like thunder held in check.
“I’ve been trying real hard to treat this like any other job,” he murmurs. “But you make that damn near impossible.”
Then he shifts closer, his hand brushing mine under the sheets.
Barely a touch. Careful. Controlled.
I shift and reach for him, fingertips brushing over the soft cotton of his shirt stretched across his chest.
“I want you…” I whisper. “To be my first.”
His breath catches. “Sierra,” he says, voice low and rough, “I haven’t been with anyone in years. And if you want me to be your first… then you’ll be mine. Not just someone I protect. You’ll belong to me.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’ll belong to you.”
His eyes close for a beat. When they open again, they’re molten.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Then we do this slow. You say stop, I stop. You change your mind, I back off. No questions. This is yours, darlin’. Every bit of it. You understand me?”
I nod, but it’s not enough. “I do. I want you.”
His lips are on mine before I finish the last word. Soft at first, like he’s giving me a chance to pull back. Then deeper. Hungrier. His mouth moves against mine with a reverence that makes my chest ache. Like he’s been waiting for this—for me—for far too long.
He kisses like a man starved.
One of his hands cups my jaw, the other skims down my side, gripping my hip through the thin fabric of his shirt—my shirt now, I guess. The way he touches me makes me feel claimed.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs against my skin. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”
My breath catches.
His hand drifts lower, sliding along my bare thigh, slow and patient. My legs part without me even thinking. It’s instinct. Need. Permission.
He groans, low and wrecked. “You’re so soft. So damn sweet.”
His head dips, and then his mouth is on my neck, trailing kisses down to the hollow of my throat. Each press of his lips makes my skin tingle. Makes my toes curl.
His fingers find the edge of the shirt and start to push it up, inch by inch. He doesn’t rush. He watches me, checks my face, reads every twitch of hesitation.
There isn’t any.
He pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside.
The air hits my skin and I shiver, but it’s not from cold.
It’s the way he looks at me. Like he’s worshipping.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, hoarse. “You’re killin’ me, darlin’.”
Then his mouth is on me again, this time lower. He trails kisses down my chest, pausing to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently until I moan, my fingers twisting in the sheets. Then the other, just as gentle.
He trails kisses down my body, slower now, like he’s savoring every inch. When he reaches the top of my thighs, my breath catches again.
He hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them down, eyes locked on mine.
His voice is rough, low, full of heat.
“I need my mouth on you, darlin’. Need to taste your sweet pussy, feel you fall apart all over my tongue before I even think about fucking you.”
Anticipation coils low in my belly.
“Please,” I whisper, already shaking.
And when he finally leans in, when I feel the first stroke of his tongue, slow and sinfully thorough, I fall apart.
Moaning. Writhing. Gripping the sheets like I might float away.
Knox doesn’t rush a thing. He licks and sucks and teases, like he’s memorizing every reaction, like he wants to own every sound I make.
He flattens his tongue and drags it through my slick heat, circling my clit in tight, devastating strokes.
Every time I start to crest, he eases up, until I’m begging.
And I do.
“Please. Please, Knox. I need—”
“Let go, darlin’,” he says against me. “I’ve got you.”
And then I do.
The orgasm slams into me hard and fast, stealing my breath, arching my back. His name breaks from my lips, raw and wild, as I fall apart for him.
He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling.
When he finally moves back up my body, his mouth crashes onto mine again, and I taste myself on his tongue. His hand cups my jaw.
“You okay?” he asks, voice like gravel.
I nod, still breathless. “I am. But I want more of you.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that in. Then his body presses against mine. Hot, hard, ready.
My fingers slip under his shirt, finding warm, taut skin stretched over muscle. I explore slowly, memorizing the feel of him—his ribs, the lines of his stomach, the way he shudders when I trace lower.
He growls low in his throat. “Darlin’, you’re playing with fire.”
“Then burn with me,” I whisper.
That does it.
He leans up just enough to strip his shirt off in one smooth motion, muscles flexing in the soft lamplight.
My breath catches.
He’s all broad chest and carved abs, tattoos and scars, strength and raw male beauty, and he’s mine. At least for now.
His jeans come next. He strips them off slowly, dragging his briefs down with them, like he’s giving me one last out. One last moment to change my mind.
I don’t. I can’t.
I just reach for him.
He comes over me again, braced on his forearms, eyes locked to mine. His body is heat and tension and need.
My breath catches. My body answers before my mind can catch up, legs parting, hips lifting, aching to take him in.
But he doesn’t move yet.
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “Tell me you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I breathe. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He groans, deep and guttural, like it costs him something not to lose himself completely. Then he reaches between us, guiding himself to my entrance. The pressure builds, slow and steady. He pushes in just an inch, then waits.
My breath hitches. My pussy stretches around his cock, new and unfamiliar, but feeling so damn right.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough and strained.
I nod, wrapping my legs around his waist. “More.”
He sinks in deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated. My fingers dig into his shoulders. His name slips past my lips again.
He holds still, trembling with restraint, letting me adjust to the fullness of him.
“Jesus, you feel like heaven,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to mine.
Then he starts to move slowly.
He worships every inch of me with his body, his hands, his mouth. His lips find mine between every breathless moan, every soft gasp. He whispers my name like a prayer, like a vow.
And when the rhythm builds. When the pleasure coils tighter and tighter, I lose myself all over again.
This time, with him.
Together.