Chapter 36 - Brynn
Chapter thirty-six
Brynn
We climb the stairs slowly. There’s no mad dash for the bed, no frantic tugging at clothes. Just the steady sound of our footsteps, the warm weight of anticipation in my chest, and the occasional swish of Priscilla’s tail against the wall downstairs.
Knox’s hand brushes mine and I hook my pinky through his instinctively.
He flicks on a small lamp in the bedroom, and soft golden light spills across the room, catching the curve of his jaw and the warm wood of the headboard. Everything smells like him and it lights up every nerve in my body.
I reach for the hem of my sweater, suddenly aware of the heat climbing my neck. I pull it over my head and lay it in the chair in the corner.
“I want to try something,” I whisper, my voice soft, a little breathless. There’s a flicker of nerves in my chest, but it’s nothing compared to the fire curling low in my core.
Knox’s brow lifts. Just a little. “Yeah?”
I nod and step in closer, hands on his chest. “Trust me?”
That’s all it takes.
“Always,” he says, voice quiet but absolute.
God. That one word wrecks me. I rise onto my toes and kiss him. It’s not rushed, not sweet, but simmering, like I’m sealing every unsaid thing between us with the press of my mouth against his.
His hands settle at my waist, strong and steady, but he doesn't take over. He waits.
I peel his shirt off first, dragging my hands across his chest like I have all night to memorize the shape of him. The way he shudders when my nails rake lightly down his abs—it’s everything. Then I drop to my knees.
He swears under his breath. His hips jerk the tiniest bit like his body’s already anticipating what’s coming.
When I unbutton his jeans, I do it slowly. My fingers tease over the growing bulge until he hisses, his stomach flexing tight. I free him, thick and gorgeous and already hard. I wrap my hand around the base before taking just the tip of him into my mouth.
I don’t move.
I just hold him there. Warm. Wet. Still. My lips seal around him, tongue barely shifting underneath, and I feel the tremor that rolls through his thighs like a live wire.
“Fuck—” His voice is hoarse. Like he’s barely holding it together. “Brynn, what are you doing to me?”
My hands anchor on his hips, not restricting—just grounding. I stay still, just feeling the weight of his cock against my tongue. I let the moment stretch and smolder. His cock pulses against my tongue, desperate for friction, but I don’t give in.
I feel him fight it—feel the restraint shaking through his entire frame. One of his hands fists in my hair, not pulling, just holding like he might fall apart if he lets go.
“I swear to God,” he breathes, almost laughing but wrecked, “this is actual torture.”
I hum softly around him. His eyes roll back. “Fucccckkkk, Brynn.”
His groan is low and broken, and I swear it reverberates down my spine. “You’re just gonna sit there,” he pants, “being warm and soft and perfect, and pretend like this isn’t driving me fucking insane?”
I let him slip free slowly, lips wet and swollen. I glance up, my smile wicked. “Pretending nothing. You look amazing when you suffer.”
His eyes go black.
“Get over here,” he growls, hauling me to my feet.
His mouth crashes into mine, his hands already on my ass, dragging me against the thick length of him.
The kiss is filthy—tongue, teeth, all pent-up hunger.
He grinds against my hip, desperate for more friction, and I feel just how badly he needs it.
“You want to play games, sweetheart?” he growls against my neck. “Game on.”
Knox backs me toward the bed, his hands confident, his mouth hot against my jaw, my throat, the edge of my collarbone.
I feel each kiss like a spark, burning a trail down to where I already ache for him.
The back of my knees hit the mattress, and I go down with a soft gasp that gives me away completely.
My bra strap slides down my arm, barely clinging to decency, but nothing about this moment feels decent.
He drags his mouth lower, slower, his hands grazing the bare skin of my ribs like he’s trying to memorize every inch. When he reaches the waistband of my jeans, he pauses, breath ghosting across my stomach. His eyes flick up to mine, dark and intense.
“You still okay?” he asks, voice rough with restraint.
“Better than okay,” I whisper. “Please. I need you.”
That one word—please—ignites something in him.
He undoes the button of my jeans, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room, like it’s signaling the point of no return.
The zipper slides down slow, torturous. His fingers skim under the denim, and I lift my hips, desperate to help him, to get closer.
The air kisses my thighs, cool against overheated skin, and my whole body throbs with need.
He watches me as he peels my jeans off inch by agonizing inch, not breaking eye contact, not blinking.
It makes me feel bare—exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing and everything to do with him knowing me too well.
His hands trail up my thighs again, thumbs sweeping dangerously close to where I need him most.
Then his fingers slip under the edge of my panties and he groans, guttural and wrecked. “Brynn. Fuck. You’re soaked.”
“Knox…”
He presses a kiss to my hip. “Still just as sweet?” Another kiss, closer. “Because I swear to God, I’ve never wanted to taste anything more in my life.”
He drags my panties down slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something sacred. The fabric slides over my skin, damp and ruined, and the moment I’m bare, his mouth is on me.
That first kiss to my clit is slow, deep, open-mouthed.
Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s grateful for it.
His tongue flicks, then flattens, then circles, and I feel it in every nerve ending.
My back arches off the bed, a sound breaking free from my throat—sharp and breathless, so raw I don’t even recognize it as my own.
He moans again, the sound vibrating against my clit. “Just like I fucking thought,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue over me in a long, firm stroke. “Still sweet. Still so fucking pretty. Your pussy has always been perfect.”
Instinctively, my legs fall open wider. His hands tighten around my thighs, holding me in place, and he sucks my clit into his mouth like he’s trying to pull every ounce of control from my body.
I fist the sheets, gasping. “Knox—oh God—don’t stop. Please.”
He lifts his head just enough to speak, lips slick, pupils blown. “I’m not going anywhere. I could eat this pussy every fucking night and never get tired of it.”
Then he’s back on me, tongue relentless, fingers slipping inside with ease. One, then two, curling just right until my hips jerk and I cry out. He strokes that perfect spot over and over, matching every flick of his tongue with the rhythm that has my body winding tighter and tighter.
“You’re dripping,” he says, filthy and proud. “Fucking soaking for me. You have no idea what this does to me.”
My voice is a whisper, wrecked and needy. “I want to come on your tongue.”
He pauses, just for a second, eyes snapping to mine. “Say it again.”
I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging him closer. “I want to come on your tongue, Knox. I want you to make me.”
His growl is pure sin. “You were never this needy before. How long has it been since a man properly made you come?”
I hesitate, then admit the truth. “Not since you. No one even came close.”
He smirks, smug and wild. “That’s fucking right. You’re meant to be mine.”
He buries his face between my legs again, tongue and fingers working in tandem, driving me toward the edge with ruthless precision. The room spins. My skin prickles. My thighs tremble.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and dirty. “Let go for me, baby girl. Remind me how pretty you are when you come.”
It hits me like a storm—sudden, all-consuming. My body bows, a scream tearing from my throat as I come hard, legs locking around his shoulders. The pleasure tears through me in waves, sharp and endless. He groans against me like my orgasm is his, like he feels it in his own bones.
When I finally collapse, panting and boneless, he kisses the inside of my thigh. Once. Then again higher up, then between my breasts like he’s sealing something in place. He climbs over me, chest heaving, eyes wild.
“I’m not done,” he rasps, hand sliding down to stroke himself slow and deliberate. “It’s my turn.”
I grin, breathless. “Good.”
I sit up just enough to tug my bralette off and toss it aside, baring myself completely. His eyes darken the second he sees me, his gaze locked on my chest like it’s a prayer answered.
His hand works faster, his hips stuttering as he watches me drag my fingers across my skin. “Where do you want me, baby?”
“Come on my tits,” I whisper. “Please.”
The growl that rips from his chest is feral.
“Oh, fuck, Brynn…”
He kneels beside me, giving me full view of his face, his hand still stroking as he positions himself above me. I arch my back, pressing my breasts together, watching his face with wicked satisfaction.
“You look so fucking good like this. Tits out, waiting for my cum,” he pants.
“I want it, Knox,” I murmur. “I want to feel it.”
His climax hits hard. Hot, thick ropes of cum across my chest, spilling over my skin in messy, perfect lines. He grunts through clenched teeth, eyes locked on mine like I’ve ruined him for anything else.
“God,” he pants, brushing a trembling hand over my skin, smearing some of it with his thumb. “Look at you covered in me. You’re a fucking mess and I’ve never seen anything so perfect.”
I grin, flushed and breathless. He swipes his thumb through the cum on my chest one more time and he brings it to my lips. I open, my tongue wrapping around it, licking him clean.
He leans in to kiss me, slow and soft and a little dazed. “Don’t move.”
He shuffles off the bed, headed toward the bathroom. He returns with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning my chest.
When he finally collapses beside me, he pulls me into his arms, still breathing hard.
I curl into him, warm and satisfied and more his than I’ve ever been.
“Next time,” I whisper, lips brushing his ear, “I want to ride you so slow you forget your name.”
He sighs, arms tightening around me. “Brynn, I already have.”