Chapter 4 Knox #2
She scrambles to straddle me once more.
I cup her breast over her clothes, and she lets out a moan.
“Condom,” I rasp, even as every instinct screams for me to take her bare, to knot her right here. “I have one. In my wallet.”
She nods, reluctant, but lifts off me just enough for me to fumble in my pocket.
My hands shake as I tear the packet open with my teeth, rolling the latex down my length.
It’s a barrier I hate, thin and wrong when all I want is to feel her raw, but it’s something.
Better than the consequences I can’t afford.
“Ready?” I ask, positioning her over me, the head of my cock nudging her entrance.
“Yes,” she breathes, sinking down slowly.
Fuck. She’s tight, her pussy stretching around me inch by inch. The condom dulls it just enough to keep me from losing it immediately, but not enough to ignore the wet heat enveloping me. She takes me deep, bottoming out with a whimper, her ass flush against my thighs.
I grip her hips, hard enough to bruise, and thrust up.
She cries out, nails digging into my shoulders.
We find a rhythm, raw and intense, her riding me as the car sways.
Every bounce has her pussy clenching, slick sounds filling the space between us.
My knot starts to swell at the base, pressing against her entrance with each thrust.
“Knox... oh god,” she moans, head thrown back, hair spilling loose now.
I bury my face in her neck again, inhaling that damn scent as I fuck up into her. It’s building, the pressure in my balls, the way her walls milk me. I try to hold back the knot—focus on the condom, on pulling out—but she’s too good, too perfect, grinding down to take every inch.
“Fuck,” I groan, the word tearing out as my knot catches, locking us together. It swells fully, stretching her wide, sealing me inside. I can’t pull out now, even if I wanted to. Her pussy spasms around the knot, pulling me deeper, and she comes hard, shuddering, soaking me through the latex.
Her head is tipped back, her eyes rolled back, and she’s the prettiest thing I have ever seen.
“Nice cunt,” I growl.
She opens her eyes and smiles at me. “Nice cock.”
That’s all it takes.
“Fuck,” I groan again, hips jerking as I follow, come pulsing out in thick ropes, filling the condom deep inside her. This is primal, overwhelming, my body claiming her even as my mind screams, “This is a stranger.”
We rock together, locked, the cab still moving. Her breath fans hot against my ear, body limp in my lap. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, the aftershocks rippling through us both.
“It’s been years since I knotted an Omega,” I murmur, voice hoarse. “My ex... she was Beta. This... fuck, Millie.”
She lifts her head, kisses me soft and slow, tongue tracing my lips. “Trust me, I like this.”
I wish we could do this again—see her tomorrow, pin her to my bed, knot her until neither of us can move. But that’s a line I can’t cross. I have a feeling that if I fuck her again, I’ll want to do it again. And again. And again.
I just got out of a rocky relationship. I should be focusing on my daughter, on my career.
Still, parked along the dark road, her scent lingering, I hold on a little tighter. I want to fuck her again. I need her so much.
This is unreal. All of it.
“Holy shit!” she whispers as she lifts up. I fight my instinct to pull her back down.
We disentangle slowly, the knot deflating enough to slip free. Cum leaks from the condom as I tie it off, stuffing it in my pocket with a grimace. Millie straightens her leggings, cheeks flushed, but her eyes meet mine without regret.
“Where now?” she asks, voice soft.
My place so I can fuck you at least four more times before morning. I want to wake up buried in you, I think.
“I can drive you home,” I say instead.
She nods, but she doesn’t move. “Thanks!”
I lean in and kiss her once again, just to savor the moment.
Sunlight filters in through half-drawn curtains, cutting pale lines across the unfamiliar ceiling. For a second, I don’t move. The weight of the dream—or what I think might’ve been a dream—presses down on my chest like fog.
Millie’s face. The sound of her voice when she said my name. The smell of her hair, sweet and impossible.
My hands flex against the sheets before I can stop them.
I sit up slowly, squinting against the light. The house is quiet, too quiet for how loud my head feels. My shirt’s crumpled on the floor, my jeans tossed over the chair.
I remember dropping her off—her apartment building tucked on the far side of town. She’d smiled when she got out, soft and sleepy, said something about seeing me around. I remember her scent in the car long after she was gone.
After that… I drove. Windows down. Air cold enough to sting. Trying to shake the feel of her off my skin.
Now it’s morning, and my body still aches with the memory of her. I drag a hand down my face, groaning.
“Damn!” I haven’t had a one-night stand since I was maybe twenty years old. I’d told myself I was past that phase, but last night changed something in me.
It was in the way it felt sitting next to her, the way she looked at me, the way she came around my cock… it was like something cracked open that I didn’t even know I’d sealed shut.
One night with her and I feel fundamentally changed.
I feel more like myself than I have ever felt.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing all along.
The clock on my nightstand reads 8:32. I’m supposed to be at the mayor’s office in less than half an hour. I reach for my phone, thumb brushing over the cracked edge of the case.
A voicemail from Jake, two missed texts from an unknown number—probably the guys delivering my stuff—and one from Clara. My chest softens immediately.
I hit record and lean back against the headboard. “Hey, bug. It’s Dad. Just wanted to say good morning. Hope school’s good today. Don’t forget your lunch—you left it on the counter last week, remember? I’ll call again tonight, okay? Love you.”
I hit send before I can replay it.
The shower’s slow to heat, and the pipes rattle like they’re protesting my existence.
The water scalds, and I let it, scrubbing until the steam fills the small space.
I stand there longer than I should, trying to wash off what can’t be washed off—the phantom feel of her skin, the taste of her breath against mine.
By the time I’m dressed, the clock’s ticking toward nine. My reflection in the mirror looks marginally better: hair damp, shirt tucked in, badge clipped at my belt. The new sheriff of Driftwood Cove. A title that feels too heavy for a man still replaying the sound of a woman’s laugh in his head.
The drive into town is short—morning mist clinging to the trees, the streets slowly waking. The mayor’s office sits on the edge of the square, across from the bakery that’s already got a line stretching out the door.
Jake’s waiting out front, coffee in hand, smile too big for this hour. “Morning, Sheriff.”
“Jake.” I nod, stepping out of the truck. “You’re early.”
“I’m always early. Habit.” He claps me on the shoulder. “You sleep okay?”
“More or less,” I lie.
He grins. “Good. Big day. Let’s get you familiarized with the locals before you scare ’em with that uniform.”
We head down the block to the small police station first—two cars parked out front, one of them clearly older than the town itself.
The crew’s light today, just a dispatcher named Jasmine and a deputy still in training, both friendly enough to make small talk.
After that, Jake leads me past a diner, the florist, and the firehouse next door.
Inside, the smell of bacon and fresh bread hits me instantly. There’s a man in a gray shirt sitting at a corner table, his hair a mess of brown curls, forearms covered in tattoos.
Beside him sits a woman with bright pink hair tied in a knot, her laughter bright enough to carry across the room. She’s got her hand resting on his knee, and he looks like the kind of man who’d take on the world if she asked him to.
“Captain Gabe Ashford,” Jake says, gesturing. “And that’s Sadie, his wife.”
Gabe stands, shakes my hand. “Heard we’re getting a new sheriff.” His grip’s firm. “Welcome to Driftwood.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, glancing at Sadie, who smiles warmly before turning back to her breakfast.
Their scents mix in the air—spice and honey, unmistakably mated. It hits my senses hard enough to make my jaw tense. Every woman in this town is beautiful, apparently. First Millie, now Sadie. What the hell is in the water here?
Jake orders coffee to go and slaps Gabe on the shoulder. “We’ll catch you later.”
As we step back outside, I take a deep breath, the chill morning air grounding me. Jake’s already talking about next stops—the school, the pier, the station’s new patrol routes—but my mind drifts. Millie’s name keeps threading through every thought, a quiet echo I can’t shake.
We drive along the coast road, the ocean spread wide on one side, pale blue under the morning sun. The town’s small but alive—fishermen hauling nets, shopkeepers unlocking doors, a few joggers moving through the mist. It’s the kind of place that looks like it runs on ritual and rhythm.
When we pull up outside a place called The Cocoa Nook, Jake kills the engine. “Best hot chocolate this side of anywhere,” he says.
Just then, my phone begins to ring.
He opens the car door. “I’ll grab us breakfast. You take that.”
“Got it.”
He disappears inside while I check my phone again. A missed call from Clara. I hit redial instantly.
“Dad!” Her voice bursts through, bright and quick.
“Hey, sunshine. You’re supposed to be in class.”
“Mom’s letting me skip the first two classes because of the weather.”
I groan. Amy knows how I feel about letting Clara miss her classes. Instead of bad-mouthing my ex, I smile at the coincidence. “Guess where I am, Dracula.”
“Fishing?”
“Ha ha. Very funny. Actually, I’m sitting outside a place that sells the best cocoa in town.”
“Do they have marshmallows?”
“I’ll check.”
She giggles, the sound like sunlight through static. “How’s the new town?”
“Small. Pretty. Smells like the ocean.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah,” I say, though the word feels thin. “It’s different from the city. Slower. People smile at you here.”
“That’s good. You need to smile more, Dad.”
“I do, huh?”
“Yes. Maybe if you have a life of your own, you’ll stop worrying so much about how goth I become.”
I laugh quietly. “Don’t make me call you an exorcist, kid.”
“Funny. Anyway, because of the weather, we might change band practice.”
“Just let me know when. I’ll be there.”
She pauses and I hear her sip her drink. “Okay. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you really like it there?”
“I do,” I admit. “You’d like this place too. There’s a beach that goes on forever. I’ll send pictures.”
“When can I visit?”
“Soon,” I promise, even though I don’t know when soon is.
“I’ll hold you to it.” There’s a smile in her tone now, and it settles something in me that’s been shifting all morning. “I have to go now, Dad.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you.”
The line clicks off, and the silence that follows is warm, not heavy. I stare out at the street for a minute—the bakery across the way, the old couple walking their dog, the seagulls cutting across the sky. For the first time in months, I feel something close to stillness.
Jake reappears with two paper cups and a bag that smells like sugar and butter. “Got you a cinnamon pastry,” he says, handing me the cocoa.
I take a sip and nearly groan. “Holy hell.”
“Right?” He grins. “That’s what I said the first time. Cocoa Nook’s sacred ground. Keep it in mind if you want to make friends with the locals.”
I take another drink, the warmth curling through me. The cocoa’s rich with a hint of vanilla that drags my mind somewhere I shouldn’t let it go. Millie again—her hair, her lips, the way her scent filled my lungs like a drug. I push the thought away hard, focusing on the pastry instead.
The layers flake apart in my hands, sweet and soft. My stomach growls; I didn’t realize how hungry I am.
Jake finishes his in three bites. “So, what do you think?”
“About the pastry?”
“The town.”
I glance around—the weathered signs, the ocean air, the way everyone seems to know each other. It’s not New York. It’s not even close. But there’s something about the quiet that’s… good.
“I think it’s going to take some getting used to,” I say finally. “But it feels right.”
“Good,” Jake says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “We’ll swing by the pier next. There’s a fish shack that doubles as a gossip center. You’ll hear every story within a ten-mile radius before lunch.”
“Great,” I mutter, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
He catches it and smirks. “You smiling, Sheriff? Careful, people might think you like it here.”
“Maybe I do.”
We drive again, the sun burning through the fog. Every turn gives me more of the town—boats bobbing in the harbor, kids on bikes, a few shop signs painted by hand. It’s simple, and I think that’s the point. A place that makes you want to stay even if you didn’t plan to.
As we pass the library, I notice the sign out front—Driftwood Cove Public Library. It does look a bit damaged by the fires, which is terrible for me.
I guess I’ll have to look for a book shop so I can get research material on this new town.
Jake keeps talking, explaining road names and local routes, but my mind drifts. I can still feel her. The brush of her knee against mine. The sound of her breath. I tell myself to let it go—it was one night, one fantastic fuck—but the more I try, the harder it gets.
When we stop at a red light, I catch sight of my reflection in the rearview mirror—eyes darker than usual, jaw tight. I look like a man trying to forget something he doesn’t actually want to forget.
By the time we loop back toward the square, the day’s in full swing. I’ve met half the business owners already, shaken hands with people whose names I’ll forget by tonight, and answered the same question ten times: “You from the city?”
Yeah. But I’m not sure I belong there anymore.
Jake pulls up outside the station again, stretching. “Not bad for your first morning, huh?”
“Not bad,” I agree, stepping out into the bright air. The town hums around us. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean crashes against the cliffs.
I take another sip of cocoa, the last of it lukewarm but still perfect. “You were right,” I say. “This place grows on you.”
Jake grins. “Told you. Give it a week, you’ll start wearing flannel unironically.”
I laugh, shaking my head. But as I look down the street, a single thought cuts through everything else.
If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll see her again.