Chapter 21 #2
Knox is barely off the seat before I'm on him.
I rip the helmet off, let it drop in the grass, and fist my hand in his cut, yanking him down to crush my mouth to his.
He stumbles back. The momentum carries him into the siding with a low thud, more me slamming him than him backing into it, and one hand flies to my waist to steady us before we both end up in the flowerbed.
The kiss is messy, all teeth and desperation. He tastes like mint and the faint sweetness of gum. His tongue slides against mine, claiming, coaxing, a demand and a plea at once.
Please don't leave. Don't make me talk. Just stay.
He breaks away ragged, forehead against mine, noses bumping. "Sloane. Talk to me," he rasps out.
"I am talking. Just… not with words you want right now."
His eyes darken. "What do you want, sweetheart?"
You. Always you.
"I want your cock," I say, the words tumbling out on a shaky exhale. "I want you inside me until I can't think."
Whatever restraint he had snaps. He fumbles the keys, swearing, then gets the door open and drags me inside, slamming it with his heel. The hallway is dim, lit only by the weak kitchen nightlight. He shoves me gently against the wall, hands tugging at my shirt, mouth on mine again.
His palms slip under my shirt, calloused and hot, skimming up my sides, over my ribs. Thumbs tracing the underside of my breasts through my bra, and I arch into him with a gasp.
"Fuck, you're always so responsive," he growls against my mouth.
His hands cup me properly, squeezing, thumbs rubbing over my nipples through fabric until they're hard and aching. Already soaked, already clenching around nothing, and he hasn't even gotten me naked yet.
"You feel that?" he murmurs against my lips. "The way your body jumps for me?"
"Yes. Always."
He groans. "You're gonna wreck me, you know that?"
I curl my fingers into his shirt, hanging on. "You're already wrecked. And so am I. Just… wreck me better."
He huffs a hoarse laugh that turns into a moan when I reach for his jeans and cup him properly, fingers squeezing along the hard line.
"Fuck. Bedroom. Now. Before I do exactly what I threatened and bend you over the first flat surface."
"Maybe I want that."
"Yeah?" His eyes flash. "Another night." His voice drops. "Tonight I need to see you. All of you."
He walks me backward down the hall, kissing between words, bumping walls and doorframes, laughing once when I trip over the sneakers I left by the door this morning, and catches us both. We tumble into the bedroom, into the familiar dark.
He flicks on the bedside lamp, its light low and soft. I blink. He stares. Like I'm something holy he wants to worship and devour in equal measure. My lungs seize.
"Take your shirt off," he says. Deeper, rougher.
My fingers tremble only a little as I obey, tugging fabric over my head and letting it fall. His gaze tracks every inch of exposed skin, reverent and hungry.
"Goddamn. You're gonna kill me, Sloane."
"Promise?" I try, but my voice comes out thinner than I'd like.
He steps in, hands finding my face, thumbs against my cheekbones. Eyes holding mine, unflinching. "Come here."
I do. The moment his mouth meets mine, everything else falls away. No Donovan. No auctions. No fathers. Just this man who keeps putting his body between me and the world, even when I won't hand him the reasons why.
He kisses me as though I'm the only thing that makes sense. I kiss him back pretending I believe him. Clothes blur: jeans, bra, his shirt, shedding piece by piece until skin is bare and buzzing and his is pressed flush to mine.
His weight, his heat, the firm line of his thigh between my legs anchors me more than any breathing exercise a therapist ever forced on me.
When he slides into me, unhurried and deep, a broken sound tears from my throat.
He's thick, hard, and perfect, stretching me open inch by inch until I'm so full I can barely breathe. His forehead drops to mine.
"Jesus, sweetheart," he groans. "You feel… fuck. Perfect. Always perfect."
My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Not gonna. Not with you. Never with you."
He moves, patient at first, deep measured thrusts that drag against every hypersensitive nerve.
Sparks up my spine, tension coiling in my belly, higher and higher.
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer, deeper.
A sound catches in his throat, raw and involuntary.
His hand drops to cup my hip, pinning me.
"Look at me," he rasps.
I do. His eyes are a storm of want, fear, and need all tangled together.
"Tell me how it feels," he demands, thrusting deeper. "Tell me what I do to you."
My face flames, but the words spill anyway, because this is the one place I let him have them.
"It feels—God—so good. You're so deep. I can feel you everywhere."
His rhythm hitches, hips grinding tight as though he's savoring the sentence as much as the sensation.
"That's right, baby. You're gonna feel me for days.
" Then, quieter, the demand turns raw. "You're mine.
" A whisper. A vow he can't hold back. "You know that, right? This body… these sounds… all of it."
I should be terrified of words like that. Instead, I arch into him, chasing more, letting them sink in.
"Say it," he urges softly. "Say you're mine."
I swallow, throat thick. My heart slams against my ribs.
If you knew what I've done, you'd let go.
But he doesn't know. Tonight, standing in that hallway, watching everyone line up behind Candace and Darla without hesitation, a crack split through my chest. A sliver of hope I have no clue how to kill.
I drag in a shaky breath. "I'm yours. Right now, I'm yours."
His whole body falters, composure slipping for a beat as the qualifier lands somewhere he wasn't braced for. Then his eyes go molten and he drives deeper, harder, like he can fuck the right now into always if he just gets close enough.
"Good girl," he groans. "That's it. Take all of me."
Pleasure builds, hot and fast, winding tight under my skin. Gathering. A wave about to break. "Knox," I gasp. "I—"
"I got you," he says, forehead to mine. "Come for me, sweetheart. Let go. I want to feel you."
The way he says it, like he wants more than my body, wants the moment I come apart for him, undoes me. My orgasm hits hard. I clamp down around him, muscles fluttering, a cry ripping from my throat that might be his name. The world whites out at the edges.
For a few perfect seconds, there's nothing but bliss and his voice in my ear.
Rough, awed, and filthy, telling me how good I am, how beautiful I look coming on his cock.
He follows a heartbeat later, burying his face in my neck, whole body going taut as he spills inside me with a guttural sound that shakes through both of us.
We ride it out tangled and shaking, bodies pressed so close I can't tell where his ends and mine begins. The world comes back in pieces. The lamp casts a soft halo. Our breaths are loud, ragged, uneven. My skin is damp, slick against his. His heart thunders against my chest.
He eases out, then shifts enough so he's not crushing me, rolling us to the side so I end up half draped over him. I let my cheek rest over his heart. His hand finds my back, drawing lazy lines up and down my spine. Every stroke a silent I'm here.
"You okay?" he asks eventually. Quiet, almost shy. I think about lying. About saying I'm fine like always.
But fine isn't the word. Right now, with his fingers sketching patterns over my shoulder blade, the sharp edges inside me are… duller. Not gone. Softer.
"Right now? With you? Yeah. I'm okay."
He exhales, drawn out, as though he's been holding that breath for days. "Good," he says, lips brushing my hairline. "Because I could stay like this forever." Then, quieter, almost to himself, "I—" He stops. Swallows. His fingers dig into my skin. "I like having you here," he finishes.
My throat tightens. Forever is a dangerous word. A fragile one. That pause? Worse. I heard it in the hitch of his breath. In the way he wouldn't let go. I don't call him on it. Don't ask what he was really going to say.
I slide my arm more firmly around Knox's waist, letting my full weight settle on him, letting my body say what my mouth still can't.
I'm here. I want this. I want you.
His arm tightens around me. "Sleep," he murmurs.
For once, I think I might actually be able to. Wrapped around the man who terrifies me with how much I want him, in a bed that's starting to feel like more than a place I crash between shifts and nightmares, I close my eyes.
The world is still broken. Fathers are still monsters. Secrets still buried under my skin, sharp as shrapnel. But here, in this small pocket of warmth and breath and steady hands, I rest.
For the first time, the thought slips through before I can slam the door on it. Maybe—just maybe—if my ghosts ever come calling, they'll stand behind me too. Only a crack in my certainty that this is temporary. That I am temporary. But I don't push it away. Not tonight.