Chapter 12
MAREN
Iwake slowly, at first, until the memory of everything from the previous twelve hours floods through my brain.
I was attacked by two men, and as I shift, I feel muscles and bones ache.
I was saved by Knox, whose arms are currently encased around me in a hold that feels protective, loving, and possessive all at the same time.
And then, I remember the shower, when, in one simple act, Knox gave me the most intimate sexual experience of my life.
Not that I am a virgin, by any measure, but my sex life, to this point, has been fine. Sparse, maybe. But fine.
For a few seconds, I simply lie there, letting the quiet seep in, without fully committing to opening my eyes. There’s no more raging storm outside. The wind that howled through the shutters through most of the night has dissipated.
But it’s hard to focus on whether I can still hear the rain when all I can feel is the solid warmth at my back, the weight across my waist and chest, and the unmistakable presence of another body in my bed.
One that has a firm erection resting between the cheeks of my butt, and whose name is Knox.
Knox sighs and fidgets a little, as if aware of my thoughts. He moves his forearm so it rests low on my stomach, his hand splayed there like he’s afraid I’m going to run.
One of my legs is tangled with his, and we’re in the middle of the bed. Which is odd because we both started the night clinging to the edge of our respective sides of it. At some point, I must have shifted towards him. But I’m comforted by the evidence that he also shifted towards me.
Either way, there is no space left between us, I have no idea what time it is, and I just had the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.
Usually, I barely sleep through a hurricane that lands at night. I want to be aware of what’s happening so I can react if I need to. But something about being in this bed with Knox helped me feel safe enough to sleep.
Or maybe it was exhaustion from the adrenaline of the assault.
Or the energy I burned making out with a man who hates my father.
His breath touches the back of my neck, slow and steady, and then, I realize something.
He isn’t asleep.
It’s subtle, but it isn’t a slack-jawed puff of breath. It’s measured and even.
“You’re awake,” I murmur.
Behind me, his breath hitches. “Yeah.”
His voice is rough, layered with sleep. It vibrates through me. And the right thing to do is toss the covers back and extricate myself from his hold, but I want to stay here with him for a few minutes longer.
Because I know once he leaves here today, we won’t be like this again. There’s no way he’s coming calling on the daughter of the man who killed his brother. Even if he tries, that detail will come between us eventually, whether it’s in the next five minutes or five years.
That fact will chew us up and spit us out. But I just need a few more minutes of this before it does.
Carefully, I shift onto my side so that I can face him, and Knox is quick to adapt and pull me close once I’m settled.
Then, I look up at him.
His eyes are open, but they’re dark and focused, like he’s been awake for a while.
I wonder what that means, that he was happy to lie here, holding me, when he could have crept out the moment he woke.
Last night, the silence between us felt charged. At first, with adrenaline and the gusting winds rattling. In the bathroom, it had been filled with curiosity and need and desire. Even when we ate together, there were pauses I’d felt the need to fill with questions.
But now, it all feels different.
His gaze moves over my face as if taking in the details for posterity. He studies the injuries on my head.
“I’m probably pretty beaten up, right?” I ask.
He smiles softly and uses his knuckle to brush my hair off my face so he can look properly. “A bit. Still pretty, though.”
Heat rises in my cheeks at the simple compliment.
I lift my hand and brush my fingers along his jawline. His dark scruff prickles against my skin, but it grounds me in the moment. There’s no point worrying about the inevitability of him leaving when he’s still right here. These are moments I’ll never get back.
He exhales as I touch him, and then, he tips his head and brushes a featherlight kiss on my temple.
“Last night wasn’t a mistake,” I say. “I know you might try to frame it that way in your head or something when you ride away from here, but it wasn’t.”
His nod is filled with understanding. “But just because it wasn’t, doesn’t mean this can happen again.”
“I know.”
He leans in, and the kiss is nothing like those we shared in the shower. Those were all heat and pent-up sexual tension.
This kiss is slow and filled with something that might break my heart if I explore it.
I forge into memory the texture of his lips. The way his tongue feels as it touches mine. I haven’t given a thought to morning breath because…well…there is an intimacy here that neither of us can bring ourselves to step out of.
His mouth drifts from mine, brushing along my jaw and the curve of my neck. Every movement is patient and unhurried, yet the level of excitement in my stomach reaches rollercoaster proportions.
He pays attention to my every reaction, the places that make me shiver when he licks and nibbles and sucks. His hand slips beneath the hem of my top, his palm warm against my skin.
I should probably stop him, or at least slow him down, but I slide my hand around the back of his neck and hold him closer. The ends of his hair tickle my fingers.
He rolls me so I’m on my back and his body rests over me. With one hand, he pushes my top over my body to reveal my breasts. My back arches off the bed as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, before letting it pop out again. He blows cool air over it, watching it pucker.
Then, he repeats the motion on the other side.
Yesterday, in the shower, he said a lot of dirty things to me, and I loved every utterance. But I also like the intimacy of this silence.
He reaches my lounge pants and slides his fingers beneath the waistband. I plant my feet and lift my hips so he can tug them down my legs, free my feet, and then throw them onto the bottom of the bed.
When he lowers himself this time, his eyes lift to mine, silently checking I’m still with him in this moment.
I nod.
I am. Probably more than I should be.
There’s nothing hurried about the way he approaches my pussy. His thumbs gently open my lips a little, and the corner of his mouth twitches in a smile, as if he likes what he sees.
And then, his tongue is on me, and I can’t think about anything else. My fingers slip into his hair as he laps at me with thick wide strokes. His saliva mixes with my wetness. He doesn’t hold back.
I’ve experienced oral sex, but I’ve never felt like I was being devoured. Being inhaled.
So desired that my partner can’t get close enough no matter what he does.
It’s messy and wet and sounds filthy.
“Knox,” I cry, unable to keep the word in.
He sucks on my clit, then places his teeth around it. There’s a knife-edge moment where I wonder whether he truly intends to hurt me, which only serves to make everything more thrilling.
I arch against him, grinding on his face, tugging on his hair. His fingertips dig into the softness of my thighs and hips.
His long tongue dangerously strokes in and out of me. His thumb, soaked by now, rubs circles over my clit until I feel so tightly wound, I’m in desperate need of release.
But every time I get close, it’s as if Knox senses it and moves slightly. Each time, it builds a little higher, ebbs a little less.
“Oh, God.” The words are desperate as I grab a fistful of the sheets in one hand.
He lifts his head and looks at me. “Just think how good it’s gonna feel when you finally come.”
This time, he focuses on driving his tongue as far as he can inside me. It’s enough, and yet, not. I move my hips, trying to get the friction where I want and need it, but Knox grips my hips so firmly, I’ll have bruises tomorrow.
My next cry is a wordless sob of frustration and want. The orgasm hovers just out of reach.
And Knox returns to sucking and licking my clit until I can’t contain it any longer. The tension of my orgasm breaks in a rush that steals the air from my lungs.
“Oh, God,” I cry as I come hard. I lose touch with everything else happening around me as I collapse into the sensations Knox has created.
Wave after wave of pleasure so intense it’s hard to describe rattles through me, and when my head finally falls back against the pillow, I gasp for air.
The room is quiet as I struggle to catch my breath, and Knox continues to lick me softly and tenderly.
Basking in the ripples of aftershocks, I try to slow my racing heartbeat.
Knox finally rests his forehead on my thigh, his breathing slow and steady.
There’s a momentary flurry of embarrassment, that he’s this close to the most private parts of me, just lying there. But then, he kisses my thigh before leisurely climbing up my body to plant another kiss on my lips.
A chaste one, first, then deeper. There’s something so erotic about tasting myself on his lips. The scent of me lingers on his beard. I open my legs, raising my knees while my feet sit by his hips.
There has been no conversation about condoms, and I know I should ask as his cock strokes between my thighs.
But then, he’s gone.
“What—?” I’m confused. I was enjoying this. I thought he was too. He didn’t even jerk off on me this time.
He walks to the rail and pulls on clothes that might still be damp. I felt how hard he was, but I need to respect that the man knows his own mind. If he doesn’t want any relief of his own, that’s his prerogative. Yet, I hate that it makes me feel a little…undesirable.
When he’s dressed, he walks to the door, then glances back at me. His expression is hard to read, so I try not to. The last thing I need to see there is any kind of pity. “What happened in here stays in here, right?”
It’s over, and even though I knew the end was coming, my nod is morose. “Like Vegas.” I try to smile. To be indifferent, like I’m sure many of Knox’s lovers are.
His smile of sympathy suggests he sees my discomfort. “Just like Vegas.”
Maybe I’m seeing things or reading too much into this moment, but I feel the need to check on him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
The question seems to catch him off guard. He pauses for a moment, as if thinking, then reaches for the door handle. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m good.”
With that, he steps out into the hallway and pulls the door closed behind him. The apartment falls quiet again. He didn’t even look at the cameras to see if it was safe to leave.
Maybe he was that eager to go.
And…yet.
I press my fingers to my slit and can feel how wet and swollen it is. I didn’t just dream up how he feasted on me.
I lie there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his warmth still lingering in the sheets and between my thighs.
When he doesn’t return, I know the storm has passed.
At least, on the outside.
Because inside, there’s a fire raging I’m not sure I’ll ever find anyone else to extinguish.