Chapter 15 Lottie
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LOTTIE
With a shaky hand, I push my front door open, painfully aware that I just invited Knox to come into my apartment. Alone. Alone together. But there is no way I’m going to leave him by himself tonight—at least not before knowing he’s okay.
“Jesus,” I hear him whisper behind me, looking into my apartment over my shoulder. “Your place is almost like Walter’s apartment, except everything is bright and insanely organized.”
I smile, hanging my coat and toeing off my white Converse, leaving them on a small rack by the door.
“You mean because of the books?” I toss my keys on my kitchen table next to my ereader while Knox unlaces his boots, setting them beside mine.
I feel a pang in my chest at the image, something about the domesticity of it all reaching a part of me that craves it—with him, specifically.
“They’re everywhere,” he says, his voice filled with awe, taking in my collection.
The built-in shelves wrap around almost every wall of the loft—one of the best features of the place.
Organized by color rather than author, the books stand out in a wild rainbow from the rest of my apartment—white bookshelves and furniture, cream blankets and linens, off-white flowers tucked between books or resting in glass vases on every surface of my place.
I know some people consider it sacrilege to organize books that way, but the aesthetically pleasing look brings a small, yet significant, joy in my life.
“I love it,” he breathes. “It’s so… bright. A far cry from the brown- and black-spined books from the store.”
I smile, an odd sense of pride filling my chest. It took a lot to make this place into something I could see myself being happy in. But I did it.
Knox looks around the apartment, absentmindedly running his hands over the back of my loveseat, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
I snort. “I know. Ale gave me free reign to renovate it however I wanted when I moved in. It was originally being used for storage and kinda dark and musty. I wanted the complete opposite of that. And I know Walter would’ve killed me if he saw how I organize my bookshelves here, but I just wanted the place to look beautiful. ”
“That isn’t a bad thing. To want to make things look beautiful. Though I should tell you, as a photographer, there’s beauty in everything.” He grins his lopsided smile.
“As you’ve mentioned before.”
He laughs once and nods. “Right. But as far as conventional beauty, you succeeded. This place looks amazing.”
I smile ruefully. “Once in fashion, always in fashion. I can’t help but merchandise my own place, I guess.
Plus…” I hesitate, considering confessing the truth.
“I—I wanted it to feel happy. I desperately needed that after my divorce. A happy place that would help me want to get out of bed in the morning.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could reach out and pull them back in.
I groan internally, cursing myself for bringing it up.
“It’s great,” he says with genuine admiration. “I totally get what you mean by it.”
“It’s total ‘coastal mom vibes,’” I say self-deprecatingly with a shrug. “But, yeah.”
“It’s bright and cozy. And I can just see you curled up under a blanket on that little loveseat, reading one of your many books.” He smiles softly, almost as if lost in a daydream. “Or maybe binging a show on your laptop—something from the nineties or early two-thousands— with a mug of tea.”
“Accurate,” I grin. “Though don’t most people do something along those lines, too?”
“I guess so. But something about you being the one doing it makes it special.” I inhale sharply, my eyes widening as I zero in on Knox.
Shit, I think I’ve caught feelings.
His eyes—so goddamn beautiful—land on mine almost sheepishly. His words, the way he’s looking at me, his scent… It’s throwing me for a loop and I desperately need to get a handle on things.
I shake my head slowly, readying myself to have an uncomfortable conversation.
“Knox—”
“Tell me what you’d do on a regular night,” he says, his voice almost commanding, rough.
For some reason, I blush. “What? No. That’s boring. And weird.”
“I want to know.” He walks over to me and cups my jaw, glacier eyes serious.
It takes me a minute to be able to answer, and when I do, my voice comes out high, shaky: “Well, I… I guess I’d change into something more comfortable. Probably leggings and an oversized tee.”
“Hot,” he smirks, and I laugh a little. “Keep going.” He takes a step closer.
“I would binge-watch something, probably. Either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Gossip Girl—the original one, not the new one.” It’s an important distinction to make, because the revival is crap and nothing will ever beat the original. Long live Queen B.
“Of course,” he grins, his hand sliding down my neck, my skin heating and bursting into goosebumps at the same time.
“And then I’d probably read a book before bed. Maybe on my e-reader,” I go on, breathing growing shallow.
His eyes widen at my words. “An e-reader? My god. You work at a bookstore. How could you?” he asks in mock-honor, pulling his hand away.
Biting my lip as I stare up at him for a second, I consider telling him the truth.
After a short pause, I do what I always seem to do with him: share more of myself than I planned to: “Well, when you read as much as I do and you don’t have a library close by, you need a cheaper alternative to physical books.
Plus, there are some novels—romance novels—that I enjoy reading but wouldn’t necessarily love to have on display when my nieces and nephews come over, if you know what I mean. ”
His eyes spark with a combination of intrigue and amusement. Suddenly, he stands up straighter and his trademark trickster grin is back. “Oh, yeah? What kind of books are those, then?”
“Just… Some books whose content I wouldn’t want just anyone knowing I enjoy. But you know this about me.”
He raises a brow. “You said you liked to read romance novels. You didn’t specify what kind.”
“I like all romance novels. From the sweetest to the… Well.” I look up at him through my lashes, simultaneously turned on and freaking out.
On the one hand, something about this conversation is making me want to throw myself at him.
On the other, I want to die for having it in the first place. Are we seriously talking about this?
“Oh, yeah, Pretty Girl? You got some kinks I don’t know about?” We both laugh softly, but I stop as soon as his hands come to my waist, his eyes darkening.
Shit, what is happening?
My heart beats a deafening drum, so loud I wonder whether he can hear it. I can barely catch my breath as I look up at the hungry expression in his eyes—one I’m positive I’m matching, despite my best efforts.
“Maybe I do,” I whisper. Knox’s grip tightens on me as his jaw clenches.
“I don’t remember any specific kinks from that one night we shared, and we had all that time to explore.
Shame. I would’ve been up to do whatever you wanted to do.
” For the millionth time in the in the past couple of weeks, my brain flashes back to that amazing night.
To all the things we did together, the dirty words he whispered in my ear.
It was so good, I didn’t need anything other than him.
The hunger I’ve been trying to control resurfaces with a vengeance.
Restraint slipping, the need for him, for us, for this, is too strong to hide anymore.
Not that I was any great at it to begin with.
All other thoughts have flown the coop, and all that’s left is Knox.
My skin buzzes as I think of all the ways I wish he’d kiss me, touch me, fuck me, and I just can’t take it anymore.
“I can help you with those, you know? Acting out your kinks, I mean.” His voice is gravelly when he speaks.
He slinks an arm around my waist, pulling me into him with one rough movement.
Knox digs the fingers of his other hand into my hair at the base of my neck, keeping me from looking anywhere but at him.
A small gasp escapes my lips as I feel every line of his body on mine. Every curve, every plane. My body recognizes his as if it were yesterday. It knows his, knows what he likes.
Keeping a firm grip in my hair, he uses his other hand to hold both my wrists behind my back, causing my body to arch into his, breasts pressing into his chest.
My breathing is ragged when I’m finally able to speak up: “I don’t think you’d be able to keep up.”
He smiles lasciviously before ducking, skimming the delicate skin of my neck with his nose from the base to the line of my jaw and back down again to my exposed collarbone.
He inhales deeply before speaking. “You’d love to think that, wouldn’t you?
You’d love to think there’s no way I can give you what you want, what you fucking need.
You’d love to think I can’t give you any of those things because then you’d have nothing left to hide behind. ”
I stop breathing because he has it the other way around. For a moment, I panic and almost push him away. I’m the one who will never be able to give him what he wants. I’m the one who will never be able to give anyone what they want. I’m the one who is only part of a person—will never be whole.
I will never be enough for anyone, and he thinks I think the opposite.
I start to pull away, but he doesn’t notice, too caught up in the moment. “Knox—”
“You’re so beautiful.” The words burst through his lips, like he couldn’t help them. With his hands still in my hair, he angles my head back a bit, giving me a clear view of his eyes, pupils blown now.
“Fuck, can I kiss you again?” he asks, before biting lightly at my neck. His tongue licks softly over the same spot, sending shivers down my spine.
I whimper at the sensation, of feeling him all around me, feeling him take control of everything. And more than anything, I want to hand it over, so tired of being in charge of so many different things.