4. Knox #2
Inside my chest, something fierce and possessive unfurls—she’s so small like this, so perfectly responsive, yet the way she grinds against my face tells me she’s anything but fragile. She’s fire and need and mine in this moment, every arched whimper confirming it.
“Knox, I can’t?—”
The words come out fractured, half plea and half challenge, and I can feel her walls fluttering against my tongue, her body fighting the edge even as it hurtles toward it. I pull back just enough to growl against her soaked flesh, my voice low and filthy. “You can. Come for me.”
She shatters on the next stroke, back bowing sharply off the mattress as a guttural sob tears from her throat. Her thighs lock around my head, heels digging into my back while her pussy pulses and floods my mouth with fresh wetness.
My name rips from her lips like a desperate prayer she never meant to utter—raw, broken, and so damn beautiful it nearly undoes me. I keep licking her through it, slower now, drawing out every aftershock until she’s shaking and gasping, her fingers spasming in my hair.
Only then do I ease back, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the quivering skin of her inner thighs, her hip bones, the underside of one breast where her heart thunders beneath my lips.
She’s utterly boneless beneath me, chest heaving, skin flushed a deep rose that glows even in the low light. Her hands slide weakly over my shoulders, fingertips tracing the ink there as if she needs the anchor.
I turn her gently onto her stomach, the sheets whispering against her overheated skin, and smooth one palm down the elegant line of her spine, feeling the fine tremors still rippling through her.
“You good?”
The question comes out rougher than I intend, my own arousal clawing at me, but I need to hear it. She nods into the pillow, breath still fractured, the movement small and trusting.
I line myself up behind her, the thick head of my cock nudging against her dripping entrance, and lean down to brush my lips against the shell of her ear.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
She turns her face deeper into the pillow, voice muffled but steady. “It’s not.”
I sink into her with agonizing care, the slick, velvety heat of her cunt swallowing every thick inch until my hips are flush against the soft curve of her ass.
The sound that tears from her throat—raw, broken, halfway between a sob and a plea—rips through me. She’s impossibly tight, rippling around my cock in rhythmic pulses that threaten to undo me before I’ve even begun.
For one suspended heartbeat I hold still, forehead pressed to the nape of her neck, lungs burning as I drag in the scent of her skin: warm salt, sex.
“Knox, please?—”
Her voice is shredded, muffled against the pillow, and the desperation in it coils low in my gut, dark and hungry.
“I know, baby. I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”
I start to move—long, dragging strokes that drag against every sensitive place inside her.
The angle lets me grind deep, the head of my cock kissing that spongy spot that makes her thighs tremble violently. My chest blankets her back, caging her smaller frame beneath me, forearms braced on either side of her head so she feels surrounded, claimed.
My lips brush the delicate shell of her ear, voice low and filthy against the damp strands of her black hair.
“You have no idea what you look like right now—spread open, back arched like a cat in heat, that perfect little pussy creaming all over your stepbrother's cock. Fucking gorgeous.”
A broken whimper vibrates through her. She pushes back greedily, chasing every thrust, and the motion drags a guttural groan from my chest.
The sheets twist in her fists; her knuckles have gone bloodless. I slide one hand beneath her, broad palm splaying over her lower belly before my fingers find her swollen clit, slippery and throbbing.
The moment I circle it with deliberate pressure, her entire body jolts, inner walls clamping down so hard my vision fractures at the edges.
“That’s it. Just like that—fuck, feel how greedy you are for me.”
Her breathing fractures into sharp, shallow pants. I keep the pace steady, relentless, hips rolling in a slow grind that forces her to feel every inch of me stretching her open. The confession slips out before I can cage it, rasped against the frantic flutter of her pulse.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the second I saw you at that wedding—standing there in that green dress, chin up like you were daring the whole world to disappoint you. Wanted to drop to my knees right there and taste what was mine.”
She turns her head just enough for our eyes to lock. Those green eyes are wide, glassy, stripped bare—open, wrecked, and so achingly trusting it punches straight through my ribs.
Something inside my chest cracks wide open, a feeling I’m nowhere near ready to name. My rhythm falters for half a second before I recover, fucking her deeper, harder, chasing the flutter I can already feel building.
“Knox—”
“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it—your pretty cunt’s fluttering around me like it never wants me to leave. Let go. Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The words tip her over. She comes with my name fracturing on her tongue, a sharp, keening cry that echoes off the walls. Her body locks down, rhythmic spasms milking me so perfectly that pleasure detonates at the base of my spine.
I bury my face in the wild tangle of her dark hair, inhaling her with every brutal thrust, and follow her into the white-hot abyss.
My release surges out in thick, pulsing jets, filling her until I feel it slick and warm where we’re joined.
The world narrows to the thunder of her heartbeat against my chest, the trembling aftershocks rippling through her petite frame, and the overwhelming certainty that I would burn the whole damn world down before I let anyone take this—take her—from me.
For a long moment we stay like that, both of us breathing hard, her body soft and spent beneath mine. Then I ease out of her carefully, pulling her back against my chest.
She curls into me immediately, her hand finding mine and lacing our fingers together.
“Sleep,” I murmur against her hair.
She’s already halfway there. Her breathing evens out fast, her body going heavy and soft, and I adjust the sheet over her, tucking it around her shoulders.
I still can’t sleep.
My mind drifts, restless, and lands on the thing I’ve been trying not to think about all night. The threats. The notes. The emails Senator Calloway’s been getting for weeks. What he holds dear.
We’ve been running security long enough to know that threats with specific details don’t come from outside. Someone on the inside has been feeding information, and tomorrow—later today, technically—we’re going to start pulling that thread.
But right now, in the dark, with Ivy’s breath warm against my chest and her hand still holding mine, the threat feels close. Not abstract. Not professional.
Personal.
Someone out there wants to hurt the people Victor Calloway loves.
And the person he loves most is right here in my arms, soft and trusting and utterly unaware of how viciously I will destroy anyone who even thinks about touching her.