Chapter Three
Nora slept poorly. Memories of Knox’s hand pinning her hips as the outer doors sealed lingered in fragmented pieces. It was the first full night of isolation. Command had estimated fourteen days at minimum. No exit.
The gym module felt smaller under full lockdown. Knox was already there, sleeves pushed up his forearms, the solid lines of his shoulders visible beneath his dark shirt. He looked up as she entered. His pale eyes moved over her slowly, taking inventory.
Nora didn’t wait for instructions. She stepped onto the mat, held his gaze, and spoke first.
“I assumed you’d want me on my back again.” A slight smile curved her mouth. “Or did the avalanche change the sequence?”
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, then a darker interest. “On your back.”
She lay down, knees bent and feet flat, letting them fall a few inches farther apart than the previous day. The invitation was quiet but unmistakable. Knox noticed. He always noticed.
He knelt between her feet and placed both hands on her knees. Instead of pushing immediately, he held them, thumbs stroking once along the inner seams of her pants, and looked down at her.
“You’re offering more range today.”
“The protocol said progressive,” she replied. “I’m progressing.”
A low sound escaped him—almost a laugh, almost a warning. Then he opened her.
He pushed her knees out and down in a slow, continuous motion until the stretch along her inner thighs turned deep and insistent.
He didn’t stop at a comfortable, functional angle.
He kept going until her hips were wide and the fabric of her pants pulled tight across her center.
He held the position with steady pressure, leaning forward so his shoulders filled the space above her.
Nora felt his heat, the controlled weight, the quiet force in his hands. He stayed there, breathing evenly, and the proximity made the air between them feel charged. She could smell the clean scent of his skin and a faint trace of whatever soap the station issued.
“Breathe,” he said.
She did. The stretch burned in the most useful way.
Wetness gathered quickly. He adjusted his grip, fingers spreading along her inner thighs, and pressed a fraction deeper.
A soft sound escaped her. He didn’t ease off.
He held her open and breathed, slow and controlled, as if absorbing the reaction.
“You’re already wet.” His voice dropped. “I can feel the heat through the fabric.”
Nora’s pulse climbed. She kept her eyes on his. “Then you’re paying attention.”
“I always pay attention when something belongs under my care.”
He shifted his weight forward another inch.
His chest nearly brushed hers. The solid heat and scent of him filled her senses until she could almost taste him on the inhale.
His mouth hovered close, one small movement from closing the distance.
He didn’t kiss her. He held the nearness like a deliberate test, watching her reaction while his hands kept her thighs spread wide.
Nora’s breath shortened. She didn’t turn her face away. The moment stretched, taut and electric, until he finally eased back—not far, just enough to resume control of the stretch.
He moved her through a series of deeper openers, each longer than the day before.
During a seated straddle, he sat behind her, one strong arm braced across her lower abdomen to keep her pelvis tilted, his other hand pressing her inner thigh farther toward the floor.
His chest was flush against her back. She felt every measured breath and the unmistakable hardness that pressed against her when he adjusted his position. He made no effort to hide it.
“Stay open,” he murmured near her ear. “The isolation removes the luxury of tight hips. We use the time.”
She stayed open. The stretch was intense enough that her thighs trembled.
He held her there, breathing against the side of her neck.
The physical demand, combined with his proximity, left her slick and aching.
When he finally released the straddle and guided her onto her back, the cool air of the module felt sharp against her overheated skin.
He returned to the figure-four position, this time placing one knee on the mat and leaning his body weight into the stretch, using his chest and shoulder to keep her folded open.
The pressure was heavier, more dominant.
His face hovered close again. Nora could see the exact shade of his eyes and the controlled tension in his jaw.
She could taste the warmth of his breath.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It isn’t.”
He pressed farther. The stretch turned sharp.
A small, helpless sound escaped her. Knox’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a long second, then returned to her eyes.
The near-kiss hovered between them again—close enough that the smallest lift of her chin would have met him.
He held the distance like a man who knew exactly how much power it gave him.
“You’re shaking.”
“I know.”
“From the stretch or from this?”
Nora’s answer came out quieter. “Both.”
Something satisfied and possessive moved through his expression.
He eased the pressure enough to change the angle, then applied it again—slower, deeper—while his free hand settled at the side of her throat, not squeezing, simply holding, thumb resting against her pulse.
The size of his hand made her feel delicate.
The fact that he could feel her pounding heart was more intimate than the stretch itself.
He kept her there longer than necessary, breathing with her, body close, the hard line of his cock pressed against her outer thigh whenever he shifted. The professional distance had not survived the avalanche. What remained was the physician’s control and a man’s hunger, held in deliberate check.
When he finally released her and sat back, Nora’s legs felt unsteady, and the fabric between her thighs was unmistakably damp. Knox looked down at the evidence without apology.
He didn’t speak at first. He took her wrist, drew her up, and turned her so her back faced the mirrored wall of the module.
One large hand settled at the side of her neck, the other at her waist. He stepped in until the solid heat of his body pressed along her spine and the unmistakable hardness of his cock rested against the small of her back.
“You’ve been inviting this since you walked through the door,” he said, voice low and rough near her ear. “I’m done pretending I don’t want it.”
Nora’s breath caught. She tilted her head, granting him more access to her throat. That was all the permission he required.
Knox turned her fully to face him and took her mouth in a deep, controlling kiss.
There was nothing tentative in it. He kissed her like a man who had already decided the outcome—slow at first, then harder, tongue sliding against hers with deliberate hunger.
Nora opened for him at once. Her hands found his chest, then his shoulders, feeling the dense muscle under his shirt as he backed her a step until her shoulders met the cool mirror.
He kept kissing her as one hand slid under the hem of her sweatshirt.
The contact of his palm on her bare waist made her shiver.
He pushed the fabric upward, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull the sweatshirt over her head and drop it to the floor.
She was left in the thin thermal base layer that clung to her breasts.
His eyes dropped, dark with hunger, before he claimed her mouth again.
His fingers traced the bare skin of her waist in slow, proprietary strokes, then followed the line of her training pants, dipping just under the waistband without pushing lower.
The teasing touch made her hips shift toward him.
He smiled against her mouth—small, satisfied—and did it again, fingertips brushing the soft skin above the fabric while his other hand cupped the back of her head, keeping her exactly where he wanted her for the kiss.
The wind hammered the sealed outer walls. The station remained a closed system. No one was coming.
Knox eased the kiss, lips still brushing hers, and spoke against her mouth. “Stay still.”
He dropped to one knee in front of her. The shift in height made her feel even smaller.
He set both hands on her hips, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just inside the waistband, then slid one hand between her legs and cupped her firmly through the damp pants.
The heat of his palm against her soaked center drew a broken sound from her.
He pressed harder, rubbing the heel of his hand slowly along the seam, feeling exactly how wet she was.
“Christ.” The word was quiet, almost reverent. He looked up at her, still on one knee, hand still cupped between her thighs. “When was the last time you were thoroughly fucked?”
Nora’s pulse slammed in her throat. The directness of the question, combined with the proprietary pressure of his hand, left no room for anything but honesty.
“I haven’t been.”
Knox went still. His eyes locked on hers. “Explain.”
“I’ve never had sex.” Her voice was steady even though her legs were not. “No one has fucked me. I’m a virgin.”