Chapter 7 #2
"Could take you apart so easy." His eyes are fully gold now, no human brown left, and instead of being terrifying it makes me desperately hot. "Could spread you out and eat you up and make you scream so loud the neighbors call the cops. Would you let me?"
"Yes." I'm past shame. Past thought. Just a live wire of want, sparking everywhere he touches. "Yes, please, anything—"
He kisses me again, deep and dirty, tongue fucking into my mouth in the same rhythm his hips are grinding against mine. I'm going to come. I'm going to come in my jeans like a teenager, just from this, just from his weight and his mouth and the way he's looking at me like he wants to devour me.
"Would you let me take you to bed?" He's panting now too, voice wrecked. "Keep you there all night? Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine?"
"Yes." It comes out as a sob. "Yes, please, Knox—"
He makes a sound that's not human, pure lion, and grinds against me harder. The friction is perfect, exactly what I need, and I'm climbing fast.
"So good for me," he's saying, one hand sliding between us, palming me through my jeans. The pressure makes me choke. "So fucking perfect, Toby. Going to take such good care of you. Going to make you feel so good you forget your own name."
"I'm close—" How am I this close? We're fully clothed, just grinding like teenagers, but I'm teetering on the edge, every nerve ending on fire. "Knox, I'm going to—"
"Yeah?" He squeezes me through the denim and I nearly black out. "Gonna come for me already? Just from this? Fuck, that's hot. That's so fucking hot, Toby."
"Please—"
"Go ahead. Show me how good I make you feel. Come for me, sweetheart."
His hand presses harder, his hips grind down, his teeth find that spot on my neck again, and I'm right there, I'm so close, I'm—
His phone rings.
We both freeze. The sound is jarring, obscene, cutting through the haze like a bucket of cold water. It rings again, insistent, demanding.
"Ignore it," I beg, trying to pull him back down. "Please, Knox, I was so close—"
"Fuck." He drops his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard. The phone keeps ringing. "Fuck, I can't—that's the emergency line."
He pulls back slightly, though his hand stays on me, keeping me grounded. I whimper at the loss of his weight. He pulls out his phone and checks the screen, and I watch his face go dark.
"Emergency at the garage." His voice is wrecked, rough like gravel. "Fire alarm going off. Might be real."
"You have to go."
"I really fucking don't want to." He looks down at me—debauched, desperate, still hard and aching under his palm—and I watch the war play out on his face. "Toby—"
"Go." It takes everything I have to say it. "If it's real—"
"I know." He squeezes me once, a promise, then forces himself to stand. He has to adjust himself in his jeans, wincing, and I feel a petty satisfaction at seeing him as wrecked as I am.
I probably look destroyed. Cardigan hanging off one shoulder, shirt shoved up to my armpits, marks already forming on my neck and chest. Hair a disaster. Lips swollen. So hard it hurts.
Knox stares at me for a long moment, something hungry and possessive in his golden eyes.
"Toby." He leans down, kisses me once more, hard and claiming. "This isn't over."
"Okay."
"Tomorrow. After your shift."
"Okay."
"I'm going to finish what we started." His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing over my swollen bottom lip. "Going to take my time with you. Make you fall apart over and over until you can't remember anyone else's name but mine."
"Okay." Is that the only word I know now? My brain has apparently stopped working.
He kisses me one more time—softer now, almost tender—then forces himself away. I watch him walk to the door, every line of his body tense with restraint.
He looks back at me one more time, eyes still gold, then he's gone. I hear his bike roar to life outside, hear it fade into the distance.
I'm still lying on the couch, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to convince my body that the orgasm it was promised isn't coming. Everything aches. My lips, my neck, my chest, the desperate throb between my legs.
I should get up. Take a cold shower. Do something productive.
I don't move.
My phone buzzes. Robin: Did he finally kiss you?
I stare at the screen for a long moment before typing back: How did you know??
Please. The sexual tension was going to kill someone. I could smell it from outside. Tell me EVERYTHING.
He had to leave. Emergency.
WHAT. No. The universe hates you.
I know.
But he's coming back, right? Tomorrow?
I touch one of the marks on my neck, feeling the tender skin, the slight indentation where his teeth pressed in. There are probably more on my chest. I hope there are more. I want to see them, catalog them, press on them tomorrow and remember how it felt.
Tomorrow, I type.
You okay?
I think about it. Am I okay? I'm lying on my couch fully clothed and more turned on than I've ever been in my life. A lion shifter just had me pinned down and was dirty talking me toward the best orgasm of my existence before his phone cockblocked us both.
I don't know, I admit. I think I'm ruined.
Good ruined or bad ruined?
I close my eyes, replaying every moment. His hands. His mouth. The weight of him. The way he looked at me like I was precious and edible and his.
Good ruined, I type back. Definitely good ruined.
TELL ME EVERYTHING WHEN I GET HOME.
I let the phone drop to my chest and stare at the ceiling.
Tomorrow.
I can survive until tomorrow.
Probably.