Chapter 19
Toby
The ride back to the bar feels endless.
My arms are tight around Knox's waist, my body pressed against his back. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, feel the heat of him even through layers of clothing. The vibration of the engine hums through us both, and I'm not sure where I end and he begins right now.
He takes the most direct route. No scenic detours tonight.
When he pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, neither of us moves for a second. Just breathing. Just existing in this moment before everything changes.
"The pack is probably in there," Knox says.
"I know."
"They're going to be insufferable."
"I know." I climb off the bike, pull off the helmet. My hair is probably a disaster, my lips are still swollen from kissing at the overlook, and I can't stop smiling. "I don't care."
We walk through the bar hand in hand. Knox doesn't hide it, doesn't try to be subtle. His fingers are laced through mine, his palm warm and steady.
Jason's behind the counter, drying glasses. Vaughn's at the pool table, lining up a shot. Silas is in his corner booth with a book. Ezra's nursing a beer at the bar.
They all look up when we walk in.
Nobody says anything. But I can see their reactions—surprise, relief, satisfaction. Jason looks like he's about to vibrate out of his skin with the effort of keeping his mouth shut.
Knox leads me toward the back stairs, toward his apartment. Our fingers stay laced together.
Behind us, I hear Jason whisper "Finally," and Vaughn respond with what sounds like a high five.
"Insufferable," Knox mutters.
"Adorable," I correct.
We climb the stairs together. Each step feels significant, weighted with intention. This isn't like last time—frantic, desperate, Knox's lion in control.
When he closes the apartment door behind us, the click of the lock sounds like a promise.
I stand in the middle of his living room, looking around like I'm seeing it for the first time. Maybe I am, in a way. Last time I was here, everything was different. I was different. We were different.
"Hi," I say softly.
"Hi."
"I'm nervous." I laugh a little, self-conscious. "Which is stupid. We've done this before."
"It's not stupid." Knox closes the distance between us, slow and deliberate. "This is different."
"Different how?"
He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger on my jaw, warm and gentle.
"Last time was heat. Instinct. My lion taking over." He cups my face in his hands, tilts it up so I'm looking at him. "This time I want you to know, every second, that it's me choosing you. Not just my lion. Me."
My breath catches. My eyes sting.
"Knox..."
"I love you." The words come out like he's been holding them back for weeks. Maybe he has. "I should have said it before. Should have said it that first night, when you told me my eyes were pretty and I forgot how to breathe. I love you, Toby."
A tear spills over before I can stop it. He catches it with his thumb.
"I love you too," I whisper. The words feel huge and terrifying and exactly right.
He kisses me.
It starts soft. Gentle. A seal on the words we just said. But I make a sound against his mouth—needy, wanting—and gentle isn't enough anymore.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. He walks me backward until my back hits the wall, and I gasp, arching into him. He swallows the sound, licks into my mouth, and I taste coffee and something that's just him.
"Knox," I breathe when he breaks away to kiss down my neck. "Please."
"Please what?"
"I don't know. Everything. Anything." My head falls back against the wall. "Just touch me."
"The bite," he says against my throat. "Can I see it?"
I go still. Then my hands move to my cardigan, fumbling with the buttons.
He stops me. "Let me."
He undoes each button slowly, revealing inches of skin as I go. The shirt underneath is soft cotton, easy to push aside. And there it is—the bite mark on my shoulder, still dark, still visible.
His mark. On me.
"It didn't fade," he says, tracing the edges with his fingertips.
"No." My voice comes out unsteady. "It ached, the whole time we were apart. Not bad, just... present. Like it was waiting for you."
He leans down and presses his mouth to it. I shudder.
"I want to mark you again," he murmurs against my skin. "Everywhere. Want everyone to know you're mine."
"Yes."
"Want to take you to bed and keep you there until neither of us can move."
"God, yes."
"Want to hear you say my name when you come."
My hips jerk against his. I'm so hard it hurts, straining against my jeans. "Bedroom," I manage. "Now. Please."
He takes my hand and leads me down the hall.
The bedroom is dark. He doesn't turn on the light—there's enough glow from the streetlights outside. Enough to see each other by.
I stand at the foot of his bed, cardigan hanging open, watching him.
"I want to do this right," he says. "Last time I rushed. Didn't take care of you the way I should have."
"You took care of me. The bath, the fruit—"
"After. I mean during." He steps closer, runs his hands up his arms. "I want to go slow. Learn what you like. Make it good for you."
"It was good for me."
"I want it to be better."
I shiver. "Knox..."
He kisses me again, softer this time. Guides the cardigan off my shoulders, lets it fall to the floor. My shirt follows. Then his.
"Okay," I breathe, "slow is good. Slow is—" I break off when he ducks his head to kiss my collarbone. "Really good."
He takes his time. Kisses every inch of skin he uncovers. He learns the map of me—finds where I'm ticklish along my ribs, where I'm sensitive at the dip of my waist, where a scrape of teeth makes me gasp and grab at his shoulders.
He pays special attention to the bite mark. Kisses it, licks it, worries at it gently with his teeth until I'm making sounds that aren't words anymore, my hips rolling against nothing, searching for friction.
"Knox, I need—"
He works my jeans open, pushes them down along with my underwear.
The way he looks at me—like I'm something precious, something worth waiting for—makes my chest ache.
He drops to his knees. Looks up at me, holds my gaze. His eyes are shifting, the gold bleeding through. "Can I?"
My breath hitches. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."
He wraps his hand around the base of me first, just holding, feeling. I'm already so hard, twitching in his grip. When he leans in and drags his tongue up the underside, from root to tip, my whole body shudders.
"Knox—"
He takes the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. I have to lock my knees to stay upright.
"Oh fuck." My fingers tighten in his hair. "That's—oh—"
He takes me deeper, slow, letting me feel every inch of the slide. By the time his nose brushes my skin, I've forgotten how to breathe. The sound I make is broken, desperate.
He pulls back just as slowly, hollowing his cheeks, then sinks down again. And again. Setting a rhythm that has my thighs trembling.
"Knox, your mouth, I can't—" I'm babbling, hips twitching like I'm trying not to thrust. "Please, please, please—"
He pulls off just long enough to say, "You can move. I want you to."
Something breaks loose in me, and then my hips are rolling forward, fucking into his mouth in shallow thrusts. He lets me, encourages me, one hand gripping my hip while the other cups my balls, rolling them gently.
"I'm close," I warn, tugging at his hair. "Knox, I'm going to—"
He doesn't pull off. Instead he takes me deeper, swallows around me, and hums.
I come with a shout, spilling down his throat in hot pulses. He works me through it, swallowing everything, gentling his mouth as the aftershocks roll through me. When he finally pulls off, my legs are shaking so hard he has to catch me.
"Holy shit." I'm panting, boneless against him. "Holy shit, Knox."
He stands, gathering me against his chest. "Good?"
"I think I died." I laugh weakly into his shoulder.
"We're not done," he tells me, walking me backward toward the bed.
"I don't think I can move."
"You don't have to." He eases me down onto the mattress, and I go willingly. "I'll do all the work."
My cock twitches against my thigh, already trying to rally.
He strips off his jeans, and I watch, my gaze tracking down his body. He's gorgeous. Unfairly gorgeous. And his cock is hard and thick and I want it inside me so badly I can barely think.
"You're so fucking hot," I tell him. "It's honestly unfair."
"Says the man spread out on my bed looking like every fantasy I've ever had."
I flush, the heat spreading down my chest. "Flatterer."
"Truth teller." He finds the lube in the nightstand and settles between my thighs, nudging them further apart. "Still okay?"
"More than okay." I reach for him, pull him down for a kiss. "I want to feel you inside me."
He slicks his fingers and presses one against my entrance, circling gently. I'm tight—it's been weeks—and he goes slow.
"Relax," he murmurs against my mouth. "Let me in."
I take a breath, consciously unclenching, and his finger slides inside. Hot. Full. Perfect.
"More," I breathe.
"Patience."
"I don't have any patience. You sucked it out of me along with my brain cells."
He huffs a laugh against my throat and starts working his finger in and out, slow and steady, crooking it to find that spot. When he finds it, my whole body jerks.
"There," I gasp. "Oh fuck, right there—"
He adds a second finger, scissoring them gently, stretching me open while he rubs against my prostate. I'm fully hard again now, flushed and leaking.
"Knox, please." I'm rocking back against his hand. "I'm ready, I need—"
"One more." He adds a third finger, and I moan. "Want you to take me easy. Want this to feel good."
"It feels good." I'm panting, sweat beading on my temples. "It feels so good, but I want you. Please, Knox, I want your cock."
He pulls his fingers free—I whine at the loss—and slicks himself up. When he positions himself at my entrance, we both go still.
"Look at me," he says.