24. Sawyer #2
I tip my head up and find his eyes already trained on my face. A shiver runs through me.
“You’re cold,” he says. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
He takes my hand and leads the way while I let my feet follow unconsciously. He’s being so nice, so caring. He hasn’t said anything hurtful or provoked me or even pulled away. I don’t know what to do with this version of Knox. I never have.
We stop beside my bed and he drags the comforter down. “Get in.”
I do, and he pulls it over me, tucking it against my sides. Staring up at him, I realize this is it. He’s going to take the couch, do the right thing, and I’m going to let him because that’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s the version of tonight that makes sense.
But the thought of sleeping alone has my stomach in knots. I can’t…Not after that nightmare.
When he straightens up, I grab his wrist.
“Stay.”
He looks down at me in the dark for a long moment with an unreadable expression. I wish I could crawl inside his mind and study his unspoken thoughts. I blink, as my eyes grow hot.
Then he takes off his glasses and sets them on my nightstand. Surrendering to the inevitable. I hold the comforter up in invitation and he slides in beside me. Only then, with his warm body against mine, I release the breath I’ve been holding since I woke up.
He settles on his back and I curl against his side, laying my head on his chest so I can feel his heartbeat. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer.
We’re both quietly breathing, soaking up the comfort.
“Knox?”
“Sawyer?”
I trace a pattern along his shirt, not thinking about it, just needing something to do with my hands. “Do you ever feel like you left part of yourself up there? On that ride?”
“Yes.”
As I move along his ribcage, I notice every bump and ridge, the hard planes of muscle. “I do too.”
His fingers find my chin, and he tilts my head up to meet his gaze. “But a part of myself came off the ride too. It’s living inside someone else.”
I pause with my palm splayed on his abdomen, and take in his words. I should say something…anything. But his gray eyes are fixed on me, his breathing is uneven, and he’s holding me like I’m precious.
Every thought or coherent response escapes me, except one.
Kiss him.
I press up on my elbow and touch my mouth to his, soft and tentative, giving him every chance to pull away. Time stops. I open my eyes, get ready to back away—and he’s already watching me.
“Fuck,” he growls, then slides his hand from my chin into my hair and kisses me back with this low groan in his throat that I feel more than hear. It’s so hot, so incredibly feral that I melt against him.
His other arm pulls me closer, until there’s no space left between us, and I realize his hands are shaking slightly.
Knox Aldrich is shaking…for me.
He deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue to the seam of my lips, urging me to open for him, and I do.
Whatever composure I had left dissolves completely.
My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer.
I can’t get enough of him. It’s like I’ve been starving for this without letting myself know it.
He pulls me on top of him, so I’m straddling his hard length through his sweatpants. I’m so sensitive, I gasp against his mouth.
He swallows it, kissing me slowly and tenderly, while he grips my hips, holding me exactly where he wants me.
There’s no pretending now. No ambiguity, no plausible deniability, no version of this we can walk back in the morning. We both know exactly what this is and exactly where it’s going and neither of us is stopping.
I’ve never wanted something as badly as I want him.
I roll my hips, just enough to test him. He hisses, gripping me tighter.
“Sawyer.” My name from his lips is the last piece of wall coming down. It does something to me to hear him this way. Like I’m affecting him to the deepest level just by existing in his lap. His hands find the hem of my sleep shirt, fingers slipping beneath it, slow and tentative.
“Don’t stop,” I say against his lips.
His palms flatten against my bare waist and the warmth of his touch makes me shiver. He notices. Of course he does. He’s always noticing the little things.
“You’re still cold,” he murmurs.
“I’m really not.”
He smiles against my mouth, and I wish the lights were on because just the feel of it undoes me more than anything else. Knox smiling in the dark, underneath me, with his hands on my skin and his guard completely down. I’ve wanted this version of him for so fucking long.
I pull back just far enough to look at him.
His hair’s a mess from my hands, his eyes dark and heavy, lips parted. He looks up at me like he can’t believe I’m real, his chest rising and falling unsteadily.
I reach down and pull my shirt over my head.
His exhale comes out slow and shaky, his eyes moving over me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use it.
“God,” he breathes.
His hands slide up my ribcage, thumbs tracing along my skin until he reaches the underside of my breasts. His hands are so warm, so gentle, that I can’t help but groan and roll my hips again.
“You don’t know how perfect you are.” He cups my breasts, gliding over my tight nipples. “These fucking tits, Sawyer. My God.”
I’m so damn wet, so needy, I don’t know how long I can hold out. But I want to. I don’t want this to end too soon.
He kisses along my jaw, rubbing his scruff against my cheek while he lightly traces my nipples. It’s so good that little noises escape my lips.
“Please,” I whimper.
I lean in and cup his face, kissing him again, with more urgency, and a low rumble sounds in his throat. God, I’m already addicted to that sound, I want to hear it everyday, until the end of time.
Reaching between us, I slide my hand down his abdomen toward the waistband of his sweatpants. I’m practically throbbing for release.
He catches my wrist.
“Not yet.” His voice is low, almost lazy, like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to torture me with it.
“Knox—”
“Not yet, Sawyer.”
I huff against his mouth and he swallows it, smiling again. That damn smile, it’ll be the death of me. I grind my ass against him and fuck, he feels so good. I’ll make him give me what I want.
He shifts us without warning, laying me back against the pillows, and settles beside me, propped on one elbow, one muscular thigh between my legs.
“What are you doing?” I glare at him, but I know the dark hides my expression.
“Taking my time.”
“I don’t want you to take your time.”
“I know.” His knuckle trails down the center of my chest, achingly slow, between my breasts, down my sternum. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”
I grab his wrist. He lets me hold it but it doesn’t stop him from slowly tracing patterns on my stomach like we’re not both losing our minds.
“You’re infuriating,” I manage.
“You love it.”
I do, and that’s what annoys the hell out of me. His hands on me feel so good. I want more.
His mouth drops to my throat, and I tip my head back for him. He takes his time kissing and sucking, his lips and scruff dragging along my pulse point, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder like he’s memorizing my skin.
I squirm beneath him, seeking some kind of friction, but he pins my hip gently, holding me still. “Stop rushing me.”
“Stop making me wait.”
He lifts his head just enough to meet my gaze, and there’s something in his expression that sucks the air from my lungs. It’s dark and so open that I almost forget what I was asking for.
“I’ve been waiting for you my whole goddamn life, Sawyer. So I’m going to take as long as I want to ruin you for anyone else.”
I roll my lip between my teeth, unable to form words. If only he knew he’s too late for that. I’ve been ruined for anyone else long before tonight. There’s no reason to fight him. I curl my fingers into his hair, and surrender.
He plants slow torturous kisses down my chest, across my ribs, along the soft skin of my stomach, his scruff leaving a trail that makes me gasp.
Just when his mouth reaches the band of my underwear, he stops and works his way back up, completely unhurried, paying extra attention to the spot where my hips curve. Asshole knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You have freckles here.” He kisses along them. “Did you know?”
I shake my head, breathing hard.
“You’ve kept them hidden from me all these years. Not anymore. I’ll learn every inch of you.”
God help me.
I shift beneath him, seeking his thigh, needing something, anything, to relieve the ache that’s been building since the moment he walked through my door. I find it and my breath stutters.
He lifts his head.
“Are you grinding on my thigh right now?” The sound’s almost amused, but there’s a rough edge too. I’m getting to him. His composure will crack.
“Shut up,” I breathe, doing it again.
His hand comes down to grip my hip, not stopping me, just holding, feeling the movement.
“Sawyer. His voice drops an octave, his fingers tightening.
I roll my hips again, slower this time, holding his gaze while I reach up and run my palm over his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans, closing his eyes. My muscles clench. I’m so damn close to coming from practically nothing.
“Look at me,” I say, emboldened by his lack of restraint. His eyes open, dark with his pupils blown, unguarded and barely keeping it together. “Knox, I need you.”
Whatever restraint he had left snaps clean in half. He grabs my wrist, pins it to the mattress above my head, and looks down at me with an expression that makes my whole body clench.
“You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” I whisper.
His forehead drops to mine, both of us breathing hard, the space between us charged with aching need. When he kisses me this time, there’s no tenderness in it. I’ve pushed him past that point. And for the first time since the accident, I stop holding on so tightly and just let go.