Chapter 50 Harper
HARPER
“How long of a drive is it to your place?” Knox asked, his voice still rough from what we’d just done.
“In this traffic? Maybe thirty minutes.”
His eyes darkened. “Perfect.”
He pressed me back against the leather seat, trailing his lips down the column of my throat. His fingers found the hem of my shirt and began inching it upward.
“That gives me ten minutes to kiss every inch of your body,” he murmured against my collarbone. “And twenty minutes to bury my tongue inside you and fuck you until you come on my face.”
Holy hell.
I swallowed hard, my pulse skittering beneath his lips. “You’d better shorten that timeline.”
He paused. Lifted his head.
“There’s a surprise party waiting for you at my place.”
His expression shifted through about seven emotions in two seconds. Flattered. Horrified. Frustrated. Desperate. Finally, he landed on something that looked like physical pain.
“You’re telling me that once we get back to your house, I have to stop ravaging you?”
“Afraid so.”
He dropped his forehead to my chest and groaned. The sound vibrated through my sternum and settled somewhere much lower.
“Don’t worry. We can resume as soon as they all leave,” I assured.
He lifted his head, and something shifted in his gaze. Something softer. His chin dipped slightly as he looked at me, and I watched the hunger temper into something more tender.
“Then I’d better make the most of the next thirty minutes.”
He pulled his boxers and jeans back up, but his mouth never stopped moving. Kissing my collarbone. The hollow of my throat. The space just below my ear that made me shiver. I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling the short buzz on the sides give way to the longer strands on top.
His hands slipped beneath my shirt, palms warm against my stomach, and he began inching the fabric upward again. One inch of fabric. One inch of newly exposed skin. One kiss pressed to each revealed section.
“You have a beautiful stomach,” he murmured against my navel.
Another inch. Another kiss.
The shirt climbed higher, cresting over the swell of my breasts. When his eyes landed on the black lace bra I’d chosen specifically for this moment, he actually growled. Low and rough and straight from his chest.
“You’re killing me, Princess.”
I smiled, reaching up to pull the shirt over my head and toss it aside. The limo hummed beneath us, trees and light poles sliding past the tinted windows, and I couldn’t imagine this was the safest position if we got into an accident. But I also couldn’t bring myself to care.
Knox trailed his lips across the tops of my breasts, his stubble rasping against my skin. His hands slid around my back, and with one deft movement, my bra clasp released. He tugged the black lace free and tossed it somewhere behind him.
Then he just … looked at me.
His eyes traced over my bare chest like he was memorizing every curve, every shadow. Like he was seeing something sacred.
It hit me then. This man hadn’t seen a woman’s body in years. Hadn’t touched one. Hadn’t tasted one. Every sensation was brand-new and achingly familiar, all at once.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed.
And then his mouth descended.
He took my nipple between his lips and sucked, his tongue swirling, and my back arched off the leather seat like I’d been electrocuted. Heat shot from his mouth through my chest and pooled between my thighs. That space began to pulse with its own heartbeat, desperate and aching.
He lavished attention on both breasts. Pinching. Swirling. Sucking one nipple while his fingers teased the other. Every so often, he’d glance up at me, checking my reaction, adjusting his rhythm based on the sounds I made. Total attunement. Like my pleasure had become his personal mission.
And, hell, it was beyond pleasurable, seeing him like this. This broad-shouldered, tattooed man bent over my body, his sandy hair catching the low light of the limo, his muscles flexing beneath his henley as he worshipped me.
If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be half-naked in a limousine with a convicted murderer’s mouth on my breast, I would have laughed in their face.
Now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
His lips trailed lower. Down my stomach. Following the same path his hands had traced earlier. When he reached the waistband of my pants, he made quick work of the button. But then he slowed down.
He hooked his fingers into the fabric and dragged my pants down my hips at an agonizing pace. Over my thighs. Past my knees. Off my ankles in one final tug.
When he saw my panties, also black lace, he pressed his tongue to his molars and exhaled through his nose.
“You dressed like this for me.”
The realization seemed to hit him somewhere deeper than desire. His eyes found mine, and I saw it there. The emotion cracking through the hunger.
“Of course I did.” I reached down and traced my fingers along his jaw. “I have other surprises planned for tonight too.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Princess, I am trying very hard to be excited about this party.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry. I took the next week off. We can spend it in bed.”
His eyes opened.
“You know exactly what I want,” he said. Not a question either.
His fingers found the edges of my panties and began sliding them down. Slowly. Reverently. Like he was unwrapping something precious.
When they were gone, I made a decision.
I wanted to give him everything he’d been missing. Every fantasy. Every visual. Everything.
So, I shifted further onto the bench seat and spread my legs. Wide. My left ankle hooked over the backrest, and my right foot planted on the floor. I was completely open to him. Completely exposed.
“Fuck, Harper.”
His voice came out shredded. He was kneeling on the floor between my thighs, staring at me like I was the answer to every prayer he’d whispered in that cell.
“Do you like what you see?”
A half laugh, half groan escaped him. “You have no fucking idea.”
But I thought maybe I did. All that time with nothing but his imagination, and now here I was, spread out before him like an offering.
So, I decided to give him a show.
I lifted my left arm above my head, letting it rest against the leather. With my right hand, I began to trail my fingertips down my own body. Over my throat. Across the swell of my breast. Down my stomach.
Knox’s jaw tightened. His eyes tracked every movement like it was his salvation.
My fingers dipped lower. And lower. Until they slipped into my own wet heat.
“Fuck,” he growled.
I gathered my arousal on my fingertips, then circled that sensitive bundle of nerves. Playing with myself while he watched. His breathing had gone ragged. I could see his desire straining against his jeans again, already hard, already desperate.
For a long moment, he just watched. Cataloging. Memorizing. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers stretching like he was barely holding himself back.
Then something snapped.
He grabbed my thighs, spread them wider, and buried his face between my legs.
With the first lick of his tongue, I cried out, my hips bucking off the seat as I pulled my hand free. He had to grip my thighs hard to hold me in place, his fingers pressing into my flesh as his tongue speared inside me.
The heat. The pressure. The sheer hunger in the way he devoured me. It was almost too much. I looked down and saw this muscular, tattooed man with his face buried between my legs, his shoulders bunched with tension, his hands holding me open for his mouth.
I grabbed his hair and held on for dear life.
He dragged his tongue from inside me up my core to that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I nearly shattered on the spot. He swirled around that sensitive bud. Sucked it between his lips. Flicked it with the tip of his tongue.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my core. “You taste better than I imagined.”
“You’ve imagined this?”
His laugh was dark. Hungry. He licked a long stripe up my center, collecting my arousal.
“Are you kidding me?” Another lick. Another growl of satisfaction. “I’ve been imagining you spread out in front of me like this since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Holy hell.
“What else?” I was panting now. “What else have you imagined?”
He looked up at me, his eyes burning. “I’ve imagined burying myself so deep inside you that you forget how to speak.”
Yes. The coil in my belly wound tighter.
His tongue returned to my bud, swirling in slow, devastating circles. The wave began to build. Higher. Higher.
“What else?” I demanded.
“Taking you from every angle.” His voice was muffled against my flesh, but I heard every word. “Your ankles hooked over my shoulders while I watch myself disappear inside you and come out glistening.”
My thighs trembled.
“Taking you from behind.” He sucked my bundle of nerves into his mouth, then released it with a wet sound. “Slapping that beautiful ass while I fuck you senseless.”
The wave climbed higher. His tongue was relentless now, swirling and flicking with a rhythm that was drawing out my release like a maestro coaxing music from an instrument.
“And then,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet mine, “I imagine you sitting on my face.”
I broke.
I grabbed Knox’s head and held him between my thighs as my climax crashed through me.
My back arched off the seat. My vision went white at the edges.
Knox’s fingers dug into my thighs hard enough to leave bruises, but I didn’t care.
He had to anchor himself to me to ride out my release, and as he did, he growled against my core and lapped up every drop.
When the last ripple coursed through me, I looked down.
He was watching me with a satisfied smirk, his lips swollen.
“That was incredible,” I managed.
“Did you expect anything less?” He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh.
“Honestly? A little.” I was still catching my breath. “I figured you’d be out of practice.”