Chapter 20
Taylor
Iexpect Knox to run immediately. I probably pushed a little too far—again—but no way was I going to let him sleep on the floor for fuck’s sake, and once he was behind me, my body needed him desperately. To my shocked delight, he didn’t put up much of a fight.
Instead of running, he slides back down my body and collapses onto me, burying his face in my neck.
I like the weight of him.
Wrapping my arms around his back, I squeeze gently. “Are you okay?”
“I have no idea,” he replies. I regret opening my mouth because he pushes up onto his hands and sits back on his heels, putting distance between us. Shyly, he tucks himself back in his pajama pants while I just let my cock soften in plain sight.
“I’m a mess,” I point out unnecessarily.
“Want to join me in the shower?” I ask it teasingly to lighten the mood, but I can tell he’s retreating into his mind.
I want to touch him and try to comfort him, but I think it would have the opposite effect right now.
Instead, I try to do it with my words. “I know it’s probably difficult to process what just happened, and even more difficult to process how you feel about it, but nothing about who you are as a person has changed, Knox. ”
Finally, his eyes meet mine, but only for a brief second before looking away again.
“I’m gonna go start the coffee,” he mutters.
He sounds like he’s in a daze, and the last thing I want is for him to regret this or have a crisis over it.
Figuring the best thing I can do is give him space, I watch as he climbs off me in silence and heads out the door.
A few seconds later, the beep of his alarm is abruptly silenced, and I make my way into the bathroom to clean myself up.
Realizing I don’t have any of my own clothes, toiletries, or belongings outside of my cell phone that my sister grabbed from her car on our way out of the marina’s lot yesterday, I wrap the towel around my waist and go in search of Knox.
His house is one story, so it doesn’t take long to find him busying himself in the kitchen.
He looks up at the sound of me entering the room, and his jaw tics when his eyes land on the towel covering me from the waist down.
“I don’t have any clothes here,” I explain. “Or a toothbrush for that matter,” I add, thankful there was no kissing this morning.
“Oh. Right,” he says, breezing by me and heading back down the hall toward what I’m guessing is his bedroom. I trail along, wanting to see more of his home. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asks again. “Any headache? How’s your neck?”
I can’t hold back my laughter. “I’d forgotten all about the concussion, honestly.”
“That’s a good sign,” he says, not even cracking a smile as he opens a dresser drawer. “Shorts or pants?”
“Shorts.”
He hands me a pair of black athletic shorts.
“You can probably roll the waistband enough so they fit a little better.” He still won’t look me in the eye as he moves to his closet and grabs a T-shirt off a hanger.
His last stop is the ensuite, where he pulls an unopened toothbrush from a small white bag.
I recognize it as the care kit you get from the dentist.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” he says gruffly. “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. You should eat something.”
Five minutes later, I’m dressed and have minty-fresh breath. I take my towel and the clothes I messed up this morning back to Knox in the kitchen.
“Where should I put these?” I ask, holding up the small pile.
“Laundry room is through there.” He waves a hand toward a door next to the kitchen.
I say nothing more before tossing my clothes and towel into the washing machine. Moving back into the kitchen, I hop my ass up onto the counter and watch while Knox works. Eventually, he comes to stand right in front of me.
Finally making eye contact, he says, “I need plates out of the cabinet behind you.”
I lean to the left so he can grab what he’s after.
“Are we gonna talk about it?” I ask as he serves each plate with eggs.
“No.” His answer is immediate. “We’re going to pretend it never happened. That was the deal.”
I don’t like this part of the deal.
Knox now needs to open the silverware drawer behind my knees, but instead of moving, I hook my legs around his ass and draw him into me.
“I don’t want to pretend it never happened,” I admit.
“Too fucking bad.”
“Hey,” I say, my tone a little harsher than it’s been. “Talk to me instead of biting my head off.” When I pulled him to me, it put our groins flush against each other again.
He notices, and his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t try to escape. Knox sounds so broken when he answers in a whisper. “You said you’d back off.”
The way he says it makes me realize something…
“But you don’t want me to, do you? That’s the real problem here.” I slide my palm across the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still.
In a moment of total vulnerability, Knox admits, “It might be one of them.”
My heart shatters on his tile floor.
“Let me in,” I beg, brushing the words against his lips before following suit with my tongue, breakfast completely forgotten.
Knox’s hands clamp down on my thighs, and for a brief second, I think he’s going to push me away or reprimand me.
But when I part my lips, he places his top lip between mine.
Creating a vacuum with his mouth, he sucks on my bottom lip before nipping it gently with his teeth.
My moan bounces off the walls in his kitchen.
It’s amazing how quickly he takes me from zero to sixty, and I can’t stop myself from rubbing against him where we’re connected.
In another second, his right hand is gone from my thigh, and he’s cupping my face, his thumb glued to my cheekbone, before he pulls away, panting heavily.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” he confesses, closing his eyes.
“You don’t have to,” I say before stealing another kiss. “I just need to know if you’re willing to explore it.”
Finally, he pulls back and opens his eyes, really looking at my face. I let him take his time drinking his fill.
“I’m twenty years older than you,” is what he chooses to say.
I smile, fully prepared for this. “Michael Douglas is twenty-five years older than Catherine Zeta-Jones. Ellen is fifteen years older than Portia de Rossi. Harrison Ford is—”
He places a large palm over my mouth, and I smile against his hand.
“Okay, I get it. People have made it work.”
Slowly, I peel his hand away, but keep a hold of it from my perch on the counter.
“Besides, exploring it isn’t the same as committing to it forever.” I meant for the statement to be reassuring, but feeling him grow tense, I know it must’ve been the wrong thing to say.
That’s confirmed a second later when he pulls out of my grasp and breaks through my locked ankles at his back. Turning away from me, he places both hands on the table behind him and hangs his head between his shoulders.
“Knox? What is it?”
Figuring he might as well know the real me, which includes my need for physical touch all the fucking time, I hop off the counter and step up behind him, planting my hands on his waist.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says, turning to face me. He’s growing frustrated, but I can tell it’s with himself, not me. “I don’t know what to do with a dick that isn’t my own…or why I’m even thinking about it. I don’t know how to do one-night stands or whatever this would be.”
He’s cute when he’s flustered, but I don’t let him spiral for long.
With my hands still at his waist, I shove him sideways, knocking him off balance, and using the momentum I’ve created to push him until his back is pressed against the wall.
“Luckily for you, I do know what to do with a dick that isn’t mine…and who said anything about this being a one-night stand?”
Reaching for his hands, I place them on my ass, smiling when his fingers flex into the globes involuntarily. It’s a really nice ass. I want him to stop thinking so fucking much and just feel.
“Let me take your shirt off,” I demand instead of asking because I don’t want him to have to think about it. I need to feel the warmth of his skin and the hair on his chest.
Without verbally answering, he raises his arms.
Good enough for me.
My hands immediately lift the hem of his shirt, pull it over his head, and toss it to the floor.
This isn’t supposed to be all about sex.
And it won’t be, but Knox’s actions, his small acquiescences to my touch, tell me he’s starved for affection, and if I can help him over this hurdle, the rest of the connection will be that much more fun to strengthen.
I flex my hips into him while ravaging his neck with my teeth and tongue. When I reach his ear, I whisper, “Just do what feels right. Take what you want. Don’t overthink it. Don’t analyze it. Just. Fucking. Take.”
A second later, one of his hands is in my hair, gripping the roots with punishing force, while his other hand has found its way back to my ass, except this time, it’s against my bare skin, inside the thin shorts.
He’s kneading my flesh at the same time he’s pulling me into himself, grinding our cocks together the way I did earlier.
I lick the spot below his ear and he angles his head, giving me better access. I smile against his skin before pulling the lobe between my teeth and biting down. His hips thrust forward, and his head hits the wall behind him.
Taking a risk, I slide one of my hands to the front of his pants. My cock grows impossibly hard when I realize he’s beaten me there.
“What do you need?” I ask before correcting myself. “What do you want, Knox?”
He finally gives me an answer.
“More.”