Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
SWEET CENTERING
I woke before Knox, curled into his side, the sun not yet up in the sky, but I could see his head, still handsome even in shadow, on the pillow beside mine.
I woke early because it was habit, considering I had the early shift at SC.
And I woke because, like last night, he was snoring softly.
Truth, his position didn’t look comfortable at all, trussed in that sling with no choices available to him but lying on his back.
And I’d never heard him snore, maybe because he was a side sleeper, and by side sleeper I meant spooner, and he wasn’t fussy about who played the big spoon, just as long as we slept with maximum physical contact.
There was another one.
So many things I’d missed.
Too many.
But that was then.
This was now.
Careful not to disturb him, I slid from the bed and heard Jacques jump down with me.
Being as quiet as possible, I tugged on some joggers under Knox’s army tee I was still wearing, pushed my feet in my beat-up Tom’s, and grabbed my wee baby’s leash that had the attached cache of poo bags.
We headed down to the courtyard. Even though Jacques had to have every inch of it claimed by now, my puppers was never one to fall down on a job.
Therefore, Jacques did a lot sniffing, a lot of marking, a lot of tongue wagging and trotting, then we went back up the stairs, where he got breakfast.
When I returned to the bedroom, dawn was only just streaking the sky, and my guy was up, shoulders to the short headboard, drowsy-sexy eyes aimed at me.
My bed was all creamy, chunky throw at the end (even if this was unnecessary except for a couple of months, since we lived in Phoenix) and white comforter with a frayed edge design through it.
Around the room there were baskets, candles, wood, a squat ivory boucle headboard, over which was a shelf with some art resting on it, wood candlesticks, and to zhuzh it up, bone-colored vases filled with wispy feathers.
There were also crochet-covered toss pillows (currently on the floor), mirrors, a stubby floor plant in a slouchy wicker basket, with a wooden bench not as wide as the bed at its foot, and a wooden ladder with some fun fairy lights leaning against a wall.
The color palette ranged from white to taupe with only the green plant breaking it up.
It was boho. Serene. Inviting. Pretty. Comfortable.
And with that man in my bed, the most perfect room I ever saw.
I flicked off my Tom’s, pulled off my joggers and reentered the bed to take my favorite seat.
I swung astride my guy.
He put a hand to my thigh.
I put my hands to his sling and unbuckled it myself.
He growled.
Mm.
The best “good morning” evah.
I dipped in to kiss his throat as I carefully tugged the sling off.
Both his hands came to me, and I lost my favorite seat to be put in my favorite position: on my back with Knox on top of me.
We were of like minds that morning, I knew, when his kiss was gentle, but his hands were greedy.
Friday, and all day yesterday, it was about catching up, settling in, taking, giving, sharing, and heated, almost desperate connection any way we could get it.
This was something entirely different.
It was languid. Unhurried.
Knox was going to pack heavy and move in for a spell.
Before my meet with the girls, we were going to do something ridiculously domestic: meal plan.
After my meet with the girls, we were going grocery shopping together.
We’d make dinner that night, again together.
We’d go to bed together.
We’d wake up the same way.
This was us.
We had time to touch. Taste. Take off our undies, my tee.
It was all so lazy, almost relaxing, that when Knox cupped my breast at the underside, lifted it, and sucked hard at my nipple, a shocking zap of electricity shot through the whole of my pleasantly strumming body.
He was greedy there too. Also giving. Swirls of his tongue, draws from his mouth.
I had my fingers threaded in his hair, and when the sensations he was causing started to get out of hand, I scraped his scalp with my nails.
He growled against my nipple, pulled hard on it with his mouth, as his hand, the callouses catching on my skin, skimmed a path over my ribs, down my belly, and right between my legs to rub hard through my wetness.
Another zap, and my hips lifted in encouragement.
Knox adjusted his head so he could kiss me.
I grabbed hold of his cock, gratefully accepted his pleasured grunt against my tongue when I did, and started stroking.
He hit the spot between my legs with two long, strong fingers and started swirling.
My fingers roamed his skin, my nails scratched.
Eventually it got serious, and on a downward stroke, I tightened my hold and yanked up.
That caused another, deeper grunt, one that shivered through me as Knox got the message, shoved my leg open, rolled in between, lined up his cock and slid home.
The thrust was slow. Reverent. Awed.
For both of us.
He pulled my knees up and tucked them to his sides as he stroked inside, steady, slow, sure, serious.
His hands found mine, our fingers linked, he pulled them over my head, held them, another connection and fortunately, an opportunity of leverage for him as he quickened his pace.
Our mouths had been busy through this, with each other’s, our necks, shoulders, throats, collarbones.
But it was then he lifted his head, looked down at me in the dim, early-morning light, and whispered, “Love you, Luna.”
Knowing it, and still unprepared for the beauty of that moment, I felt the tears spring, fill and finally fall out the sides of my eyes.
And my voice was husky when I whispered in return, “Love you too, Knox.”
I saw the white of his teeth in a gentle smile before he dropped his head and kissed me again.
As these things do, it started to go faster. Knox had to let one of my hands go to engage my clit. And in the end, our climaxes weren’t simultaneous, but they were damn close (I went first).
They also (or at least mine, but I sensed the same with his) weren’t dazzling. Mind-boggling. Stupefying.
No.
They were a sweet centering. Rooting us in the here and now. Not what was past that we had to make up for. Not what had been hurt and had to be healed.
We were who we hadn’t been, even back then, with his tests and my cluelessness.
We were who we were always going to be.
And we were beautiful.
* * *
“She asks where,” Knox told me, scowling down at his phone from where he stood opposite me, his position in the kitchen, hunched over on his elbows on the counter of the bar, phone in both hands, my position with my ass in one of my rattan stools on the living room side.
We were drinking coffee and eating English muffins slathered in apple butter (Knox might not like grape jelly, but he seriously dug apple butter).
And he’d just texted Cheyenne to ask if she’d meet him that afternoon.
Apparently, she didn’t waste any time agreeing.
“Somewhere neutral,” I suggested. “And very public,” I added, in hopes she wouldn’t cause a scene.
He looked at me. “She likes Dough Bird.”
“You take her there when you were together?”
He grimaced.
“Not there,” I stated. “Somewhere generic. Like a Starbucks.”
He looked back down at his phone and his thumbs moved over it (again, no sling, again, no guff from me—I’d gotten to the point of understanding he was a grown-ass man, and he could tell his doctor why his recovery was delayed, if that was the case—that said, he was barely limping anymore, and I hadn’t seen him so much as wince when he moved his arm).
I heard the swoop of his text flying off, he set his phone aside and commandeered his coffee mug.
“Do you need a dressing change?” I asked.
His tone was tender when he looked at me and replied, “Babe.”
Some of his babes I couldn’t translate.
Some of them I could.
That was one I could.
“I know I didn’t handle it very well the first time, but I’m prepared this time.”
He took a moment with that before he said, “Once I sort this with Cheyenne, we’ll shower and, yeah. You can see to that.”
I took a sip of coffee, eagerly anticipating this shower, and asked, “You can do the one on your leg, but not the one on your shoulder. So who’s been handling that for you?”
“Cap or Marjorie.”
I felt my brows wing up. “Marjorie?”
His shoulders went up and down. “She’s trained in first aid.”
I tried not to laugh at the thought of Knox’s wounds being wrapped by the stern, helmet-haired, sometimes positively dour office manager of NI&S, Marjorie. Fortunately, I bested this task.
I still couldn’t stop myself from giving him stick.
“I bet I was a better nursemaid,” I remarked.
“Never fought with her. Or had to take her shit. But she doesn’t have as good of an ass as you do.”
I burst out laughing.
His phone vibrated on the counter.
We both looked to it but only Knox picked it up.
“We’re agreed,” he said, not putting the slightest effort into hiding he wasn’t happy about it.
My poor baby.
It had to be said, he did fuck up with her, especially since he genuinely wasn’t into her (and I was only going to preen inwardly at having this knowledge).
But it was a boss move to reach out so he could explain and apologize.
It sucked she got caught up in our game, but they’d been together for months. She absolutely had a variety of clues thrown her way he wasn’t into it, not the least of them a guy like Knox not sleeping with her.
I honestly wasn’t sure in this situation where the bulk of the responsibility lay.
Knox was in his feels, his history was crap, and she got caught in the rebound of us, none of which was all right.
But he gave her clear signals, his red flag (to her) waving furiously, and upon contemplation, if I’d been less in my own feels, I would have noticed there always was a distance between them. If I could see that in retrospect, being in it, she had to notice it at the time.
And her response was to try to separate him from his friends and get up in his shit about her jealousy for me when she should have received the message he was sending: that being with him was not a healthy place to be.
“What’s on your mind?” Knox asked into my reverie.
He had apple butter on his lip. He noticed, so his tongue came out to lick it away.
My mind was suddenly very centered on our shower.
Knox chuckled and asked Jacques apparently, because he certainly wasn’t asking me.
“How did I get so lucky to find a woman who has sex on the brain worse than me?”
“I don’t have sex on the brain,” I refuted (otherwise known as lied).
“Were you just thinking of our shower?”
I picked up my own muffin half and bit into it wondering how committed I was to honesty in our relationship.
“Okay, letting that go, what were you thinking before?” he pressed.
“I was trying to figure out who held more responsibility for the mess between Cheyenne and you.”
He appeared perplexed. “That would be me.”
“Knox, it wasn’t like you weren’t giving signals.”
His expression softened. “Baby, don’t twist yourself up trying to exonerate me. What I did wasn’t cool.”
“Did you do it knowingly?”
“No, but that doesn’t make any difference.”
Great answer, though I wasn’t sure it was a correct one.
“You know, honey, I hope she sits with you today and hears your words and understands there are perhaps point zero zero three percent of the male population who would sit an ex down and cop to the shit they pulled, much less apologize for it. Hell, gender equality, there’s probably much that same percentage of women who’d do it.
Especially considering she played her part by ignoring all the signals you were sending, and instead, trying to manipulate it to take you away from the things that she thought were taking you away from her. ”
“And there you are, twisting yourself up, trying to exonerate me.”
He was intent to take all the blame?
Whatever.
It was actually pretty cool he was that kind of guy.
“I’ll drop you before I head to headquarters,” I told him.
“And maybe we can arrange for Cap to pick you up, because not only do the girls need to come up with some strategy on how to deal with Cheyenne if this doesn’t go well, I have to share the goss that Byron is a good kisser, which will cause a sensation, so you’ll probably be done before we are. ”
“I want to swing by my place and pack while you’re with the Angels, so I’ll sort something out with one of the guys.”
This was a good segue, so I took it.
“We need to talk about Brady.”
He shook his head.
“Knox—”
“Babe, I get why you did what you did,” he stated. “Him? A bud? Hell, even just a colleague, but he isn’t just that. He’s a friend. I don’t get it, but I do get that it’s not okay.”
I kind of understood this.
If Knox had done the same with Shanti, or Gem, or Joey…
Actually, I totally understood this because if that happened, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to forgive them.
But I was part of that mess, and I hated the idea that my part in it might end a friendship between two people I cared a great deal about.
“Can you at least talk to him?” I asked quietly.
“I can at least do that, honey,” he answered quietly.
“Thanks.”
He smiled at me.
We ate our muffins and sipped our coffee.
Good news: once we unwrapped them, even I, not remotely a medical professional, could see his wounds were healing nicely.
Better news: I’d forgotten how fun it was to take a shower with Knox.
Not as good news, but still nice news: making meal plans with my man was da bomb.