Chapter 21
Cami
We walk in a silence where every thought seems loud yet unspoken.
Shadow and Stripe are sleeping, curled in my arms, warm and purring, their tiny bodies vibrating like thunderclaps against my chest.
I steal a glance at Knox, but he’s unreadable, his jaw set, gaze fixed on the path ahead as gravel crunches beneath our feet.
Waves murmur beyond the dunes, steady as breath, and the porch light flickers ahead, casting long shadows across overgrown grass.
When we reach the steps, I break the quiet.
“That third glass of wine has me feeling a little dizzy.” Or maybe it’s just how tonight’s spun me around. “You good?”
“Yep,” he says. “Just tired. Gonna shower and crash.”
His words land clipped and sharp. Like a door gently closing, catching my heart on the way.
So I nod. Like it’s fine. Like I’m fine.
Shifting the kittens in my arms, I glance away, focusing on the full moon hanging too bright above us.
We climb each step in silence and slip inside, me first, Knox meandering behind.
Lights flick on with a low glow.
Stripe and Shadow stir in my arms but don’t wake, their small bodies cozy against my fluttering chest.
At the foot of the stairs, I pause, gaze drifting upward. “I’ll lay them down,” I murmur, adjusting their sleepy weight. “Then hop in the shower once you’re all done.”
“Cami…”
Knox’s voice, raspy and thick, stops me mid-step.
When I turn, he’s already close, steel eyes locked like he’s afraid to miss my reaction.
“I want to shower and crash…” He looks away, then his eyes meet mine again. “With you,” he says, and it hits like a declaration that I feel in my chest.
I thought we were done for the night. That his distant tone was deliberate. That maybe whatever shifted at dinner is where our bubble begins to burst. But now, the space between us doesn’t feel so wide.
His hands rise to my face, tender, as though he needs me to feel what words alone can’t say.
“Us. Together.” He brushes a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll lay them down,” he says softly. “You go start the shower. I’ll be right there.”
I nod, heart pounding, handing off the kittens, then turning toward the stairs, every step suddenly weightless, as if I’m drifting.
In the bathroom, I peel off my sundress, then my swimsuit, each piece a layer of tension falling away.
Steam curls around me as the water starts. I step in slowly, letting heat ease the pressure still coiled in my shoulders.
Knox steps in without a word, his gaze locking with mine, water beading across his shoulders.
One step closes the space.
We reach for the body wash simultaneously, fingers grazing before he pumps a few drops into my palm.
Lather builds between our palms as we wash each other—slow strokes over shoulders, down arms, across backs and chests—palms rediscovering skin we already know by heart.
Knox smooths his hand along my spine; I trace the line of his collarbone.
Fingers slide through hair, mine first, then his, the scent of lavender shampoo rising in the steam.
My hands rest against his chest, attuned to the steady beat beneath my palms, before he tilts his head and kisses me, slow, steady, unhurried.
Our lips part.
He leans in, rests his forehead to mine, breath shaky, like he’s letting go of something heavy.
His fingers trail down my back, and I shut my eyes, pulled under the gravity of this moment.
This is what intimacy feels like when longing becomes safety, when being wanted doesn’t feel risky.
Once the water cools, we step out and towel off, steam fogging the room.
Droplets trace the slick, sculpted ridges of his chest, down his abs, lower still, each one a path my eyes follow hungrily.
He’s already hard—thick, aching—unmistakably.
And when his dark, hooded eyes meet mine, there’s no pretense. Just unspoken need, his and mine.
I let my towel fall.
He steps forward, slow, and I drop to my knees, his breath hitching sharp and ragged.
I slide my hands along his thighs, then up, methodically, until my fingers curl around him, his groan cutting through the quiet like a prayer.
Hot and heavy in my hand, he pulses with anticipation, his head tipped back, one hand gripping the counter like he’s seconds away from coming undone.
“Christ—you’re gonna ruin me.”
I’ve never done this with him. Never taken him in my mouth.
Never tasted how he falls apart. Every time we got close, urgency took over, hands everywhere, mouths frantic, bodies colliding.
But this man’s always been so generous with me.
Tongue. Fingers. Patience. Devouring me like I’m his last meal.
Tonight, I’m giving that back. Tonight, it’s my turn to feast.
I press a kiss to his tip, then another, flicking my tongue along the shaft before taking him deeper.
Knox exhales a broken breath, one hand braced behind him, the other sinking into my hair.
“Fuck…” he growls, already wrecked.
I set the rhythm, slow at first, savoring every reaction…
His abs tensing beneath my palms.
How his thighs flex as my cheeks hollow around him, every heat-laced pull drawing his fist tighter in my hair.
The way his free hand clenches, then releases, desperate for control he’s losing fast.
“Yes, baby. Yes. Just like that…” he says, raw and guttural.
I don’t stop, only look up, eyes locked with his. Lips wrapped around him. Tongue swirling.
He gasps my name again, ragged, breathless, thighs trembling. And then he’s tugging me up with a groan, kissing me, mouth urgent, open, claiming mine with wild desire.
“Too close—” He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist. “I need to be inside you.”
We tumble into bed, limbs tangled, cool sheets a mild contrast to the heat pulsing between us.
Knox pulls me close, one hand splayed low on my back, the other brushing a wayward strand of hair from my face.
When his lips find mine, our mouths part, tongues sliding together in a slow, lingering sweep.
My hands roam his shoulders, his chest, the familiar planes now explored with a new tenderness.
His mouth trails along my jaw, down the curve of my neck, leaving behind warmth that spreads in waves.
Urgency has slowed with a steady climb of heat, tension coiling tighter with every pass of his fingertips over my breasts, my hips, my waist, my clit.
When he shifts, bracing himself above me, our eyes meet, and the look in his gaze undoes me.
Reverent. As if he’s been yearning to make love to me.
Slowly, he slides inside me, deep, a sharp inhale caught between us.
In sync, we move, hips rocking in an unspoken rhythm, a language all our own, our bodies aligned, a slow pull of us wrapped in breathless moans and the sound of skin meeting skin.
His hands thread with mine, guiding our joined hands above my head, anchoring me gently to the pillow as if to keep me there.
With him. For as long as we can stretch this moment.
I hook my legs around his waist, drawing him closer, because I can’t bear any space between us.
We kiss again, slower this time, his mouth open against mine like he’s breathing me in.
When my hips rise to meet him, he answers with a slow roll of his own, coaxing a sound from me that makes him shudder.
A curse falls from his lips, and I whisper his name again, just to hear the rough groan it drags from his throat.
“Cami,” he says my name, gravelly and rough with emotion, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
But I do.
Because I feel it, too.
In every slow thrust. Every brush of his knuckles along my cheek. Every kiss that dares my heart not to fall.
We come together in a quiet unraveling, sinking into each other, fully, without restraint.
As the waves begin to subside, and all that’s left is breath and skin and silence, Knox doesn’t let go. He holds me like he wants to do so forever.
And for once, I don’t let myself wonder what happens when our bubble pops.
Quiet settles over the room.
Waves crash below, rhythmic and steady.
Moon-kissed light spills through the curtains in soft ribbons, catching the sheen of our skin, the curve of a shoulder, the arc of a cheekbone.
Sheets lie tangled around our legs, skin cooling, his hand tracing slow, absent circles against my spine.
Face to face, we lie, noses almost touching, bathed in a silver-blue hush that makes time feel suspended.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper.
His brows pull together.
“To New York,” I clarify.
Fingers pause against my back. His gaze flickers, a small shadow crossing his features, like there is something he wants to say but can’t.
“I know I’m supposed to,” I admit quietly. “New job. New chapter. All of that. Truth is, the city doesn’t feel like a fresh start. It feels like a wound I’ve never recovered from.”
His hand stills, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
“New York is where I lost my mom.” I exhale slowly. “Every street corner holds a memory. The good ones hurt. The bad ones, like how my dad still lives in the house I grew up in—they’re harder. I’m tired of pretending I’m fine.”
Knox moves a little closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Cami, baby,” he says, tone laced with something deeper.
“Grief doesn’t follow rules. It shows up uninvited.
When you least expect it. And sometimes, the places that broke you are the ones that teach you what you’re made of.
” He exhales, eyes never leaving mine. “It’s okay to have memories of your mom. Those keep her alive in your heart.”
I close my eyes for a beat, his words coating my chest like warmth chasing out a chill.
No one ever really says that. Not without attaching a list of things I should’ve done by now: moved on, let go, focused forward.
But Knox doesn’t suggest I do any of that. He doesn’t flinch at my hurt or try to fix it. He just stays right here, listening, ears wide open, tone gentle, reminding me that love doesn’t disappear because someone’s gone.
It lingers.
It echoes.
It holds space. Even in the parts I’ve tried to lock away.
Breathing him in, I steady myself against the tenderness curling in my belly.
“What about you and the penthouse?” I ask, eyes lifting to search his face. “Tonight, you mentioned it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
A beat passes, and his onyx gaze deepens.
“I bought it with my dad’s life insurance.” His throat bobs. “I was twenty-two. Grieving. Angry. And stupid enough to think a penthouse could fill the hole he left.”
My fingers drift across the curve of his pec, circling right above his heart, the muscle taut beneath my touch, his gaze softer, open now. It’s as if he’s letting me feel the parts he usually keeps guarded.
“Then,” he goes on, “I married Jenna, and at some point, it became her space. Not ours. Her furniture. Her parties. Her rules. That house stopped being mine a long time ago. Maybe it never really was.”
I search his eyes for doubt. Regret. But all I find is quiet sincerity as though he’s handing me the most vulnerable part of himself and hoping I won’t drop it.
“Not sure I’ll sell it,” he says. “But I sure as heck don’t want to go back there anytime soon. Being here…well, it’s the first time I’ve breathed without feeling like I’m failing.”
Throat tightening, I cup his face with my hand. “Knox…”
He catches my hand in his, presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“We don’t need to have answers yet. About New York.
About Stripe and Shadow. Even about us. All I know is I feel more like myself in this house, this room, this bed, this bubble—you and me—than I ever did in that high-rise glass box in Manhattan. ”
My heart jumps. He says you and me like it’s a declaration. Damn these rules. I already know I’ll miss what we’ve started even before it’s over.
“I’m scared of how this is going to feel when it ends,” I whisper.
Knox doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.
He gathers me closer, brushing a kiss beneath the hollow of my eye, then my jaw, and finally my mouth with a hunger that says we’re nowhere near finished making love.
And somewhere between his steady breath and the flutter in my chest, I stop bracing for the fall.