Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
Knox
Iqueue up the playlist I spent all week curating, feeling only mildly ridiculous about how much time I spent making sure every song hit the right balance of nostalgia, swoon, and slow-dance-appropriate rhythm.
The first chords of “You and Me” by Lifehouse drift through the speakers, and Brynn raises an eyebrow at me like she knows exactly what I’m doing.
“Oh my God,” she says, laughing. “This song played at our prom. You hated it, said it was an oldie.”
“I didn’t hate it,” I say, offering my hand. “I just hated that it came on right after they turned the lights up and the chaperones started doing crowd control.”
She smirks but takes my hand anyway. “You mean after we got caught making out behind the gym?”
“I maintain it was a strategic use of darkness and poor adult supervision.”
I pull her in close, one arm sliding around her waist, and suddenly we’re swaying in the middle of my living room like it’s senior year again—but better.
So much better. Because we’re not pretending anymore.
We’re not fumbling through the what-ifs or trying to be grown-up versions of who we thought we should be.
We’re just…here. And she’s never felt more like mine.
“I like this,” she says softly, resting her cheek against my shoulder. “All of this. I think this version of homecoming might beat the original.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “You mean because there’s no cafeteria pizza and my tie actually matches?”
She lifts her head, eyes warm and amused. “Also, I’m wearing lingerie this time.”
That short-circuits my brain for a second. “Are you trying to end this dance early, baby girl?”
She just smiles sweetly. “What? I’m just stating facts.”
Before I can respond, there’s a soft rustle from the hallway, followed by the click-clack of paws on hardwood. Priscilla trots into the living room—wearing a sparkly pink tutu.
Brynn blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Knox! What the hell is she wearing?”
I wince, then start grinning because there’s no saving face. “Kinsey bought her a costume. Said every girl deserves to feel pretty on homecoming night.”
“Oh my God,” she says between giggles. “She looks like a tiny fairy princess with a grudge.”
“Be careful,” I warn. “She already has an inflated ego.”
Priscilla lets out a dramatic sigh and flops on the rug, clearly over it. Brynn crouches down and scratches behind her ears.
“I'll take it back,” she says. “This is the best homecoming I’ve ever had.”
I tug her hand gently. “Come on. Drink break. You earned it.”
We drift to the kitchen island, champagne glasses already waiting. She looks at the vase nearby.
“Peonies,” she says quietly as she takes a petal between two of her fingers.
“Didn’t think I forgot your favorite flower, did you?” I pull the bottle from the fridge and open it, the pop ringing through the room.
She steps closer. “You’re too sweet, Knox Dalton.”
“Nah, I’m just trying to impress my date.” Filling the glasses, I hand her one, and we clink without needing a toast. Just eyes. Just that look between us.
“You’re doing a supreme job of it.”
When she sets her glass down, I lean in, brushing my fingers along her jaw. She meets me halfway, and the moment our lips touch, it’s different than earlier. It’s no longer soft. It’s hungry.
She kisses me like she’s been waiting for this all night and I meet her right there, pull her into my arms, our bodies lining up like muscle memory. My hands find her waist, then slide lower, gripping her ass as her fingers tangle in the lapels of my jacket.
Her mouth opens under mine, and I deepen the kiss instantly, not bothering to hold back. Her nails scrape lightly against the back of my neck, and I whimper, no shame.
This has been building for weeks. The tension. The teasing. Sleeping beside her and not slipping inside her in the light of morning. The whispered confessions. The heat in her eyes every time she caught me watching her mouth.
I trail kisses down her neck, feel her body arch into mine, and suddenly nothing about this moment feels casual. It feels electric. I could keep her against this counter all night, but we both know what we want. Where this is going. I pull back slightly, our breaths ragged between us.
“You still sure?” I ask, giving her the chance, the out.
She nods, her voice barely a whisper. “Take me upstairs.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I take her hand, lace our fingers together, and lead her toward the stairs. Picking up her bag, knowing damn well this isn’t just about sex.
By the time we reach the bedroom, I’m not sure how I’m still standing.
She’s gripping my hand like a lifeline, her heels clicking softly across the hardwood as I pull her in behind me.
I don't even bother turning on the main light. I’m happy with just the warm glow from the lamp on the dresser, soft enough to feel intimate but bright enough that I’ll see every inch of her when I finally get her out of that dress.
I turn, my hand slipping behind her neck as I bring our mouths back together. The kiss is heady and hot, nothing careful or slow about it. Her hands are already on my chest, fingers dragging down the line of my jacket until it’s half-off my shoulders.
I catch the thin strap of her dress between my fingers, and as I start to ease it down her shoulder, she gasps slightly and pulls back.
“Hold on,” she says, breathless, cheeks flushed.
“Hold on?” I echo, already several degrees past rational. “Baby, I’ve been holding on for weeks.”
“I know,” she says, and she’s smiling—wicked and sweet at the same time. “Just give me two minutes.”
She grabs her overnight bag and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.
I let out a frustrated sigh and drag a hand through my hair, pacing a short line near the bed. My body’s practically vibrating with tension. I yank my tie loose, letting it hang undone around my neck as I sit on the edge of the bed. My pulse is hammering in my ears.
She’s killing me.
I’m still mentally coaching myself not to bust through the door like a man possessed when the handle turns and the door cracks open.
And then—then she steps into the room and my brain goes silent.
She's wearing nothing but my old varsity jacket. The one from senior year.
She’s standing in the doorway, bare legs exposed, the hem just skimming the tops of her thighs, her collarbone glowing beneath the open neckline. Knowing that K-DALTON stitched across her back like a brand makes my cock jump.
And underneath it?
Nothing.
Not the dress. Not the lingerie. Just her. I can’t breathe. Can’t move.
She walks toward me with that quiet, confident sway that makes it feel like the air itself parts for her. And I am gone. Absolutely gone.
“Fuck.”
It’s the only word I can form. She looks like every hormone-fueled dream I had at seventeen, only better—real, grown, here. Her skin glows under the soft light, legs bare, lips parted in a smile that says she knows exactly the power she holds right now.
She stops in front of me, and I can’t help myself. I reach out, dragging my finger down the open space of the jacket, sliding between her perfect breasts, down her stomach, stopping just at the line where the jacket parts over her thighs.
“You kept it?” I ask, voice thick.
She nods slowly, her eyes holding mine. “I did. Maybe there was a part of me that never really let you go, Knox.”
I look at her, heart hammering beneath the heat. “I never really let you go either, Brynn.”
Her smile curves into something wicked. Mischief laced with desire. “So…what’s your play, Coach?”
Fuck. Me.
The way she says Coach sends a jolt straight to my cock. She knows it, too. I see it in the flicker of her lashes, the way she shifts just enough to tease.
I smirk, voice dipping low. “I could call a deep pass, but I’d rather take my time…make a slow, dirty drive down the field. Yard by yard.”
She snorts and drops her forehead against my chest, shaking her head.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says through her giggles.
“Ridiculously dedicated to scoring,” I say, deadpan, as I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her hair.
She looks up, eyes still dancing with amusement. “You did not just turn this into a full sports metaphor.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I smile against her jaw, “you wore my jacket. You knew what you were getting into.”
She runs her hand under my suit jacket. “Even though you look absolutely delicious in this suit, I need you out of it, Coach.”
I kick off my shoes, “Gladly.” I unbutton my shirt, tugging off my tie, unbuckling my pants in record time. As soon as my pants and boxers are on the floor, I grip my cock hard, needing relief.
Her lips find mine again—hot, smiling, a little breathless—and just like that, the laughter dissolves into heat, into want.
“Tell me what you want.”
She doesn’t blink. Just walks to the bed and sinks down slowly, legs parting just enough to flash bare skin beneath the hem of my jacket. Her hands rest lightly on her thighs. Her eyes meet mine, steady and sure.
“I want you on your knees, Knox,” she says, voice low and wicked, the kind of command that makes every muscle in my body tighten. “With your mouth on me.”
I blink once—twice—like I need to make sure I heard her right.
When it fully registers, I drop without hesitation, palms sliding up the backs of her thighs as I settle between them like it’s where I belong—because it is. My voice is a rasp when I look up at her, the picture of sin wrapped in my high school jacket.
“For you, Brynn? I’ll live on my fucking knees.”
Her breath hitches, her fingers already threading through my hair like she owns me. And maybe she does. She always has.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another, higher, slower, until I hear her breath stutter.
“You want my mouth?” I growl against her skin. “Then spread those pretty legs for me and say my name while I ruin you.”
I pull her to the edge of the bed, push the jacket higher, and settle between her thighs like it’s where I was always meant to be. My hands grip her ass as I press a kiss to her center—soft, teasing—and she jerks, breathing strained, hips lifting into me.
“God, Knox,” she breathes, already undone.
I moan into her, dragging my tongue slowly over her, savoring the way she writhes under my mouth. She’s wet, sweet, and already trembling. I suck gently on her clit, then lap in slow circles, locking my arms around her thighs to keep her in place when she tries to twist away.
Her hands are in my hair, nails scratching the back of my scalp, pulling and tugging every time I push her higher.
“You like that, baby girl?” I whisper against her, flicking my tongue again.
“Yes—fuck, yes.”
Her voice is wrecked, breathy, begging. I don’t stop. Not until she’s falling apart beneath me, thighs shaking around my shoulders, body arching as she cries out my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
And when she comes, it’s not quiet. Pride fills my chest as she screams my name.
I slow my movements as she comes down, until she releases my hair.
I pull back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I rise.
She’s sprawled on the bed, hair a mess, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, makeup smudged and filled with so much want it threatens to unmake me.
She grins at me, utterly wrecked. “You still think that jacket was a bad idea?”
I shake my head. “No, Brynn,” I say, voice low and hungry. “That jacket might’ve just changed my religion.”