Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Knox
My arms are wrapped around her bare back, and the soft weight of her draped over me makes everything in my chest ache with the kind of fullness I forgot I was capable of feeling.
She’s warm and limp and satisfied and so stunning in the aftermath it actually hurts to look at her. Like staring into the sun.
I brush a thumb over her shoulder, drawing little circles. Her skin is damp, flushed, and absolutely glowing.
Six years. Six damn years of lying to myself. Of pretending I didn’t crave her like oxygen. And now she’s here—in my bed, wrecked and radiant, her skin still flushed, her scent all over me. I’m not sure whether to worship her or flip her over and do it all again.
“Still breathing?” she mumbles against my chest, her voice scratchy and deliciously used.
“Barely,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You just rearranged my entire central nervous system.”
She lets out a sleepy sigh. “Well…I am kind of a big deal.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re a menace.”
“Maybe I am.” She chuckles, then shifts, untangling herself with a sleepy little stretch that makes my blood stir again.
“I’ll be right back,” she says softly, sliding off the bed and walking toward the bathroom.
She’s completely bare, completely unbothered.
My eyes follow every step, every curve, every shadow cast by the warm bedside light.
She doesn't glance back, but damn if I don’t feel the echo of her everywhere—on my skin, in my chest.
I sink into the pillow she left behind, the scent of her still lingers.
I didn’t wait for her, not intentionally, but no one else ever made me feel like this.
Like I could breathe easier just because she’s near.
Like her laughter belongs in the background of every morning I wake up.
I’ve already fallen. Told her I love her.
And watching her disappear into the bathroom with sleep-tousled hair and a lazy sway in her hips, I know one thing for sure—I’m so glad I did.
Because there’s only ever been one girl who gets under my skin like this. Her.
The bathroom door opens. My gaze snaps to her as she steps back into the room, bare legs and sleepy eyes, and I swear my ribs tighten around my heart like they’re trying to protect it from breaking all over again.
She climbs into bed without a word, and the second she’s close enough, she melts into me. Presses her cheek to my chest. Wraps an arm around my stomach like she’s staking a claim.
Then her hand slides lower.
She wraps her fingers around me—possessive, slow—and my hips twitch, a sharp exhale dragging from my lungs. My whole body answers her touch like it never forgot. Like it’s been waiting.
“Shit, Brynn—easy. I’m not twenty anymore. I need a minute.”
“I’m not trying for round two, coach,” she says, smug against my chest. “I just want to hold it.”
“Hold it?”
She nods, eyes already drifting shut. “It’s mine. I’m claiming it.”
I chuckle, brushing a hand down her back. “Damn right, baby girl. Every inch of me is yours.”
Her lips curve against my skin, voice fading. “Good. I like my things accounted for.”
The next morning is slower. Softer. Music plays from the speaker in the kitchen—Al Green, Leon Bridges are definitely chosen to remind me she wrecked me and she’s smug about it.
I’m naked, she’s wrapped in a sheet, wandering the kitchen like we own it together.
She’s at the counter, munching on blueberries straight from the container.
I’m leaning against the stove, sipping coffee and watching her like I’ve got nothing better to do than memorize the curve of her spine and the shape of her smile.
She turns around slowly, bare feet padding softly across the hardwood, holding up a blueberry between her fingers like a peace offering.
“Want one?”
I raise a brow, sipping my coffee with zero shame. “I want about five things right now, and only one of them is food-related.”
She grins and tosses the berry at me. I catch it mid-air in my mouth, chew with exaggerated confidence, and wink.
“Show off,” she mutters, trying not to smile.
“Strip tease bandit,” I counter. “You knew exactly what you were doing last night, bringing my jacket. That was a premeditated assault on my sanity.”
She turns toward me with a look that should be registered as a lethal weapon.
“I think you’re still losing it,” she teases, lips slick and smug.
I set my mug down with exaggerated care. “Confirmed.”
Before she can blink, I lift her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen island, her laughter bubbling up as I step between her legs.
The sheet is still loosely wrapped around her body.
I untangle it slowly, letting it fall behind her, revealing the gorgeous chaos of her bare skin, still flushed from last night.
I trail kisses from her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts. I bring a finger to her mouth and she opens, wetting it before I slide it between her thighs, fingers gliding through her warmth. She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders as I dip one finger slowly inside her.
“Fuck,” I breathe against her throat. “Do you know how fucking hot it is knowing my cum is still inside this tight little pussy?”
Her breath catches, head falling back, chest rising with each inhale. I slide in a second finger, curling just right, and start to thrust slow and deep, feeling her clench around me.
Her hips lift to meet my rhythm, one hand tangling in my hair as her lips part in a moan.
“Maybe,” she whispers, eyes fluttering, “you should fill me again, Coach.”
Christ.
“Fuck, Brynn. Your mouth is going to be the death of me.”
I crush my mouth to hers, one hand gripping her waist, the other still working between her thighs. Her tongue tangles with mine, her moans vibrating into my mouth. It’s hot, messy, perfect.
And then—
Knock knock knock.
We both freeze. My fingers are still inside her, her body tense beneath mine. The knock comes again—louder this time.
“Oh my God,” she hisses, removing my hand, clutching at the sheet and yanking it around herself like she’s preparing for war. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know!” I whisper-shout, already backing away like I’ve been caught committing a felony. “Could be a tenant. Could be Cam. Could be Ty.”
“Could be your mom!’”
We lock eyes—shared panic, pure terror.
She bolts from the kitchen, sheet flying behind her like a cape, disappearing into the laundry room at Olympic speed. I scramble to find a pair of sweats in the dryer, yanking them on—no underwear, great. I grab a T-shirt and kiss her forehead before closing the door.
Another knock. My soul leaves my body. I walk to the front door, fueled by adrenaline and panic. Priscilla follows behind me.
I make it to the door, dragging a hand through my hair, checking behind me for any sign of Brynn, hoping to God I don’t still smell like sex.
I swing the door open and there stands my mother. Queen of Unannounced Visits and Emotional Ambushes.
She’s holding a Tupperware container, purse slung over her shoulder, and wearing that wide, casual smile that means she’s about to ruin my morning.
“Hi, honey,” she says. “I thought I’d drop off those muffins you like so you eat something other than protein bars all weekend.”
I blink. “Hi, Mom.”
Then I do the only thing I can. I open the door wider, block the hallway with my body, and pray she doesn’t notice the fact that I’m sweating, and very much hiding something—or someone.