Chapter 6
DAISY
The door barely closes before I’m on him.
I don’t know who moves first—maybe both of us. His back hits the wall, and I’m pressing against him, hands sliding under his shirt, desperate to touch his skin.
He groans into my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, pooling low in my belly, and I want more. I want everything.
“Daisy—” He spins us, reversing our positions, and suddenly I’m the one against the wall. His body covers mine, solid and warm and unspeakably hot. “I’ve been thinking about this. Every damn night.”
“Me too.” I pull at his shirt. “Off. Take this off.”
He reaches back and yanks it over his head in one motion. I suck in a breath as I look at him. Ink covers his chest, one of his arms, his shoulders. His skin holds a world of stories.
I want to trace every single one with my tongue.
“Your turn.” His voice is rough, fingers finding the hem of my shirt. “Can I?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He peels the fabric up and over my head, tossing it behind him. His eyes drop to my chest—to the white lace of my bra, to the partial tattoo still visible above the cup. The kitten’s head, delicate and unfinished, right over my pounding heart.
He traces the outline with one finger, barely touching. “Do you know how crazy this has made me? Knowing you were walking around with it incomplete?”
Heat floods through me at the possessiveness in his voice. The tattoo he started and couldn’t finish because I was too weak to handle the pain.
“Then finish it,” I whisper. “Finish what you started.”
His eyes darken. “I will. But not right now.”
He kisses me hard and deep, and I stop thinking about anything except the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his hands span my waist like my heavy body is exactly what he loves. I arch into him, needing more contact, more friction, more everything.
“Come with me,” he growls against my mouth.
“Where?”
He doesn’t answer with words. Just lifts me—actually lifts me, hands under my thighs, my legs wrapping around his waist—and carries me through the apartment.
I catch glimpses of sparse furniture, bare walls, canvases stacked everywhere, but I’m too focused on kissing his neck, his jaw, sucking on his earlobe.
He drops me onto the bed and follows me down, covering my body with his. The sheets are soft beneath my back, cool against my feverish skin. His weight presses me into the mattress, and I’ve never felt so deliciously trapped.
He pulls back to look at me, eyes roaming over my face like he’s memorizing it. His thumb traces my lower lip. “So fucking beautiful.”
No one’s ever looked at me like I’m something worth studying. Something worth wanting.
“Knight—”
“Shhh.” He kisses my collarbone, right over the tattoo. “Let me.”
His mouth traces the design, lips and tongue following the lines he drew on my skin. Each kiss sends sparks shooting through my nervous system. He moves lower, unhooking my bra and sliding it down my arms, and when his mouth closes over my nipple, I cry out.
“You’re—oh, God—”
He switches to the other side, and I’m writhing beneath him, hands fisting in the sheets. Every nerve ending is on fire. I’ve never felt so aware of my own body, so desperate for a man’s touch.
“More,” I gasp. “Please, I need—”
His hands find my jeans, and he tugs them down my legs, taking my underwear with them, and then I’m bare beneath him, and he’s looking at me like I’m something holy.
“You are fucking perfect,” he groans. “Every inch of you.”
I reach for his belt. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”
He laughs—a low, surprised sound—and stands to strip off the rest of his clothes. I watch, shameless, as his jeans hit the floor. He’s big everywhere. Muscular thighs, narrow hips, and between them—
My mouth goes dry.
“See something you like?”
I meet his eyes and smile, extending my hand toward him. “Yes.”
He’s on me in an instant, skin against skin, nothing between us. The feel of his hot and hard cock pressing against my thigh makes me moan. I rock my hips up, seeking friction, and he swears under his breath.
My hands roam his back, his shoulders, the curve of his ass. He’s trembling, and knowing that he feels this way because of me unleashes a fierce affection in my heart.
He settles between my thighs. The blunt pressure of his thick cock against my slick core makes us both freeze. I’m aching and slick, blinded by the need to feel him inside me.
“Daisy.” His forehead drops to mine. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this.” I push my body against his, my core seeking his thick cock. “I want you. Please, Knight—”
He pushes inside, watching my eyes. The stretch of him steals my breath. I gasp, my body moving up to meet his. He’s everywhere—filling me, surrounding me, consuming me completely.
“Fuck.” The word tears out of him. “You feel—God, you feel—”
“Move.” I rock my hips, urging him on. “Please move.”
He plunges into me with a desperate rhythm, and I match him thrust for thrust, my body consumed by a primal need to give him everything and to let myself feel the pleasure I crave in my soul.
I slip a hand between us, my fingers finding my slick, throbbing clit. Stars explode behind my eyes as I finger myself, and his cock drives deep. Pleasure builds and builds until I’m shaking.
“That’s it.” He watches my face, eyes burning. “Come for me, baby. I’ve got you.”
My orgasm crashes through me in waves, my whole body clenching around him. I cry out, and he swallows the sound with a kiss. His hips shake against me, and three more thrusts send him over the edge with me. He groans into my mouth, body shuddering, and I wrap my arms tight around his shoulders.
We collapse together, hearts pounding in tandem. He’s still inside me, and I don’t want him to move. I don’t want this moment to end.
Knight emerges from the bathroom, hair damp from the shower, wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants. My mouth goes dry all over again.
The man is sinfully hot. I watch him walk across the room, speechless that a man like him wanted to make love with me.
I stop watching him when my eyes land on the canvases stacked along the wall. Canvases I was too distracted to notice earlier.
They’re everywhere. Dozens of them. And every single one features the same subject.
Cats. Kittens with big eyes and crossed paws. The exact style I’ve been obsessing over for months. The exact artist whose design is permanently inked on my skin.
“Knight.” My voice comes out strange. “Those paintings.”
He goes still where he stands by the kitchen.
I walk to the nearest canvas. A kitten with blue eyes stares back at me, paws pressed over its heart. It’s wearing tiny glasses. Librarian glasses.
“Those are...” I turn to face him. “You’re Purrfect Kitten.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just stands there, tension radiating from every line of his body.
The pieces click together. The way he handled my design with such familiarity. My art on you, he said last night. I thought he meant the tattoo in general, not that he was the artist behind Purrfect Kitten.
I press my hand to the half-finished tattoo on my chest.
“You made all of this.” The wonder in my voice surprises even me. I reach under my collar and trace the tattoo. “This is your design! You made this!”
“Daisy—” His voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear him.
His expression softens, and his forehead creases as he looks at me. “I painted it after the woman who fostered me died. She was the only one who ever...” He stops, swallows. “When she was gone, I needed something to hold on to. This is what happened.”
I cross the room in three steps and throw my arms around him.
He catches me, holds me tight, face buried in my hair.
“We need to finish it,” I whisper. “The tattoo. Today.”
He pulls back to look at me. “Today?”
“You need to complete it.” I touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw. “And I need it to be complete.”
He kisses me softly, and my heart expands so much I’m not sure my chest can hold it.
“Okay. Let’s head back to the shop.”