27. Sawyer #2
He finally changes position, breathing hard. He climbs up the bed, kissing me, slipping his tongue inside so I can taste myself. He lays on his back, lifting me and lining me up with his cock.
“Eyes on me,” he says. “I want to watch you while you fuck me, Sawyer.”
Then he slams me down on his cock, inch by inch pushing inside until I’m so full I can’t breathe. But it feels incredible. I realized I’ve clenched my eyes shut, and when I open them I find him staring at the place where our bodies are joined.
One hand goes to my breasts and savors them, cupping and teasing my nipples, while the other grips my ass, guiding me to rock against him.
I find the rhythm he’s set and take over, rolling my hips, chasing the pressure building deep inside me. His jaw goes slack, head tipping back for just a second before he drags his eyes back to mine.
“You’re soaking wet.” He thrusts up, hitting me deeper. “Feel that? This cunt was made for me.”
I whimper, rocking harder, chasing that depth again.
“Say it.” He thrusts, hands gripping my hips, holding me exactly where he wants me. “Tell me whose it is.”
“Knox, please.”
“Say it, Sawyer.”
“Yours.” I gasp the word. “It’s yours.”
He groans, low and rough, his head dropping back again. “Fuck. Yes, it is.” His thumb finds my sensitive clit and presses slow circles. “And this clit…” Another thrust, harder. “…is mine too. Every fucking part of you.”
Oh fuck. It’s too much. I’m too full.
I brace my hands on his chest, trying to hold myself together, but he’s making it impossible.
He lifts me again, watching his cock disappear inside me as he drops me down.
“God,” I choke out. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he says. “Come for me. Soak my cock.”
He grips the back of my neck and pulls me down, chest to chest, changing the angle, and that does it. I shatter over him, grinding out a release that starts from somewhere deep inside.
Not giving me a chance to ride it out, he lifts me, lays me back down, and kneels between my legs, lifting them so they’re resting on his chest and shoulders.
He pushes back inside me in one quick stroke, hitting deeper than before. I’m clenching, shuddering, still riding out my orgasm. He must feel it, because his jaw tenses and his eyes flutter shut for a second.
“Fuck, Sawyer.” He stills for a moment, composing himself. “You feel too good. You have no idea.”
He starts to move and I lose myself in the pleasure.
There’s no thoughts, only sensation—the way he pumps into me, the pressure, the obscene wet sound of it that would embarrass me if I had a single coherent thought left.
He’s so deep I can feel every movement in my chest, in my teeth, behind my eyes.
“So deep…Oh God.”
“I know. Fuck. I know.” His hand finds my throat, resting there, feeling my pulse, while he watches me swallow his cock. “You’re perfect.”
The pressure crests fast and sharp and sudden, and I grab the sheets and hold on.
“Come on.” He rolls his hips, grinding into me at the end of each thrust. “Give me one more.”
I don’t have a choice. It rips through me without warning, fiercer than the last one, and I arch clean off the mattress. He follows seconds later with a groan that sounds like it’s been dragged out of somewhere deep, burying himself to the hilt, his whole body shuddering as he spills into me.
The feeling of it, of him, warm and spent and still inside me…it’s so good I could cry. I think I might be. I can’t tell anymore.
He stays there, forehead dropping to my knee, planting kisses there while he catches his breath. I stare at the ceiling and feel completely, thoroughly wrecked.
This…Knox and me. Whatever this is. Whatever he is to me and I am to him. This is the thing I’m terrified of losing before I ever really had it.
He lowers my legs gently and collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest without a word. His heartbeat is loud and fast under my cheek.
I close my eyes, forcing myself to enjoy this moment. To not think about the tie and jacket on the chair, and the way he said later, and everything that came before.
I need this…just this. Just him. For a little while longer.
Time passes, I don’t know how much but enough that his heartbeat slows under my cheek, and my stomach lets me know I haven’t eaten all day. Knox strokes my hair wordlessly, and I close my eyes, savoring the gentleness of his touch.
Until his hand stills and I know what’s coming.
“Sawyer?” he asks. “You awake?”
Pretty sure he knows I am, but I’ll pretend otherwise.
“Yeah.”
“I have to go.”
My heart sinks. “Okay.”
I sit up slowly, pushing my hair back from my eyes.
He doesn’t waste any time, he’s already up swinging his legs off the bed, reaching for his shirt.
Putting himself back together piece by piece into whoever he was dressed to be before I got here.
I watch him button his shirt and I try to memorize the line of his shoulders, the way his jaw looks in the lamplight.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay up here all night.” The way he sounds, I genuinely believe him. “There’s this meeting with my father. I can’t miss it.”
I nod. What can I say? Not like he’s asking for permission. He’s explaining, which is more than he usually gives me, and I know better than to push it.
I watch him reach for his tie, loop it, and curse under his breath when he can’t get it right. I climb off the bed and go to him.
“Let me.” He sighs and relents, dropping his hands to his sides. I fix his tie, the way Dad taught me when I was little and curious, and adjust it so it’s straight. “There, much better.”
He swallows hard. “Thanks.”
When I step back to look at him, it’s like someone else is in front of me. Someone I don’t quite have access to.
He grabs his wallet and phone from the dresser, slipping them into his pocket. “Are you going to stay?”
“No,” I say, feeling my own disappointment run through me. “I have to head home.”
He nods, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Crossing the room, he leans in and brushes his lips over mine. A kiss nothing like the last one.
“Knox,” I say, before he reaches the door. He turns, face expectant. “What do you know? About Owen and Ella. I’ve been sitting with it all day and I need you to tell me something. Anything.”
Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone as quick as it came.
“Not tonight.”
“You keep saying that and it’s bullshit.”
“Because I keep meaning it.” He crosses back to the bed, sitting on the edge close enough that his knee presses against mine. “I will tell you. Just not tonight.”
“Why not tonight?”
His jaw tightens. “Because I need you to trust me without an explanation right now. I know that’s a lot to ask.”
“No,” I say, frustration bubbling in my chest. “Whatever it is that you know, tell me. Please.”
He sighs and tugs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know everything, but I think maybe something happened between the two of them.”
My hands drop to the sheets. I had a feeling but hearing Knox confirm my suspicion doesn’t help, it hurts. “Why? What would make you think that, besides the texts?”
“Please, Sawyer. I have to go. I promise I’ll look into it. But not tonight.” He sounds so done, and honestly, I’m feeling the same way. Like I need to stew in this new information and see how it truly makes me feel.
Do I even have a right to feel hurt? Betrayed? When I’ve done just as much or worse.
“Fine,” I say quietly, finally giving him what he wants to hear. “Not tonight. But soon.”
He reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear, his thumb grazing my cheekbone after. “Thank you.”
Then he walks out the door without a glance back and I’m left feeling the same way I was before, except maybe even more confused.
I wait a few minutes before getting up to clean off and get dressed. Hoping that maybe he’ll come back. The lamp is still on. The sheets are still rumpled. The room smells like us and I wish he stayed.
Grief hits me hard in the chest. That feeling of longing, and feeling so utterly alone, like I’m the last person on earth.
Of course, the one person I want, the only person who understands, left me here like a used up stick of gum.
Owen wouldn’t leave me.
But then again, did I know the real Owen? Do I know anyone anymore?
I sit there feeling sorry for myself until I finally muster the energy to get up and get dressed. Why should I punish myself by staying in this room any longer?
My stomach chooses that moment to growl, reminding me that I’m still a person who needs to eat, even when it’s the last thing I want to do.
I’ll grab takeout from the restaurant downstairs and go home to wallow in my misery with some shitty TV. It won’t take long, and hopefully I can sneak out unnoticed.
Ten minutes. That’s all it should take.