“Hands behind your back,” he murmurs.
“What…”
He sits up, holding me in his lap, and gathers both my wrists behind me in one big hand. “Trust me?”
I nod.
“Good girl.”
The praise hits me almost harder than his cock.
He rocks up into me, hard and fast now, holding my arms and kissing me roughly, claiming every sound I make. It’s filthy. Hot. I’ve never felt so out of control and so safe at the same time.
When I come again, it’s not soft or spiraling or slow.
It rips through me.
My whole body jerks, back arching like a bowstring, breath shattering in my throat. The pleasure is crazy this time, raw, nearly brutal in its intensity, and it doesn’t creep up the way the last one did. It devours.
My thighs tremble violently. My voice breaks around his name. And when he lets go of my wrists and flips me like I weigh nothing, I barely register the motion. I’m still floating in theaftershock, still twitching from it, hips jerking helplessly even as he bends me over the edge of the bed.
“Damn, look at you,” Knox groans, voice ragged, his hands like brands on my hips as he flips me easily and lays me flat against the edge of the bed. “You come like it’s the end of the world.”
Itfeelslike the end of the world.
Like something inside me shattered and remade itself in his hands. Like he’s pulled the breath from my lungs and replaced it with a heat that only exists when he’s inside me.
I can’t speak. I can barelythink. I’m trembling, every nerve still lit up, twitching under his touch.
His hands grip my thighs and drag me back to the edge, until my legs are dangling and my back arches off the mattress. The air is thick and electric, and I feeleverything.The rough drag of his skin against mine, the slick heat between my thighs, the way my body pulses around nothing, desperate and empty until…
He thrusts back into me.
Deep.
Hard.
One fluid stroke that punches the air from my lungs.
I cry out, fingers curling into the sheets, already so spent I should be useless, but the second he’s back inside me, I’m wide open again. Helpless. Wanting.
Knox leans over me, a hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my thigh to hold me still as he fucks into me with ruthless, slow precision. His skin is flushed, damp with sweat, and his eyes, fuck, his eyes, are wild. Dark. Unfocused. Like he’s barely hanging on.
“Fuckingperfect,” he pants, jaw clenched, lips grazing my temple as his hips snap forward again. “You feel like heaven.”
My entire body tenses, every aftershock firing again as he keeps going, keeps pressing deeper, until it’s all too much and still not enough.
I can feel the sweat sliding down the curve of my back. Feel the stretch, the heat, the absoluteruinof it.
The sound of our skin meeting is filthy and wet and constant. The bed creaks beneath us. The air tastes like salt and sex and desperation.
And he doesn’t stop.
Not until his thrusts stutter, his breathing turns to ragged gasps, and his fingers dig so hard into my thighs I know I’ll wear the imprint for days.
“Fuck, Josie.”
He groans, low and guttural, one final thrust burying him deep as he spills inside me, warmth spreading in thick pulses that make me clench around him all over again.
