When I come again, it’s fierce. Loud. Wrecked with pleasure so mind blowing I see stars behind my eyes.
And he follows with a broken groan, spilling into me, his grip bruising on my hips, his whole body shuddering behind me.
It’s loud. Messy. Ferocious.
After, he pulls me against him, both of us still trembling. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, sticky with sweat and honey.
But I feel it anyway.
Connection.
Like my insides have shifted. Or cracked open and invited him in.
“You okay?” he murmurs into my hair, his voice low and spent, like it costs him everything to speak.
“Yeah,” I whisper, eyes fluttering shut as I rest against him. “But we’re definitely gonna have to buy new equipment.”
He laughs, deep and golden and utterly wrecked.
“Deal.”
And then, before I can catch a full breath, his lips are on mine again. All heat and hunger and the kind of rough tenderness thatsteals thought. My hands are still bound behind me, wrists snug in the silk ribbon, but I don’t care. I lean into the kiss, breathless, straining for more.
The power shift is electric.
He broke me open, and somehow, I’m the one holding him now. I’ve never felt more alive than I do under his hands, pinned and kissed like I’m oxygen.
“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he growls against my mouth, teeth scraping just enough to make my pulse spike.
“Then show me,” I whisper, arching my back, pressing my hips into his.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at me. His pupils are blown wide, jaw tense, chest still heaving. The want in his expression is wild. Unfiltered.
Then his eyes flick to the side, and he spots it.
A rubber spatula on the counter.
His lips curve into a grin that should come with a warning label.
“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” he mutters, grabbing it.
I blink, laughing breathlessly. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’mveryserious.”
He circles behind me, his presence wrapping around me like a stormfront. He places one large palm between my shoulder blades and gently presses, bending me back over the prep table. My cheek meets the cool metal, the contrast sparking across overheated skin.
“Knox.” I murmur, half warning, half invitation.
Smack.
The spatula lands across my ass in a shocking, stinging slap that makes me jolt and gasp.
Not painful. Not cruel.
But enough to send a shock of heat straight between my thighs.
“You didnotjust?—”
