“I don’t care.” His voice roughens, darker now. “Let them. Let the whole town see you’re mine.”
He pulls me with him around the side of the truck. Opens the door with one hand, the other locked around my waist. I don’t even register how fast it’s happening. He lifts me again, places me on the edge of the seat, and steps between my legs like this is exactly where he belongs.
His hands slide up, fingertips skimming my thighs, pausing below the hem of my sweater. His breath is harsh against my throat.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, the effort of the question clear in the way his jaw clenches.
“No,” I breathe. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He lets out a sound from deep in his chest and presses closer. His teeth graze the side of my neck, sending a jolt through me. Then his hands are under my sweater, lifting it, exposing more skin than I’ve shown anyone but him in a long time. His mouth follows the trail, hungry, determined, claiming every inch hereveals. His hand finds my throat, not rough, not squeezing, just resting there, commanding. Keeping me still.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” he says against my skin. “You’re not thinking about anything else tonight. Just this. Just me.”
He kisses me again, deeper. Harder. The kind of kiss that leaves no space for hesitation.
“Lie back.”
I do it. My back hits the cold leather, legs still open, heart racing.
He drops to his knees, and my breath catches. There’s something primal in the way he does it, not worshipful, but possessive. Like a king claiming what’s his. He yanks my leggings down and off with one sharp tug, tossing them aside like the rest of the world doesn’t exist beyond this moment, beyond me.
His eyes rake up my body, and I swear I feel it, his gaze like a hot drag over my skin, burning me open. My pulse hammers. Every inch of me is on fire and begging, but when he leans in, lips hovering where I’m desperate to feel him, it’s almost too much.
“Say it.”
My voice trembles, thick with need. “I want your mouth,” I whisper. “Please, Knox. I need it.”
Humiliation and hunger twist inside me, sharp and intoxicating. I’ve never begged like this, never needed someone like this. But with him, on his knees, waiting for me to give permission, I feel powerful and undone all at once.
Then he’s on me. No hesitation. Tongue flat, lips firm, every move precise. He groans like he’s getting drunk on me. One arm anchors my hips, the other slides between my legs, fingers working in sync with his mouth. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.My hand grips his hair, holding him there, grinding against him without meaning to.
“You like this?” he asks, voice thick and muffled. “Out here, with no one around but the stars?”
“Yes, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
His rhythm deepens. His fingers curl inside me, his tongue relentless. My body tenses, then breaks. I cry out, no control, no shame. His hands keep me from slipping off the edge of the seat while I fall apart.
But he’s not done.
“Get up here,” he commands, voice rough with need. “Turn around.”
I scramble to obey, still shaking. I brace against the seat, back arched, completely open to him.
“Please,” I whisper. “I need you.”
His hands grip my hips. I feel him press in, thick, hard, more than I was ready for. But I take him, all of him, crying out as he fills me in one brutal thrust.
“You belong to me,” he says, right in my ear. “Say it.”
I can’t catch my breath. It should scare me, how much I want that to be true, but all I feel is this aching unraveling inside me. My heart stutters, then gallops. My body clenches, aching for more.
“I’m yours,” I pant. “I’m yours.”
He moves hard. Deep. Over and over. My hands clutch the seat. The sound of us is everywhere. Loud, raw, real. His grip never loosens. His voice never softens.
“I’ve wanted this from the beginning,” he growls. “You remember that night? The way you looked at me?”
