“Yes,” I manage. “I remember.”
“You thought I wouldn’t touch you.” His hand slides to my chest, squeezing, teasing. “You thought I wouldn’t bend you over and fuck you until you couldn’t think.”
He pulls out. Lifts me. Spins me. Slams back in while I stare up at him, body pinned between the seat and his weight.
I wrap my legs around him. His hand fists in my hair. The other settles on my neck again, not tight, only enough to remind me he’s in control.
My next orgasm barrels into me with no warning, dragging me deep under the waters of pleasure until they flood my lungs completely.
I cry out, clawing at his back, lost in it.
And Knox? He watches me unravel with a savage kind of awe. Then he growls, curses, and comes with a roar, hips jerking as he spills deep inside me, still grinding, still claiming every inch.
We collapse together, panting, sweat slicked and shaking, the cold air forgotten.
He cups my face, presses his forehead to mine.
“You still mine in the morning?” he whispers.
My breath catches. For a second, doubt flickers. This is real. This is more. And it terrifies me.
But then I meet his eyes. All that raw intensity. All thatwant. And my heart answers before my fear can win.
“I’ll still be yours,” I whisper back. “In the morning… and after.”
By the time Knox drives me back home, the heat between us is still simmering, but quieter now. His hand stays curled over my thigh the whole ride down the ridge, his thumb making slow, absentminded circles on my skin like he doesn’t want to let go. I don’t say much. I don’t need to. There’s a new understanding sitting between us, thick with everything we just did, and everything we didn’t say.
He walks me to my door, presses a kiss to my temple, and tells me to get some sleep.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he murmurs, voice still scratchy from everything we just shared.
I nod and smile, kiss him softly, and step inside before I lose my nerve.
But as soon as the door clicks shut behind me, everything shifts.
My stomach clenches.
At first, I think it’s the adrenaline fading, the way my body’s crashing after everything it just endured. I stumble toward the bathroom, kick off my boots, and try to breathe.
But the nausea hits fast.
Violent.
I barely make it to the toilet in time.
When it’s over, I collapse onto the cold tile, forehead against my arm, shaking.
Not again.
I press a hand to my stomach and try to calm my breathing. Try to logic my way through it. This could be anything. I didn’t eat much today. I had a long night. My body’s exhausted. I just had sex with a man who makes my brain short-circuit.
Except this isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way lately.
It’s the third.
Three different instances. Three waves of nausea I brushed off as stress or exhaustion or whatever excuse made it easiest to avoid thinking about it too hard.
And now, here it is again. Not in the morning. Not after work. But right after I gave in to every single thing I swore I was going to be careful about.
