One hand curls around the back of my neck possessively, the other grips my waist, pulling me against him like he’s done waiting, done pretending. His mouth crushes mine, hungry and consuming.
The kiss is heat and hunger and claiming.
I open for him instinctively, my tongue sliding against his, tasting the faint spice of whiskey.
His stubble scrapes against my skin as he drags his mouth down my jaw. Each graze is a mark, a promise.
“You taste like cider and trouble,” he mutters against the hollow of my throat, his breath hot.
“Good trouble?” I breathe, my voice already unsteady.
“The best kind,” he says, low and rough, before his mouth finds mine again, this time slower, deeper, like he’s savoring every second.
He lifts me effortlessly, strong arms cradling my body as he carries me across the room, where he lays me out on the couch, the plush cushions cool against my back.
He kneels between my thighs, his eyes raking over me with a look that strips me bare even before he touches me. “You’re so damn pretty, Josie.”
“Oh yeah?” I murmur, lips parted, breath shallow.
“Ohhellyeah.”
He pushes my skirt up slowly, his large palms skimming my thighs. Rough skin over smooth, bare flesh.
“I like the way you look at me like I’m the only thing you want. I like how you moaned for my food like it was better than sex. And Iknowyou’re dripping through that tiny little skirt just thinking about what I’ll do to you.”
A deep inhale escapes me, thighs involuntarily clenching. But he’s already there, sliding my skirt up further as he guides my legs further apart, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin at the tops of my thighs.
Then his fingers reach the edge of my panties. He pauses, eyes locked on mine, then dips lower, pressing a light touch against the drenched fabric.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’resoaked.”
He peels the lace down slowly, teasing every inch as he exposes me to the firelight. Then his mouth is on me, lips trailing over the inside of my thigh as he leaves scorches behind on myskin. As I struggle to keep my groans in check. Each kiss feels like worship, each drag of his tongue a silent vow.
I reach for him, fingers threading through his thick, unruly hair, needing something to hold onto as heat coils inside me like a fuse waiting to blow.
“You want one night?” His voice is rough velvet, dark and dangerous. “Then I’m giving you the night of yourfuckinglife.”
The first flick of his tongue makes my hips jerk, my moan loud and uncontrolled. He licks slow and deep, tongue stroking through slick heat with maddening precision. I arch into him, his name a breathless chant on my lips.
He doesn’t rush. Hedevours, alternating between long, torturous licks and quick, fluttering flicks over my hypersensitive clit that send sparks shooting through my spine. I writhe beneath him, hands clinging to his shoulders, his hair, anything I can reach, because I feel like I’m falling.
He pins my thighs wide, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding me open as he circles my clit with his tongue. The rhythm is cruel, perfect, and when I think I’m about to tip over the edge, he backs off, just enough to drive me mad.
“Beg for it,” he murmurs, lips brushing sensitive skin, his voice vibrating through me.
“Knox, please,” I gasp. “Please, I can’t.”
“That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
And then he changes.
No more teasing, no more mercy. His tongue flattens against my clit, slow and heavy, a powerful stroke that makes my entire body seize with pleasure. He does it again, languid, devastating, like he has all the time in the world to break me apart.
I whimper, hips bucking involuntarily, but his hands grip my thighs tighter, holding me in place, forcing me to take every flick of his tongue, every pass of his mouth like it’s punishment for wanting this too much.
“Stay still,” he growls against me, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh bolt of heat through my core.
I try. Fuck, I try. But he’s relentless.
