He switches it up, circling my sensitive nub with maddening precision, never too fast, never enough to tip me over. Just enough to keep me there, teetering on the edge, strung so tight I could snap from a breath.
My fingers claw into his shoulders, nails digging into solid muscle as I writhe beneath him. Every nerve ending is awake, lit up, begging for more.
“Knox,” I pant. “Please, please, I…”
But I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Relief? More? Mercy?
He hums low against me, and the sound, deep, sinful, knowing, almost undoes me. He drags his tongue lower, dipping inside me, slow and thorough, tasting everything I give him like it’s a feast. Then back up again, tongue flicking against my clit with a rhythm that makes my thighs shake.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he mutters, almost reverent, his voice wrecked. “Could keep you like this for hours. Spread out. Dripping. Mine.”
My head falls back against the cushions, lips parted in a silent moan. I can feel it coming now, that molten wave building low in my belly, winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue, each moan he draws from me like music.
He sucks on my clit, just once, hard enough to make me cry out, and then he soothes it, licking over the sensitive bundle of nerves like he’s sorry for how good it feels.
My hips lift, chasing his mouth, and this time, he doesn’t stop me.
He groans, deep and guttural, hands sliding beneath my ass to lift me closer, anchoring me to his mouth. There’s no space between us now, no hesitation. Only raw need. His tongue worksfaster, more precise, alternating soft with shocking, slow with sudden, and every second is a new kind of torment.
I’m not breathing. Ican’tbreathe. I’m floating and falling and burning all at once.
“Knox, fuck, I’m…”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, breath hot against my soaked skin. “Let go for me. Come on, Josie. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”
That’s all it takes.
The coil inside me snaps. Violently, beautifully.
Pleasure crashes over me in a tidal wave, ripping a cry from my throat as my back bows off the couch, spine arching, legs shaking around his shoulders. My fingers twist in his hair, holding on like I’ll drown without him.
But he doesn’t stop.
Hetakeseverything. Keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps drawing every last spasm out of me like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. My orgasm crests and crashes again, over and over, until I’m trembling, twitching, completely undone.
My thighs try to close around him, too sensitive, too much, but he holds me open, mouth gentle now, kissing me softly through the aftershocks, like he’s grounding me, like he’s still not done worshipping.
When he finally pulls away, his lips glisten, his eyes feral. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on mine like a man possessed.
“Get upstairs,” he orders, voice low, wrecked. “Clothes off. I want you in my bed. First door on the right.”
I go.
No hesitation. No questions. I’m already stripping as I move, leaving a trail of clothing across the floor. Every piece dropped like a shedding skin.
By the time I reach the bedroom, I’m bare, my skin tingling from the firelight and anticipation. I barely have time to register the sheer expanse of the room. The luxury furniture that screams wealth. I turn in time to see him enter, shirt gone, jeans unbuttoned, eyes burning.
The snap of his belt hitting the floor is like a gunshot to my spine.
I move toward the bed, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me.
“Not yet,” he growls.
He spins me around to face the wall of windows, floor-to-ceiling glass, dark and reflective. Our image stares back at me: flushed skin, tangled hair, wild eyes. Him, towering behind me, every muscle straining, hard and thick and ready.
“Want you to see what I do to you,” he rasps. “See howwreckedyou get for me.”
He slides his fingers between my thighs again, gathering slick wetness, teasing my entrance before guiding himself into me in one long, slow thrust. The stretch is perfect, unbearable.
