"Is that why you're helping me? Because it's the right thing to do?"
"Yes," Knight says, then adds, "But not just that."
I don't understand why, but suddenly my focus shifts to his face. Those intense green eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. My gaze travels lower, over broad shoulders that strain against his t-shirt, down to where his jeans sit low on his hips. The outline of what can only be an impressive bulge draws my attention before I catch myself.
Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my skin. I’m aware of how my thighs press together, of the unexpected dampness between them. What the hell is happening to me? I'm in mortal danger, hiding in a cabin with men coming to kill me, and my body is reacting like this?
Maybe it's the adrenaline. Maybe it's the fear and stress breaking me in strange ways. Or maybe it's just him… This enigmatic man with his contradictions and protective instincts who put himself between me and bullets without hesitation.
"If not just that, then what else?" My voice trembles slightly, betraying me.
Knight releases my hand and stands abruptly, pacing the small living room. He rubs his palms against his jeans, clearly agitated, deliberately avoiding my gaze.
"This is wrong," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "There are rules, protocols. Lines that shouldn't be crossed." He shakes his head. "I've never—this isn't—"
I rise from my chair, drawn to his distress like a moth to flame. Standing behind him, I place my hands on his shoulders, feelingthe knotted tension there. I begin kneading gently, feeling the hard muscle beneath my fingers.
His head tilts back slightly. "What are you doing?"
"You seem stressed," I say, continuing the impromptu massage. "I thought this might help."
It's not a lie, but it's not the entire truth either. I wanted to touch him as much as I want him to touch me. The realization should shock me, but somehow it doesn't.
Under my fingers, his shoulders gradually relax. He exhales deeply, then stiffens again.
"Beth," he says, his voice rough. "You should step away now."
"Why?" I press my thumbs into a particularly tight knot near his spine.
"Because if you don't," he starts, "I might not be able to rein myself in."
My pussy throbs at his words, a pulse of want so strong it makes me dizzy. "What does that mean?"
Knight turns to face me, and there's no hiding the pronounced bulge in his jeans now. His eyes are darker, pupils dilated. "I don't know how someone I just met has this effect on me. I've always followed the rules, always kept the line. But right now..." He swallows hard. "Right now I'm seconds away from ripping your clothes off and fucking you right here."
The crude words from this disciplined man send a shock of arousal through me. I feel powerful suddenly, desired. In control for the first time in months.
"You don't have to rip them," I say, surprising myself with my boldness. "I can take them off."
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull the oversized flannel shirt over my head, revealing my naked breasts beneath. I've never been particularly confident about my body. Too round in places society says shouldn't be, but the way Knight looks at me makes me feel beautiful.
His eyes widen, jaw going slack. A muscle in his left eye twitches slightly. He steps forward, one hand reaching toward me before stopping midair.
"This is a mistake," he says hoarsely. "This isn't me, but God help me, I can't stop."
I smile, feeling more confident by the second. "I like the idea of you losing control because of me. It's strange, but for the first time in so long, I feel powerful. In control."
My hands find the button of his jeans, unfastening it slowly. He doesn't stop me, doesn't say a word as I lower the zipper and push his pants down to his knees.
He's wearing dark blue briefs that do nothing to hide his impressive erection. The outline of his cock strains against the fabric, thick and long, visibly throbbing with need. I want to touch it, taste it, feel it inside me.
"Are you okay with this?" I ask, fingers playing with the waistband of his briefs.
He shakes his head, not in negation but in disbelief. "I am. But I should be the one asking you that."
"I'm more than okay," I tell him honestly. "I've been terrified for so long, and now I feel safe with you. Before whatever happens next, I just need..." How do I explain this primal need, this desperate desire to feel alive and in control through pleasure? "I need to be thoroughly fucked. To feel something other than fear before I have to face them in court."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "Well, if that's what you need, I'll help. I am a gentleman, after all."
