The kiss turns hungry faster than I mean it to. My hands slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His fingers tighten on my thighs, drawing me closer until there’s no space left between us.
Heat flares everywhere we touch.
He trails kisses down my jaw, to the spot just under my ear, nipping lightly. My head tips back of its own accord, a soft, helpless sound slipping out.
“Knight,” I breathe.
“Yeah?” His mouth moves lower, lips skating along my throat, sucking gently.
“Love you,” I say, because it’s there, right behind my teeth, and I can’t not.
He goes very still for a beat. Then he presses his mouth to the hollow of my throat, lingering there like he’s tasting the words. “Love you too,” he murmurs against my skin. “So much it actually hurts.”
I suck in a deep breath.
His hands slip under the hem of my shirt again, sliding up, dragging the fabric with them. I lift my arms without thinking, letting him peel it off. The blanket falls somewhere behind me, forgotten.
His gaze roams over me with a reverence that makes me feel more naked than my lack of clothing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, no hesitation, no teasing. Just stark, open truth.
I feel it everywhere.
He leans in and kisses the curve of my shoulder, slow and lingering, like he has all the time in the world and every inch of me is worth exploring.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt in return, pushing it up. He helps, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. I drag my hands over his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the small scars I’ve never noticed in the dim light of our living room.
“I like you like this,” I say softly.
“Half-dressed on a rug?” he asks.
“Real,” I say. “All the versions. Hacker. Vigilante. Idiot who leaves dishes in the sink. Man who loves me. I want all of him.”
His expression crumples a little at the edges, like he doesn’t know what to do with that much trust.
“Good thing you’re greedy,” he says, voice rough. “Because I’m not planning on giving you less.”
The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney.
Outside, the forest hums.
Inside, the world shrinks to this patch of floor, this flicker of light, this boy who’s been orbiting my life for years and just crashed dead center.
We kiss again, and the rest of the night blurs into heat and laughter and whispered plans.
We talk about stupid things between touches—what kind of dog we’d get (he votes big and slow, I vote weird and yappy), who’d cook (me; he’s awful in the kitchen), what we’d tell Gage (“nothing” vs “everything” vs “do we stage an intervention or let him figure it out?”).
Every conversation ends with his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the wordsI love youslipping out in different shapes.
It’s steamy and messy and intense and also stupidly sweet.
At one point, I end up sprawled across his chest, both of us sweaty and breathless, the fire burning low.
He traces circles on my back.
“You know what the worst part is?” he murmurs.
“What?” I mumble against his skin.
