Needy. Desperate.Embarrassing.
He growls in response. Actually growls, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine, and it shouldn't be hot. It should be terrifying. This is a predator pinning me against my kitchen counter andgrowlingat me.
It's the hottest thing that's ever happened to me.
"Fuck," he mutters against my mouth, pulling back just enough to speak. "Knew you'd be like this."
"Like what?" I'm gasping, hands fisted in his shirt without remembering reaching for him.
"Responsive." He kisses me again, softer this time, almost teasing. "Sweet." Another kiss, this one to the corner of my mouth. "Perfect."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He kisses me deeper, swallowing whatever protest I was going to make, and my knees actually buckle. Just give out, like they've decided they're done supporting my weight.
He catches me like it's nothing. Like I weigh nothing. One arm wraps around my waist, hauling me up, and then I'm sitting on the counter with Knox between my legs and oh.
Oh, this is better. This is so much better.
I can wrap my legs around him now, pull him closer, and when I do he groans against my mouth. His hands slide down to my hips, gripping hard enough that I'll probably have bruises tomorrow. I hope I have bruises tomorrow. I want evidence that this actually happened.
"Knox—"
"Like that?" He rolls his hips forward, and I feel him—hard and thick and pressing right against where I'm aching. "Like feeling me?"
"Yes." It comes out as a whine. An actual whine, high and desperate, and I should be mortified but I can't think past the heat of him, the weight of him, the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and edible.
"Couch," he says roughly.
"What?"
But he's already lifting me, hands under my thighs, carrying me through my own apartment like it's nothing. Like I'm not a full grown man who definitely weighs enough that this should be awkward. It's not awkward. It's hot. It's so hot I might actually die.
The couch happens somehow. I'm on my back, Knox above me, and his weight settles over me like a blanket. Heavy and warm and perfect, pressing me into the cushions, pinning me in place.
He kisses my neck and I see stars.
"Knox—"
"Been thinking about this," he says against my throat, mouth hot and wet against my pulse point. "Since you walked into my bar smelling like rain and misery and sweetness. Couldn't get you out of my head."
His teeth scrape against my skin—not biting yet, just a promise—and I arch up against him, desperate for more.
"Wanted to mark you that first night." His tongue soothes over the spot his teeth just touched. "Wrap you up in my blanket and never let you leave. Make you smell like me so everyone would know."
"Oh god."
"Would you have let me?" He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes flickering gold. "If I'd pinned you down in that booth and marked you up? Would you have let me?"
"Yes." I don't even have to think about it. "Yes, I would have—please, Knox—"
He finds the spot where my neck meets my shoulder and bites.
Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that I feel it. Hard enough that I arch completely off the couch, hips grinding up against him, a sound tearing out of my throat that I don't recognize. Pleasure and pain and need, all tangled together, spreading through my body like wildfire.
"Fuck, look at you." He pulls back to admire his work, thumb pressing against the mark he just made. The pressure sends another jolt through me, makes me whimper. "So pretty when you fall apart."
"Please—"
