His phone rings.
We both freeze. The sound is jarring, obscene, cutting through the haze like a bucket of cold water. It rings again, insistent, demanding.
"Ignore it," I beg, trying to pull him back down. "Please, Knox, I was so close—"
"Fuck." He drops his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard. The phone keeps ringing. "Fuck, I can't—that's the emergency line."
He pulls back slightly, though his hand stays on me, keeping me grounded. I whimper at the loss of his weight. He pulls out his phone and checks the screen, and I watch his face go dark.
"Emergency at the garage." His voice is wrecked, rough like gravel. "Fire alarm going off. Might be real."
"You have to go."
"I really fucking don't want to." He looks down at me—debauched, desperate, still hard and aching under his palm—and I watch the war play out on his face. "Toby—"
"Go." It takes everything I have to say it. "If it's real—"
"I know." He squeezes me once, a promise, then forces himself to stand. He has to adjust himself in his jeans, wincing, and I feel a petty satisfaction at seeing him as wrecked as I am.
I probably look destroyed. Cardigan hanging off one shoulder, shirt shoved up to my armpits, marks already forming on my neck and chest. Hair a disaster. Lips swollen. So hard it hurts.
Knox stares at me for a long moment, something hungry and possessive in his golden eyes.
"Toby." He leans down, kisses me once more, hard and claiming. "This isn't over."
"Okay."
"Tomorrow. After your shift."
"Okay."
"I'm going to finish what we started." His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing over my swollen bottom lip. "Going to take my time with you. Make you fall apart over and over until you can't remember anyone else's name but mine."
"Okay." Is that the only word I know now? My brain has apparently stopped working.
He kisses me one more time—softer now, almost tender—then forces himself away. I watch him walk to the door, every line of his body tense with restraint.
He looks back at me one more time, eyes still gold, then he's gone. I hear his bike roar to life outside, hear it fade into the distance.
I'm still lying on the couch, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to convince my body that the orgasm it was promised isn't coming. Everything aches. My lips, my neck, my chest, the desperate throb between my legs.
I should get up. Take a cold shower. Do something productive.
I don't move.
My phone buzzes. Robin:Did he finally kiss you?
I stare at the screen for a long moment before typing back:How did you know??
Please. The sexual tension was going to kill someone. I could smell it from outside. Tell me EVERYTHING.
He had to leave. Emergency.
WHAT. No. The universe hates you.
I know.
But he's coming back, right? Tomorrow?
