"Bet you touched yourself thinking about me."
My face burns. I bury it against his shoulder, but he pulls back, grips my chin, makes me look at him.
"Tell me." He's working on my belt now, movements sure and quick. "Tell me how you touched yourself."
"This morning." I gasp as his hand slides into my jeans, wrapping around me through my underwear. "In the shower. Thinking about — oh fuck — thinking about your hands."
"Just my hands?" He squeezes, and I choke on a moan. "What else?"
"Your mouth. The sounds you make." His thumb swipes over the head, and I nearly sob. "How you — ah — how you just take what you want."
"And you want me to take you?" He shoves my jeans down my thighs, freeing me, wrapping his bare hand around my cock. The skin-on-skin contact makes me see stars. "Want me to throw you on that bed and fuck you until you can't remember your own name?"
"God, yes, please, Knox — "
He drops to his knees.
One second he's standing over me, fully in control, and the next he's kneeling on the hardwood floor, yanking my jeans the rest of the way down, his face level with my aching cock.
"Knox, you don't have to — "
He swallows me down without preamble.
Hot. Wet.Perfect. His mouth is a revelation, and I have to slam my head back against the door to keep from coming on the spot. He takes me deep, deeper than should be possible, throat working around me like he was made for this.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck — " My hands fly to his hair, fisting in the short strands. I don't know whether to pull him closer or push him away. It's too much. It's not enough. It's everything I didn't know I needed.
He pulls off just long enough to look up at me, lips wet and swollen, eyes blazing gold. "You can pull harder. Won't hurt me."
Then he's swallowing me down again, and I do pull his hair. Hard. Hard enough that a normal human would protest, would pull away, would tell me to stop.
Knox just groans around me, the vibration traveling up my spine and exploding behind my eyes.
"Knox, I'm — if you keep — I'm going to — "
He pulls off, stands in one fluid motion, and throws me over his shoulder.
I yelp, disoriented, grabbing onto his shirt for balance. "What — "
"Bed. Now."
He tosses me onto the mattress like I weigh nothing. I bounce once, twice, sprawling on my back amid the dark sheets, and then he's standing at the foot of the bed, stripping.
He pulls the henley over his head and I forget how to breathe. His chest is a work of art — sculpted muscle, scattered scars, tattoos I want to trace with my tongue. A trail of dark hair leading down to where his hands are working his belt.
"Clothes off," he orders.
I scramble to obey, kicking off my shoes, shoving my jeans the rest of the way down, yanking my shirt over my head. By the time I'm naked, he is too, and —
"Oh my god." He's huge. Everywhere. His cock is thick and hard and leaking, jutting out from a nest of dark hair, and I genuinely don't understand the logistics of what we're about to do. "That's — you're — how is that going to — "
"I'll make it fit." He crawls onto the bed, predatory, muscles shifting under his skin. "I'll go slow. Open you up with my fingers and tongue until you're begging for it."
"Tongue?" My voice squeaks embarrassingly high.
He grins, all teeth and hunger. "Oh sunshine, the things I'm going to do to you."
He flips me onto my stomach in one motion, manhandling me like I weigh nothing, pulling my hips up so I'm on my knees with my ass in the air. It should be embarrassing. It should feel vulnerable and exposed.
