"Better call in sick."
"I can't just — "
He cuts me off with a kiss, slow and sweet and promising, and his hand slides down my stomach, over my hip, between my thighs. I'm sore and oversensitive and I should absolutely say no, should tell him I need rest, should think about my responsibilities.
His fingers find me still slick and open, and he slides two inside like he owns me.
Because he does. I'm his. I've been his since I stumbled through his door, drenched and desperate, and I got wrapped in his blanket.
Margaret's going to kill me.
Worth it.
Chapter 10
Knox
Dawn filters through the windows, painting gold stripes across Toby's skin. He's sprawled on his stomach, face buried in my pillow, dead to the world. Finally.
Took until 4 AM to wear him out properly. My lion rumbles at the memory—Toby begging, sobbing my name, coming apart over and over until he literally couldn't anymore. Until he just clung to me, whimpering, letting me move him however I wanted.
Perfect. He's perfect.
I prop myself up on one elbow, careful not to jostle the mattress. The sheets are wrecked, tangled at the foot of the bed, and Toby's got one arm thrown over my pillow like he's trying to hold onto my scent even in sleep. His breathing is slow and deep, the kind of unconsciousness that only comes from total exhaustion.
Good. He needed that.
I catalog the damage in the morning light. Bite marks on both shoulders—the one on the left is shallow, already fading to pink, but the one on the right is deep and angry red. That one happened when he came the third time, when he was so overstimulated he couldn't form words anymore, just sounds. My teeth sank in before I could stop them, and he'd arched into it, crying out my name like a prayer.
That'll scar nicely. Permanent. Mine.
Bruises bloom purple across his hips where my hands held him in place. His neck is a masterpiece of red and purple—I lost count of how many times I marked him there, sucking and biting until he was writhing beneath me. His inner thighs have finger-shaped shadows from when I spread him open. His ass...
Well. He's going to feel that for days.
Good.
The morning light catches the edge of his glasses on the nightstand, folded neatly next to a half-empty water bottle. At some point around 2 AM, between rounds, he'd fumbled for them out of habit before remembering he didn't need to see clearly to be fucked into the mattress. I'd laughed, set them aside, kissed the bridge of his nose where they usually sit.
He'd called me sweet. Then I'd flipped him over and shown him exactly how not-sweet I could be.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it before it can wake him.
Jason:Everything okay up there? Sounded like someone was getting murdered.
I roll my eyes.
Fuck off.
Just checking! The screaming stopped around 4. We were taking bets on whether you killed him or he finally passed out.
Sleeping.
Finally. Thought you were going to kill him with your dick. Ezra had to turn up the TV twice. We could all hear that headboard. Your poor wall. LOL.
I glance at the headboard, then the wall behind it. There's definitely a new dent in the plaster. Shit. I'll deal with that later.
How is he though? Actually okay?
