I close my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I’m a virgin.”
There. It’s out. No excuses. No shame. Just truth.
His breath stutters.
I can feel it more than hear it. The shift in the air between us. The way everything stills.
I rush to fill the silence. “I don’t want this to be some impulsive mistake, Knox. I know how insane this is. I barely know you. But when I’m near you, I don’t feel scared. I feel like I canbreathe.And I want this. I wantyou.”
He still doesn’t touch me. But when he speaks, his voice sounds like thunder held in check.
“I’ve been trying real hard to treat this like any other job,” he murmurs. “But you make that damn near impossible.”
Then he shifts closer, his hand brushing mine under the sheets.
Barely a touch. Careful. Controlled.
I shift and reach for him, fingertips brushing over the soft cotton of his shirt stretched across his chest.
“I want you…” I whisper. “To be my first.”
His breath catches. “Sierra,” he says, voice low and rough, “I haven’t been with anyone in years. And if you want me to be your first… then you’ll be mine. Not just someone I protect. You’ll belong to me.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’ll belong to you.”
His eyes close for a beat. When they open again, they’re molten.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Then we do this slow. You say stop, I stop. You change your mind, I back off. No questions. This is yours, darlin’. Every bit of it. You understand me?”
I nod, but it’s not enough. “I do. I want you.”
His lips are on mine before I finish the last word. Soft at first, like he’s giving me a chance to pull back. Then deeper. Hungrier. His mouth moves against mine with a reverence that makes my chest ache. Like he’s been waiting for this—forme—for far too long.
He kisses like a man starved.
One of his hands cups my jaw, the other skims down my side, gripping my hip through the thin fabric of his shirt—my shirt now, I guess. The way he touches me makes me feelclaimed.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs against my skin. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”
My breath catches.
His hand drifts lower, sliding along my bare thigh, slow and patient. My legs part without me even thinking. It’s instinct. Need. Permission.
He groans, low and wrecked. “You’re so soft. So damn sweet.”
His head dips, and then his mouth is on my neck, trailing kisses down to the hollow of my throat. Each press of his lips makes my skin tingle. Makes my toes curl.
His fingers find the edge of the shirt and start to push it up, inch by inch. He doesn’t rush. He watches me, checks my face, reads every twitch of hesitation.
There isn’t any.
He pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside.
The air hits my skin and I shiver, but it’s not from cold.
It’s the way he looks at me. Like he’sworshipping.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, hoarse. “You’re killin’ me, darlin’.”
