Then his mouth is on me again, this time lower. He trails kisses down my chest, pausing to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently until I moan, my fingers twisting in the sheets. Then the other, just as gentle.
He trails kisses down my body, slower now, like he’s savoring every inch. When he reaches the top of my thighs, my breath catches again.
He hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them down, eyes locked on mine.
His voice is rough, low, full of heat.
“I need my mouth on you, darlin’. Need to taste your sweet pussy, feel you fall apart all over my tongue before I even think about fucking you.”
Anticipation coils low in my belly.
“Please,” I whisper, already shaking.
And when he finally leans in, when I feel the first stroke of his tongue, slow and sinfully thorough, I fall apart.
Moaning. Writhing. Gripping the sheets like I might float away.
Knox doesn’t rush a thing. He licks and sucks and teases, like he’s memorizing every reaction, like he wants toownevery sound I make. He flattens his tongue and drags it through my slick heat, circling my clit in tight, devastating strokes. Every time I start to crest, he eases up, until I’m begging.
And I do.
“Please. Please, Knox. I need—”
“Let go, darlin’,” he says against me. “I’ve got you.”
And then I do.
The orgasm slams into me hard and fast, stealing my breath, arching my back. His name breaks from my lips, raw and wild, as I fall apart for him.
He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling.
When he finally moves back up my body, his mouth crashes onto mine again, and I taste myself on his tongue. His hand cups my jaw.
“You okay?” he asks, voice like gravel.
I nod, still breathless. “I am. But I want more of you.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that in. Then his body presses against mine. Hot, hard, ready.
My fingers slip under his shirt, finding warm, taut skin stretched over muscle. I explore slowly, memorizing the feel of him—his ribs, the lines of his stomach, the way he shudders when I trace lower.
He growls low in his throat. “Darlin’, you’re playing with fire.”
“Then burn with me,” I whisper.
That does it.
He leans up just enough to strip his shirt off in one smooth motion, muscles flexing in the soft lamplight.
My breath catches.
He’s all broad chest and carved abs, tattoos and scars, strength and raw male beauty, and he’s mine. At least for now.
His jeans come next. He strips them off slowly, dragging his briefs down with them, like he’s giving me one last out. One last moment to change my mind.
I don’t. I can’t.
I just reach for him.
