The water washes the day away, but it’s his touch that starts to steady me.
He kneels to rinse my legs, my calves, my feet, and when he rises, his hands trace back up my thighs with just enough pressure to make my breath catch.
His mouth finds mine again, slow and sure.
“Your turn,” I whisper, and he lets me wash him too—chest, arms, back. Every line of him mine to memorize.
By the time the water is off and we’re wrapped in towels, my limbs feel like they’re finally mine again.
But I don’t want space.
I want him.
He dries me off, carefully, like he’s afraid to leave even one drop behind. Then himself. Then we’re moving again—into the bedroom, into the soft low light, into the quiet.
Know steps close and cups my face.
“I need you to be sure,” he says, voice rough. “If you’re tired…”
I answer by kissing him. Deep. Honest.
“I want this,” I whisper. “I wantyou.”
His control shatters like glass.
He lays me down with a reverence that nearly undoes me. Like I’m something sacred. Like this moment is not a want, but a need.
Then he follows, his body covering mine, hot and solid and entirely real. The weight of him anchors me, the warmth of his skin wrapping around every place I feel frayed.
His eyes search mine one last time. For doubt. For hesitation.
There is none.
I lift my hips in invitation. My hands slide to his back, fingers splaying wide like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
And then he’s there.
As he sinks into me, my breath catches sharp and sudden. It’s the intensity. The stretch. The heat. The overwhelming sense of rightness that floods every inch of me.
His name slips from my lips like a prayer.
Knox groans low in his throat and drops his forehead to mine, breathing ragged.
“God,” he whispers. “You feel like—” He breaks off, like there’s no word big enough to hold it.
He stills for a beat, letting me adjust, letting me feel every second of it. His thumb strokes my cheek like he’s grounding both of us.
Then he begins to move.
Slow. Deep. Measured.
Like worship.
His hands map my body with devotion, tracing the line of my waist, the curve of my breast, the dip behind my knee. His mouth follows behind, pressing kisses to my throat, my shoulder, the hollow beneath my jaw.
He touches me like he’s memorizing everything.
I touch him like I need to.
