But this? This was, like, an Olympic sport, if the Olympics allowed biting and the use of power tools for strategic advantage.
My body was already aching, and I was pretty sure my mouth was going to taste like Knox for the rest of my natural lifespan. That was fine by me. It was possibly the only thing that could compete with my actual addiction to cinnamon scones.
He snuffled behind me, a low, pleased sound, and his hand shifted, dragging lazy circles over my belly. I felt the stirrings of life from the region I had assumed was now just a crime scene.
I was so, so not ready for round two. But I was also starting to suspect that my sense of readiness was not going to be a major factor in this relationship.
I lay there, counting his heartbeats. If I was lucky, I could memorize this, burn it into long-term storage before someone in the house came banging on the door and the spell was broken.
That was my greatest fear at this exact moment—not death, not embarrassment, not even the return of my father, but just the simple, stupid loss of this perfect, impossible peace.
He moved again, less subtle this time. His lips brushed the back of my neck, a little higher than the bruises he’d left.
“You okay?” he rumbled. The sound traveled straight through my spine and into my groin, where it set off a fresh wave of aftershocks.
I tried to answer, but my tongue was still rebooting. “I’m spectacular,” I said, which was not the word I’d intended, but it seemed to work.
Knox grunted, the same way he did when he was secretly proud of something.
I forced myself to keep going, because the only thing worse than silence was saying nothing at all. “I mean, amazing. Transcendent. Is ‘religiously fulfilled’ a thing? Because that should be a thing.”
He laughed. Not the little huff of air he used when he was mocking me, but a real, chest-deep sound that vibrated the whole mattress. “You talk too much,” he said, but it was fond, not a complaint.
I shrugged as best I could with an entire mountain range pinning me in place. “I had a near-death experience. I’m allowed a little post-traumatic monologue.”
Knox’s hand tightened, just for a second, then went back to tracing circles. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I wanted to turn around and see his face, but there was no way to move without waking the whole bed. “If you did, I probably deserve it. I mean, on the scale of things I’ve done to piss off fate…”
He snorted. “You’re not funny, Bridger.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m hilarious. You just have a terrible sense of humor.” My brain, emboldened by the success of my tongue,tried to remember if I’d made any humiliating noises during the proceedings. I was pretty sure the answer was yes. I was also pretty sure I would replay them in my head for the rest of time.
Knox must have caught my shift in energy, because his hand stilled. “You good?” he asked again, but softer, less rumble, more worry.
I reached back, blindly, and found his wrist. I squeezed it, more for my own reassurance than his. “I’m more than good,” I said, willing him to believe it. “I think you might have ruined me for anyone else.”
He was silent for a long beat, then said, “Good.”
And that was that.
We lay like that for a while, not talking, just breathing together. I tried to catalogue every detail for later—the way his skin was hot, almost feverish, where it touched mine; the way his arm felt like a steel cable, but with just enough give to cradle instead of crush; the faint scrape of his stubble against my shoulder, which I was certain would leave a mark if I didn’t exfoliate before morning.
I’d never felt so safe and so completely at someone’s mercy at the same time. It was addictive, the way a panic attack was addictive, except this was the upside-down version—euphoria instead of terror, float instead of fall.
I could get used to this, I thought. I wanted to say it out loud, but something in me knew it was better to let it be, for now.
A breeze came through the open window, carrying the scent of grass and rain. The house was utterly quiet, which meant it was either the dead of night or every single McKenzie in a five-mile radius had conspired to give us a moment alone. I did not put it past them.
I was about to drift off when Knox moved again, this time rolling onto his back and dragging me with him so I sprawled across his chest like a very needy, very contented cat. Hishand traced up my spine, slow and deliberate. I melted into it, boneless and happy.
After a few minutes, he said, “You ever done that before?”
I blinked, unsure what “that” encompassed. “Define ‘that.’”
He let the question hang, then said, “With a guy.”
I thought about lying, just to seem cooler, but the whole point of this was to stop hiding. “I mean… I had a boyfriend. In college. Briefly. But it wasn’t…” I trailed off, not wanting to undersell, but also not wanting to oversell the bleak reality of college twinks in the Pacific Northwest.
