He let go of my chin, but didn't back away. Instead, he reached for the torn edge of my shirt and peeled it back from my shoulder, exposing the skin underneath. His fingers were hot and rough, but careful.
"You're shaking," he observed.
"I'd like to thank my sponsors—trauma, caffeine, and about nine gallons of adrenaline."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I hugged myself, which was a terrible idea because it made me look even smaller and more breakable. Knox noticed, of course, and unwrapped my arms with his own, folding me up against his chest like a living straightjacket.
I made a noise, something between a gasp and a squeak, but it got lost in the fabric of his shirt. He smelled amazing. He felt even better.
For a long moment, we just stood there. My cheek against his collarbone, his chin resting on my hair, his arms locked around my ribs so tight I wasn't sure I could ever get loose again.
I was fine with that.
Eventually, I tried to break the tension with a joke. "So, do I get a merit badge for attempted murder or is that more of a—"
He shut me up with a finger to my lips. It was not a gentle gesture. It was possessive, absolute. "No talking," he said. "Not right now."
I nodded, feeling the heat rise in my face. My entire body was a raw nerve, every sensation cranked to eleven, but Knox's presence was the only thing keeping me from flying apart at the seams.
He tilted my chin up, just a little, and kissed me. It wasn't soft. It wasn't tender. It was the kind of kiss that left marks, that branded you from the inside out. His mouth was hot, and he didn't bother with the usual preamble—he just claimed me, tongue pushing in, hands fisted in my hair, like he needed to prove a point.
I kissed back, or tried to, but mostly I just let him take what he wanted. My hands went to his chest, clawed at the fabric there, desperate for something to anchor myself to.
He broke the kiss, just enough to breathe. His forehead pressed to mine, our noses bumping. "You're mine," he said, voice rough.
I nodded again, dumbly, because what else was I supposed to do? I'd belonged to a lot of things—fear, obligation, the gravitational pull of men who wanted to own me for all the wrong reasons.
But this? This felt different. This felt like the world had finally spun in my favor, even if only for a single, heart-stopping moment.
"Yeah," I said, and my voice was steadier than I expected. "I'm yours."
He kissed me again, slower this time, as if sealing a deal. My knees finally gave out, but he was ready, holding me up, refusing to let me go. I melted into him, letting the last of the adrenaline burn off. For the first time in my life, I wasn't scared of what came next.
I was hungry for it.
There’s a weird thing that happens to your brain after you almost die, or maybe after you claim someone else’s life, even temporarily. Everything goes soft-focus around the edges, and the only things that matter are the things you can touch—skin, lips, the hot coil of another body pressed against yours.
Maybe that’s how you know you survived. You come back to your body, and you want.
Knox’s hand never left my shoulder. He steered me out of the kitchen and upstairs with the same military efficiency he used for everything, but now the grip was different—no longer checking for damage, but marking me, a statement of intent.
When we got to his room, he kicked the door shut behind us so hard the walls rattled. I barely had time to register the sound before he was on me again.
He didn’t bother with gentle. He pinned me to the door with a single, huge hand at my chest, the other cupping the back of my neck, forcing me to look up at him. My head barely cleared his collarbone; I felt like a doll, a wind-up toy waiting for instructions.
His eyes were dark. Not angry, not even really lusty. Just… hungry. Like he’d been fasting and I was the only thing on the menu.
“You want this?” he asked, low and guttural. I nodded, but he held my jaw so I couldn’t look away. “Say it,” he growled.
“I want this,” I said, and my voice was a breathless mess, but it did the trick.
He yanked the remains of my shirt down off my shoulders. The fabric caught at my elbows and tore, leaving me bare-chested and shivering in the cool, late-afternoon air. My nipples stood out, hard and pink, and Knox’s gaze dragged over them before coming back to my face.
“Good,” he said.
