“I don’t think I’m going to last much longer,” I mumble, locked in a post-orgasm haze. Emery laughs, causing her entire throat to vibrate. Once again, that laugh of hers is my undoing.
I grip the back of her head tightly before coming straight into the back of her throat. Her eyes water, but she stays still, a sense of accomplishment teeming on her face. It’s the same look she had on her face after we dropped that armoire off at her customer’s place.
Once I finally come back down from my high, she eases back with a wicked smile, tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her tongue pops out and slides across her swollen bottom lip. “Guess somebody forgot how to pace himself,” she teases, catching her breath.
I want to fire something back, but my brain is a pile of mush, and my knees feel like a watered-down bowl of Jello. I find the strength to pull her to her feet and steady myself against her hips before pulling her in for a slow and messy kiss.
A sense of relaxation washes over me as I pull away. Her hair is in wild disarray, and pink paint smudges still spread across her pale skin. I reach behind her to grab my loofa and some body wash before slowly dragging them up and down her body.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching the movement with intense curiosity.
“Contrary to what we just did, I still want to help you get clean,” I say, watching pink-tinted water slip down the drain.
Emery opens her mouth, but then she closes it. I can tell she’s too tired to argue with me, and that sends a volt of satisfaction up and down my spine. I smile and continue to lather her body, appreciating each curve in a different light.
If I ever doubt that I am a lucky man, I’ll think back on this moment. I know these moments are fleeting, but they’ll forever hold a special place inside my memories.
CHAPTER 19
EMERY
“You cook?” I ask, dragging a towel through my damp hair. Knox’s sweatpants hang low on my waist, and I can’t manage to stop tripping over the long legs. The man is a giant, for Christ’s sake.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Bambi,” he smirks, pointing a marinara-coated spoon at me. “I’m good at many things, and that just so happens to include making women come and any recipe that I can read off the back of a box.”
I chuckle, sliding into one of the seats pushed up against the island. Knox’s kitchen is so clean it looks like something you’d see in an ad for dish soap or sponges. I can’t believe the same man who chased me with pink paint lives here. I also can’t believe that same man just gave me the most intense orgasm of my life.
“You don’t have to cook. As soon as my clothes are dry, I’m out of here,” I say, trying not to stare at the lean lines of his back. Part of me thought that if I scratched the itch that was my attraction to Knox, then I could finally push him into thebeen there, done that, box and move on.
But I was wrong. If anything, I’d awoken the horny little beast inside me and I need to find a new lock for her cage stat.
“We’re not doing this,” he says, spinning around to face me. He grabs the edge of the counter across from me and leans forward.
“Doing what?” I ask, rubbing my lips together.
“We hooked up, Emery,” Knox explains, like I wasn’t there, “and now you’re trying to act cold again because you think it’ll prove you still don’t like me. Well, that’s not going to work for me.”
I narrow my brows at him and tilt my head, trying to see if a better angle will help me stop picturing what it would be like to be bent over his kitchen counter.
It doesn’t.
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I defend, crossing my arms and pointing my chin to the air.
Knox makes a humming sound low in his throat. “You’re so full of shit. Just admit you enjoy spending time with me.”
That’s not where I thought this conversation was going, but I’ll take it. “Fine. I don’t entirely loathe your existence anymore.”
He rolls his eyes and goes back to stirring his sauce. “You can go, Bambi, but just know you’ll be missing out on a great dinner.”
It does smell amazing, and my stomach is starting to make those funny, muffled gurgling sounds that will give me away if they get any louder.
“If I stay, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. If shit starts to get too…domestic, I’m worried lines will start to blur and before you know it, we’re making one of those cheesy Christmas cards wearing matching sweaters.”
Knox’s back tenses and his spoon clinks against the pan. Worry claws at the back of my throat. Did I say something wrong? The longer the silence stretches between us, the more I start to worry that I’m right.
“Emery, I—” Knox says, turning around, but before he cansay anything else, my phone starts to vibrate on the kitchen island.
“Sorry,” I groan, flipping the device over so I can see the screen. An unknown number with a New York City area code flashes across the screen. Without thinking, I answer it. “Hello?”
