I reach up, my fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair. I pull him toward me, the kiss coming with a desperation that leaves both of us breathless. His mouth is warm, hungry, and every inch of him claims me. A low rumble vibrates through his chest, and his fingers tighten around my waist, holding me steady as my legs brush against the edge of the bed.
With a subtle nudge, I find myself sinking into the soft sheets. He follows, his body angling over mine, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress.
He hovers above me, his muscled arms caging me in as I arch up, my body seeking the heat of his. He dips his head, his lips grazing the tender curve of my jaw, the light touch sending a tremor rippling through me. It’s gentle but so intense, like a spark igniting in the deepest part of me. I tilt my head, exposing the curve of my neck, and his mouth follows the silent invitation,tracing a path of soft, feather-light kisses down to the hollow of my throat.
The warmth of his breath caresses my skin. “You’re so beautiful,mo ghràidh.”
I tilt my head to meet his gaze. “Mm. Tell me what that means?”
His lips curl into a small smile as he leans closer. “My love.”
The deep, husky rumble of his voice resounds through me as he whispers those words. A surge of heat rushes through me, and my hand reaches up, pulling him closer, unable to get enough of the way his body is mere inches from mine.
“My love,” I whisper back. Our lips meet in a gentle collision, a whisper of a touch that quickly heightens into something more urgent, more demanding. His hands slide beneath my shirt, his fingers splaying across my stomach, leaving trails of heat in their wake. I press into his touch, a soft moan escaping me as his mouth claims mine, his tongue sweeping inside.
I melt into him, every curve of my body fitting against the hard planes of his, as if we were always meant to be like this. My fingers tremble, the anticipation making me fumble with the buttons of his shirt. But he’s already one step ahead, his hands covering mine, stilling them with a silent command before his fingers work the buttons free. In a fluid motion, he sheds his shirt, the fabric slipping to the floor.
The low lighting spills over his chest, catching on the hard ridges of muscle like it’s trying to worship him too. God, he’s unreal. All broad shoulders and thick arms. My eyes drag lower, drinking in the kind of body that promises the best kind of ruin. Heat flares between my legs before I can even pretend to stop it.
He hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m already aching.
He stands there like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me.Or maybe he does, and that confidence only makes it worse. Makes me want to fall to my knees and worship every inch of him. Makes me want his hands on me, his mouth, his weight. All of it.
“Your turn,” he murmurs as his fingers graze the hem of my sweater. I sit up, the world narrowing to only him. I let him pull the fabric over my head, my breath catching as he slowly removes it.
His soft lips brush against my collarbone, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his hands as they slide down my back and skillfully unclasp my bra. The straps slip down my arms like silk, leaving my skin exposed to the heat of his touch.
When the bra falls away, I feel a brief flash of vulnerability, but I force myself to resist the urge to shield myself, sitting exposed in front of him.
“Beautiful…” he whispers. But then he corrects himself, his gaze never wavering from mine. “No. Perfect. So fucking perfect.”
His mouth claims mine again. This kiss is demanding, and I lose myself in the slide of his tongue against mine, the firm pressure of his lips, the scrape of his stubble against my sensitive skin.
Knox’s hands are everywhere at once, caressing my breasts, my waist, my thighs. Every touch ignites a spark that dances along my spine. I arch into him, craving more, needing to feel his skin against mine.
My hands, eager and trembling, find their way to the button of his jeans. The metal clicks open, and I begin to tug the zipper down. Before I can get very far, his hand wraps around mine, his fingers firm but gentle around my wrist.
“You’re sure, Juliette?”
I look up to meet his gaze, my breath shallow. “I’ve neverbeen more sure of anything,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. “Please, Knox.”
His mouth crashes down on mine, fierce and unrelenting, swallowing any lingering hesitation. My fingers graze the outline of his arousal straining against his denim, and he shudders. He pulls away briefly, his eyes burning with a need that mirrors my own, before quickly shedding his jeans and briefs.
His hands move to my skirt, the zipper biting into my skin as he pulls it down, the motion careful and full of promise. He peels it away to reveal my bare skin, then gently slides my panties down, a rush of heat radiating between us.
“I want to feel you first,” I say, my voice husky with desire. My hand slips between us, wrapping around his thick length. He’s hot and smooth and impossibly hard beneath my touch.
Knox is a vision standing over me, head thrown back, jaw tight, muscles pulled taut. Every inch of him is straining, the cords in his neck standing out as he groans
“Fucking hell, Juliette.” His accent thickens with each word. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
My fingers tighten around him with tentative strokes that grow bolder as I watch the effect I have on him. His eyes are half lidded, burning with a possessive heat that makes my core clench with anticipation.
“I’ve dreamt of your hands on me,” he confesses, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. “Butnothingcompares to this.”
I lean forward from my spot at the edge of the bed to lick his sensitive tip. His hands tangle in my hair, a throaty moan escaping his lips as my tongue circles the velvety head. I glance up through my lashes, savoring the desire etched across his face—pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest heaving.
Just as I part my lips to take him deeper, his fingers tighten in my hair, gentlypulling me back.
