"No what?"
"Don't leave." Her voice cracks. "Don't. I want this."
My mouth finds hers, barely a touch to let her taste what comes next. She rises onto her toes, chasing it.
"Greedy," I whisper.
She gasps. Fever and adrenaline on her skin. She meets me, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer until her breasts press against my chest, hard points through fabric.
The kiss breaks. My mouth drags down her neck. She gasps, tilts her head back. My teeth scrape a line along her throat.
"Don't stop," she whispers.
"Wasn't planning on it."
My teeth graze her collarbone. My hands claim the curve of her hips. She grinds against me, hips lifting into mine.
"You feel that?" The words scrape out of me. "That's what you do to me. Standing there. Breathing."
She helps the sweater off, arms rising, hair falling loose and wild. Black lace at the curve of her ribs. Pale skin. My mouth goes dry.
"Christ," I breathe. She crosses her arms over her stomach, suddenly modest or scared. I catch her wrists, tugging them away. "Don't hide from me."
"I'm not—"
"You are." I take one nipple through the lace between my teeth and tongue. She cries out, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me there. I suck, graze with teeth. She shudders, hips bucking.
"You like that?"
"Yes." Her voice, broken.
I move to the other side to give the same attention. Her body loses whatever fight was left. I unhook her bra with one hand and drag it off. She rips at my shirt. I pull it off. Her eyes map the tattoos, the scars I don't explain. She traces them, fingertipscareful, almost reverent, as though she's never touched a man's bare skin before and doesn't want to get it wrong.
I shudder. My cock stiffens.
"You're staring," I say.
"You're—" She swallows. "I shouldn't want this."
"But you do."
She nods. A guard drops, soft. Exposed. Then her jaw sets, and her palm plants between my ribs, pushing me off a step. Her stare goes wide, almost angry, fighting a war I can't see. For a long second she stands there, palm braced against me like a door she hasn't decided to open or close.
I don't move. Don't speak.
She digs into my shoulders. Pulls me in.
I cup her through her jeans. She bucks into my hand, grinding into my palm with a desperate, graceless roll of her hips. I unbutton her jeans and peel them down. She steps out before kicking them aside. The black lace is soaked through, clinging to her, and the smell of her arousal hits me so hard my cock throbs.
I drop to my knees.
She makes a small, shocked sound. "Knox—"
I hook my fingers in her panties and drag them down, inch by inch. "Say it again."
"Knox." Her voice trembles.
"Good girl." I strip her bare and spread her with my thumbs. She's swollen, glistening, clit flushed dark pink and twitching. Mine. The thought hits before I can stop it. "Look at you. Dripping for me. You don't get this wet for anyone else, do you?"
