“I would take your nipple in my mouth and suck until you begged me for more.”
Sweet hell.
His hand drifted lower. Skimmed down my stomach. Paused at the waistband of my scrub pants.
“Knox.” I didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea.
“Tell me to stop.” His fingers toyed with the drawstring, the chain of his cuffs dragging lightly across my hip. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I should have said the word. One syllable. Four letters. It would have been so easy.
Instead, I rocked my hips forward, pressing into his touch.
He smiled against my mouth. Knowing. Devastating.
And then his hand slipped beneath my waistband.
I gasped as his fingers brushed over the thin cotton of my underwear. Even through the fabric, I could feel how warm his hand was. A stark contrast to the feel of the cuffs’ cold metal grazing against my skin.
“After I memorized every inch of your body,” he continued, his voice a low rasp in my ear, “I would spread your legs wide and kneel between them.”
His fingers found my center through the cotton. Pressed gently.
I whimpered.
“I would look at you. Pink and glistening and so fucking beautiful.” He nipped at my lower lip. “And then I would lean forward and taste you.”
His hand slipped beneath the hem of my underwear.
The first touch of his fingers against my bare flesh made me cry out. I bit down on his shoulder, suddenly terrified someone would hear, but Knox just chuckled low in his throat.
“The alarm’s still going,” he assured me. “No one can hear you but me.”
He stroked through my wetness, and when he felt how soaked I was, he let out a growl that vibrated through my entire body.
“You’re dripping for me, Princess.”
“Every night when I go home and touch myself, I think about you,” I admitted.
“Fucking hell.” His fingers circled my sensitive bud in slow, torturous movements. “You touch yourself, thinking about me?”
“Every night.”
“Tell me what you imagine.”
My cheeks burned, but I was past the point of embarrassment. Past the point of anything except his fingers and his voice and the coil of heat winding tighter in my belly.
“Your hands on me. Your mouth. You on top of me, inside me.” I gasped as he increased the pressure. “Making me scream.”
“I would make you scream,” he promised. “I would lick you slow. So slow, you’d writhe on the bed, grabbing the back of my head, holding my mouth against you.”
He drew his fingers lower, gathering my wetness, then returned to my core with renewed intensity.
“I would have you sit on my face, Princess. I would hold your thighs down and worship you with my tongue until you came apart.”
My hips were moving of their own accord now, rocking against his hand, chasing the friction I so desperately needed.
“Knox.” My voice cracked.
