The realization seemed to hit him somewhere deeper than desire. His eyes found mine, and I saw it there. The emotion cracking through the hunger.
“Of course I did.” I reached down and traced my fingers along his jaw. “I have other surprises planned for tonight too.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Princess, I am trying very hard to be excited about this party.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry. I took the next week off. We can spend it in bed.”
His eyes opened.
“You know exactly what I want,” he said. Not a question either.
His fingers found the edges of my panties and began sliding them down. Slowly. Reverently. Like he was unwrapping something precious.
When they were gone, I made a decision.
I wanted to give him everything he’d been missing. Every fantasy. Every visual. Everything.
So, I shifted further onto the bench seat and spread my legs. Wide. My left ankle hooked over the backrest, and my right foot planted on the floor. I was completely open to him. Completely exposed.
“Fuck, Harper.”
His voice came out shredded. He was kneeling on the floor between my thighs, staring at me like I was the answer to every prayer he’d whispered in that cell.
“Do you like what you see?”
A half laugh, half groan escaped him. “You have no fucking idea.”
But I thought maybe I did. All that time with nothing but his imagination, and now here I was, spread out before him like an offering.
So, I decided to give him a show.
I lifted my left arm above my head, letting it rest against the leather. With my right hand, I began to trail my fingertips down my own body. Over my throat. Across the swell of my breast. Down my stomach.
Knox’s jaw tightened. His eyes tracked every movement like it was his salvation.
My fingers dipped lower. And lower. Until they slipped into my own wet heat.
“Fuck,” he growled.
I gathered my arousal on my fingertips, then circled that sensitive bundle of nerves. Playing with myself while he watched. His breathing had gone ragged. I could see his desire straining against his jeans again, already hard, already desperate.
For a long moment, he just watched. Cataloging. Memorizing. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers stretching like he was barely holding himself back.
Then something snapped.
He grabbed my thighs, spread them wider, and buried his face between my legs.
With the first lick of his tongue, I cried out, my hips bucking off the seat as I pulled my hand free. He had to grip my thighshard to hold me in place, his fingers pressing into my flesh as his tongue speared inside me.
The heat. The pressure. The sheerhungerin the way he devoured me. It was almost too much. I looked down and saw this muscular, tattooed man with his face buried between my legs, his shoulders bunched with tension, his hands holding me open for his mouth.
I grabbed his hair and held on for dear life.
He dragged his tongue from inside me up my core to that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I nearly shattered on the spot. He swirled around that sensitive bud. Sucked it between his lips. Flicked it with the tip of his tongue.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my core. “You taste better than I imagined.”
