Knox: Bored enough to open your door?
I stare at the screen. My pulse does something I refuse to examine.
Me: You're not here.
Knox: Check.
I shove off my bed, cross the apartment, and yank the front door open. Knox is leaning against the frame, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He looks relaxed in a way that's different from his usual cocky bullshit. Comfortable. Like standing outside my apartment at ten on a Tuesday is just part of his routinenow. The ease of it makes my chest tight. He hasn't earned comfortable. He hasn't earned any of this.
But here he is, smelling like ink and cold air andalpha, and the bite on my neck flares with heat the second his scent hits me.
"You could have texted that you were coming," I say.
"Where's the fun in that?" He flashes a real grin, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. My inner omega practically purrs, and I mentally tell it to shut the fuck up.
I step back, and he walks in. He's been in my room before, but tonight feels different. Maybe it’s because we just spent two hours texting like normal people. Maybe it’s because the last time we were alone, I had his knot in me and his mouth on my neck, and neither of us has mentioned it since.
He sits on the edge of my bed like he belongs there. I stay standing by my desk, arms crossed over my chest. If I sit next to him, I'm going to touch him. If I touch him, this goes the way it always goes, and I need it to go differently tonight.
"Still thinking about the alley?" Knox asks. His voice has that low, knowing edge, his dark eyes tracking me, reading my body. I want to punch him. I want to kiss him. Both urges are so predictable at this point I'm boring myself.
"I'm thinking you talk a lot for someone who said about six honest words in his whole life and then went quiet again."
He arches an eyebrow. "That bothering you?"
"Nothing about you bothers me."
"Liar."
The word lands like a dare. Something clicks in my head, and the plan I've been turning over drops right into place.
"Fine," I say, pushing off the desk. "Let's make it interesting. Whoever comes first gets to ask the other one a question. Honest answer. No deflection, no jokes, no bullshit."
Knox looks at me, his eyes sharpening. The relaxed vibe vanishes, replaced by something bright and fiercely competitive. "You want to bet?"
"I want to know if you can back up the swagger."
"I always back up the swagger."
"Then this should be easy." I pull my shirt over my head and lob it at him. It smacks his chest, and he catches it one-handed with a smirk.
Game on.
He takes the deal too fast. My brain registers that—why the fuck is he so confident?—but the competitive adrenaline is already firing. I’m not backing down from my own dare.
We start with kissing. His mouth crashes onto mine, my hands fisting in his dark curls. It's different from the alley. We're both trying tosetthe pace instead of matching it, turning the kiss into a messy, laughing struggle. He bites my lip; I bite him back. Neither of us yields an inch. I shove his jacket off his shoulders and yank his shirt over his head while he works the button of my jeans. We strip each other between teeth and tongues, making a race out of who can get the other naked faster.
We end up facing each other on the mattress, completely bare. I wrap my hand around his cock at the exact same second his fingers close around mine.
A race. Both of us working each other. Neither of us willing to lose.
I set a pace designed to absolutely destroy him—fast, twisting, my thumb catching the sensitive head on every upstroke, exactly the way I remember making him groan in the hallway. Knox matches me effortlessly. His grip is firm and steady, his thumb doing something maddening to the underside of my cock. His eyes are locked on mine, his mouth curved in that infuriating smirk.
I'm going to wipe that smirk right off his stupid face.
"That all you got?"
"Sweetheart, I haven't even started." He twists his wrist. My hips jerk off the mattress. I cover it by speeding up my hand, satisfied when his jaw tightens.
