He was greedy there too. Also giving. Swirls of his tongue, draws from his mouth.
I had my fingers threaded in his hair, and when the sensations he was causing started to get out of hand, I scraped his scalp with my nails.
He growled against my nipple, pulled hard on it with his mouth, as his hand, the callouses catching on my skin, skimmed a path over my ribs, down my belly, and right between my legs to rub hard through my wetness.
Another zap, and my hips lifted in encouragement.
Knox adjusted his head so he could kiss me.
I grabbed hold of his cock, gratefully accepted his pleasured grunt against my tongue when I did, and started stroking.
He hit the spot between my legs with two long, strong fingers and started swirling.
My fingers roamed his skin, my nails scratched.
Eventually it got serious, and on a downward stroke, I tightened my hold and yanked up.
That caused another, deeper grunt, one that shivered through me as Knox got the message, shoved my leg open, rolled in between, lined up his cock and slid home.
The thrust was slow. Reverent. Awed.
For both of us.
He pulled my knees up and tucked them to his sides as he stroked inside, steady, slow, sure, serious.
His hands found mine, our fingers linked, he pulled them over my head, held them, another connection and fortunately, an opportunity of leverage for him as he quickened his pace.
Our mouths had been busy through this, with each other’s, our necks, shoulders, throats, collarbones.
But it was then he lifted his head, looked down at me in the dim, early-morning light, and whispered, “Love you, Luna.”
Knowing it, and still unprepared for the beauty of that moment, I felt the tears spring, fill and finally fall out the sides of my eyes.
And my voice was husky when I whispered in return, “Love you too, Knox.”
I saw the white of his teeth in a gentle smile before he dropped his head and kissed me again.
As these things do, it started to go faster. Knox had to let one of my hands go to engage my clit. And in the end, our climaxes weren’t simultaneous, but they were damn close (I went first).
They also (or at least mine, but I sensed the same with his) weren’t dazzling. Mind-boggling. Stupefying.
No.
They were a sweet centering. Rooting us in the here and now. Not what was past that we had to make up for. Not what had been hurt and had to be healed.
We were who we hadn’t been, even back then, with his tests and my cluelessness.
We were who we were always going to be.
And we were beautiful.
“She asks where,” Knox told me, scowling down at his phone from where he stood opposite me, his position in the kitchen, hunched over on his elbows on the counter of the bar, phone in both hands, my position with my ass in one of my rattan stools on the living room side.
We were drinking coffee and eating English muffins slathered in apple butter (Knox might not like grape jelly, but he seriously dug apple butter).
And he’d just texted Cheyenne to ask if she’d meet him that afternoon.
Apparently, she didn’t waste any time agreeing.
