He swallows it, kissing me slowly and tenderly, while he grips my hips, holding me exactly where he wants me.
There’s no pretending now. No ambiguity, no plausible deniability, no version of this we can walk back in the morning. We both know exactly what this is and exactly where it’s going and neither of us is stopping.
I’ve never wanted something as badly as I want him.
I roll my hips, just enough to test him. He hisses, gripping me tighter.
“Sawyer.” My name from his lips is the last piece of wall coming down. It does something to me to hear him this way. Like I’m affecting him to the deepest level just by existing in his lap. His hands find the hem of my sleep shirt, fingers slipping beneath it, slow and tentative.
“Don’t stop,” I say against his lips.
His palms flatten against my bare waist and the warmth of his touch makes me shiver. He notices. Of course he does. He’s always noticing the little things.
“You’re still cold,” he murmurs.
“I’m really not.”
He smiles against my mouth, and I wish the lights were on because just the feel of it undoes me more than anything else. Knox smiling in the dark, underneath me, with his hands on myskin and his guard completely down. I’ve wanted this version of him for so fucking long.
I pull back just far enough to look at him.
His hair’s a mess from my hands, his eyes dark and heavy, lips parted. He looks up at me like he can’t believe I’m real, his chest rising and falling unsteadily.
I reach down and pull my shirt over my head.
His exhale comes out slow and shaky, his eyes moving over me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use it.
“God,” he breathes.
His hands slide up my ribcage, thumbs tracing along my skin until he reaches the underside of my breasts. His hands are so warm, so gentle, that I can’t help but groan and roll my hips again.
“You don’t know how perfect you are.” He cups my breasts, gliding over my tight nipples. “These fucking tits, Sawyer. My God.”
I’m so damn wet, so needy, I don’t know how long I can hold out. But I want to. I don’t want this to end too soon.
He kisses along my jaw, rubbing his scruff against my cheek while he lightly traces my nipples. It’s so good that little noises escape my lips.
“Please,” I whimper.
I lean in and cup his face, kissing him again, with more urgency, and a low rumble sounds in his throat. God, I’m already addicted to that sound, I want to hear it everyday, until the end of time.
Reaching between us, I slide my hand down his abdomen toward the waistband of his sweatpants. I’m practically throbbing for release.
He catches my wrist.
“Not yet.” His voice is low, almost lazy, like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to torture me with it.
“Knox—”
“Not yet, Sawyer.”
I huff against his mouth and he swallows it, smiling again. That damn smile, it’ll be the death of me. I grind my ass against him and fuck, he feels so good. I’ll make him give me what I want.
He shifts us without warning, laying me back against the pillows, and settles beside me, propped on one elbow, one muscular thigh between my legs.
“What are you doing?” I glare at him, but I know the dark hides my expression.
“Taking my time.”
