He reached between them and found her swollen clit. He pinched and rolled it while sitting up under her. Her legs wrapped around him as he looped an arm around her waist and surged up inside her in a single stroke that made her bounce deep on him. Everything inside her released then, bursting apart and erupting into a million tiny pieces. She flew apart at the seams, bits of herself she felt certain would never come together in quite the same way again.
His bright eyes clashed with her. With him sitting up and her astride him, they were at eye level. The position might have been the most intimate they had shared yet. “Don’t ever say you can’t come.” His eyes drilled into her. “You’ll come every time with me.”
She nodded mutely, her body practically limp as he continued to thrust inside her. He wasn’t done with her. His hands locked squarely on her waist and he lifted her like she weighed nothing at all, forcing her to finish out riding him. His pulsing length stroked against her newly sensitized and quivering walls. She was soon gasping again, her fingers clawing into his shoulders. “Oh, oh, oh . . . God . . .”
“Again,” he commanded, his face stark and beautiful as his own orgasm came over him. He pushed up into her and she shattered, coming in waves as he growled his own release in her ear.
She collapsed against him, her arms draped over his shoulders. They both breathed raggedly against each other for a few moments before he disengaged from her body and rose to dispose of the condom. When he returned, she almost expected him to say good--bye. After last time, she knew he felt guilty for waking up in the middle of the night and taking her without using a condom. She doubted he would fall asleep beside her again.
But he didn’t leave. He turned out the lights, slid into bed beside her and pulled her into his arms. She sighed against the warm solidness of his body, thinking she could get accustomed to this. Which was a scary thought. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy a girl attached herself to. He wasn’t the settling down type. Just the idea of introducing him to her sister made her feel slightly ill.
She mentally shook herself. No one was talking forever here. Certainly not him. He hadn’t even reached out to her since the last time they hooked up. No call. No text. And that’s all this was. Knox showing up at her doorstep for a hook--up. Sex.
She fell asleep in his arms, only to have him wake her up twice more with deep--mouthed kisses. Once to her lips and another time she woke to find him tonguing her sex, bringing her to hair--clutching, shuddering release before he pushed himself deep inside her, wedging his thickness inside the aching walls of her channel, working her into such a state that one of the neighbors below pounded the ceiling for them to shut up. Briar Davis, sex goddess. Who knew she had it in her?
Knox was never so overcome that he forgot to put on a condom again. He was controlled yet driven, relentless as he took her with such rawness, such need. She was sore by the third time he made love to her just before dawn, but she couldn’t deny herself or him.
Every time they came together, something unraveled inside her. Each time with him was better than the one before and it scared her shitless. A real problem, considering she had long ago promised herself to never live a life of fear again.
All those reasons why they couldn’t be together, why it was wrong for her to take a man like him into her body . . . into her life . . . faded to murky shadow. Something to be examined later. Reality was for later.
By the time she woke, sunlight was pouring through her blinds. She was definitely going to be late for work. But she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to her in that moment was that he had left her. Again, without a word. He was gone.
SIXTEEN
“SO YOU’RE STILL holding down your job?” Polansky asked as he pushed his glasses up his nose and walked down the porch steps into the sun--baked yard. He glanced back at Knox with an arched eyebrow, almost like he expected him to admit that he’d quit. Or been fired.
Knox held back his snort. It was his family’s business. Did Polansky think his family was going to fire him? Instead, he nodded and murmured assent. He never volunteered more than asked to his parole officer. This was Polanksy’s second visit to the house. Such visits were routine, to check out his living conditions and make sure Knox wasn’t running a meth lab. He didn’t have a history of drug--related offenses, but Polansky always surveyed his house as though he expected to find a cook pot. He insisted on checking the basement, too. Maybe he thought Knox might have a few -people chained down there.
He paused at the door of his nondescript sedan and nodded at Knox’s motorcycle. “New hobby?”
The shiny chrome beast was parked on a tarp with several tools littering the area around it. He’d been working on it when Polansky made his unannounced visit. Knox had saved up and bought it his last year of high school. He’d been in the process of restoring it when everything had happened with Katie. It felt good to get his hands back on it. It felt familiar and right.
Knox shrugged. “I enjoy working on it.”