I didn’t have any beer, and the hardest alcohol in the house was a cheap rosé I’d been planning to crack open with Sloane. But I could sacrifice it for the guy whose brother had just been shot.
He picked up the pretty yellow leaf on the counter. I’d found it in the lane that morning after walking Waylay to the bus. The temperatures still said summer, but the change to fall was inevitable.
Waylon hopped up on the couch in the living room.
“Make yourself at home,” I told the dog. When I turned to face Knox, he was closing the distance between us.
“Naomi.”
His voice was rough as it caressed the syllables of my name, and then his hands were on me, yanking me into him. His mouth found mine, and I was lost to sensation. Drowning in desire.
Neither of us wanted to want this. Maybe that’s what made it feel so damn good. One hand slid into my hair while the other pressed my lower back until I was flush against him.
“Knox,” I breathed. “This isn’t what you want,” I reminded him.
“It’s what I need,” he said before diving back into the kiss.
This wasn’t the kiss from the waiting room. This was different, desperate.
I lost myself in it. Every thought tumbled out of my head until I was nothing but feeling. His mouth was hard and demanding, just like the man. I softened under him. Welcoming him.
He responded by tugging at my hair to angle my head just the way he wanted as he slanted his mouth over mine. His tongue didn’t twine or dance with mine—it battled mine into submission.
He stole my breath, my logic, every reason why this was a terrible idea. He took them all and made them disappear.
“That’s what I need, baby. I need to feel you go soft under me. Need you to let me have you.”
I couldn’t tell if this was dirty talk or romantic prose. Whichever side of the line his words fell on, I loved it.
His fingers found the strap of my dress. My heartbeat skittered into high gear as he slid the fabric an inch down my shoulder, leaving my skin burning.
He needed this. Me. And I lived to be needed.
I reached for his shirt and slid my hands under the hem, finding the rigid muscle under warm skin.
For once in his life, Knox appeared to be feeling helpful and yanked the shirt over his head with one hand. God, all that skin and muscle and ink. I dragged my nails over his chest, and he growled into my mouth.
Yes, please.
With one deft swipe, he shoved the strap of my dress off my shoulder then did the same to the other one.
“About time I find out what you’ve got on under these dresses,” he murmured.
I sank my teeth into his lower lip and yanked hard on his belt.
I cursed myself for putting on my least sexy underwear this morning. But at least I hadn’t bothered with a bra this morning. Between unsexy undies and unshackled boobs, I figured it all evened out.
He lost his jeans at about the same moment my dress slithered down my body and pooled at my ankles.
“Goddammit, baby. I fucking knew it.”
His mouth was on my neck, nibbling and kissing its way south.
I shivered. “Knew what?”
“That you’d look like this. That you had a fuck-me body.” He cupped one breast greedily.
He backed me into the fridge, and the cold metal had me yelping. “Knox!”
“I’d apologize, but you know I’m not the least bit sorry,” he said as his tongue darted out to stroke my aching nipple.
I was no longer capable of forming words. I was no longer capable of drawing in a breath. All I could do was cup his erection through his boxer briefs and hang on for dear life. When his lips closed over my nipple and he started to suck, the back of my head hit the fridge. Those deep, decadent pulls echoed all over my body, and I had a feeling he knew it.
He didn’t stop sucking as he shoved his free hand into my unsexy underwear.
We both moaned when his fingers found me.
“Knew it,” he muttered again as his mouth moved to my other breast. “Knew you’d be wet for me.”
My moan turned into a cry when he parted my slit with two fingers. The man knew what he was doing. There was no fumbling. No wasted, awkward movements. Even driven by need, every touch was magic.
“Need to feel you from the inside,” he said, brushing his beard over my sensitized nipple. When his fingers thrust into me, my knees buckled.
He was too much. Too skilled. Expert-level. Professional ruiner of vaginas. And I didn’t know if I could keep up. When he started moving those amazing fingers, I decided I didn’t care.
His penis flexed in my grip. I clumsily shoved his briefs down, freeing his thick shaft, and gripped it hard.